Her Second Chance Dream Groom

by Emma St Clair

  Sy could still picture Delia’s furious, tear-streaked face as she stood on her front porch in a pink, puffy gown. Amy had been right behind her in an almost identical dress and a long, blonde wig. She hadn’t looked angry, but devastated. The expression on Amy’s face had cut right through Sy’s heart as the cops put him in cuffs. Thinking about it even now made his chest ache.

  Sy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He stared down at the sawdust at his feet, listening to the rasp of the sandpaper. “When you put it all together like that, it sounds pretty bad.”

  “It was pretty bad, brother. But it’s never too late to say you’re sorry. I respect that. It’s been a long time. Time heals, they say. It can also let wounds fester when they aren’t properly cleaned.”

  The words struck home. That was what Sy had feared, but hadn’t been able to voice so eloquently.

  “Ouch. Let’s hope it’s the first one.” Sy paused, kicking the toe of his boot through the sawdust, stirring it into little piles. “Got any advice for an apology? I’m not so good with words. Everything sounds stupid. Or, like not enough.”

  Easton paused his sanding, then started up again. “What’s your end goal?”

  “To apologize.”

  “I mean, past that. Why do you want to apologize? What do you hope to get out of this?”

  “I made this pact with my teammates. We’re supposed to right an old wrong or deal with a past regret.”

  “Okay, but why Delia? Why this?”

  Sy groaned. “Dude. I didn’t know you had a counseling license. I’m just trying to find the right words for an apology, not a deep dive into my psyche, or whatever.”

  Easton smiled. “I’m just trying to help you get to the root of it. I think your apology will be more sincere if you know why you’re doing it. Are you hoping to get together with Delia?”

  “No.” Lie. His ears burned with embarrassment and he knew the tips were probably red. Thankfully, Easton was focused on the wooden bench in front of him. “I just want to say I’m sorry for what I did. That’s all.”

  Sy expected Easton to push, but he let it to. “Okay, then. Maybe start with what you regret most. What feels like the worst part of the whole thing?”

  If Sy was being honest, disappointing Amy had made him feel like the biggest failure at the time. But it’s not like it had been a real date for her. Plus, Sy heard that Amy made it through cancer. She probably ended up going to her own prom and didn’t think about Sy twice after that.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about it, though. Part of the reason he never apologized was because he couldn’t face seeing Amy again, at the risk of seeing that hurt on her face. He hated disappointing her. The feeling that he failed her stayed with him for a long time.

  Then there was the humiliation of Delia coming home from prom with a new boyfriend. He’d still been in jail, while she moved on. That could have been Sy. His biggest regret was blowing his chance. But he didn’t want to admit that to Easton right now.

  The twins had always teased him about the way he hung around Delia, just hoping she would notice. “You’re like a dog, waiting for her scraps,” Elton had said, more than once.

  He wasn’t wrong, but Sy felt like Delia was worth the wait. Sy had watched her date different guys, most of them from the team. Because he was her friend, often Delia complained to him about her guy troubles, while Sy pretended every word wasn’t crushing him. He kept waiting for that moment that always happens in the movies when Delia would realize that she was in love with the guy who had been there for her all along. Only, it seemed like it would never happen. Finally, she was single around prom and he’d gotten his chance. Only to blow it.

  Sy swallowed. “My biggest regret was going to jail, I guess?”

  “That certainly had the biggest consequences.”

  Sy almost lost his chance to play college ball at the University of Texas. But hours of community service and an anger management course helped him keep his full ride. And because the cop who arrested him had been a neighbor, off-duty at the time, his parents’ lawyer got the whole thing dropped from his record.

  But Sy could tell that Easton didn’t think that was the worst thing. It was like he was trying to get Sy to the right answer without telling him outright what it was. The whole conversation was frustrating.

  “Just tell me what you think I should say. You clearly have an idea.”

  Easton put the sandpaper down. He propped a hip against the table and looked at Sy. “I’m glad you’re dealing with your regrets and things from your past. I just don’t want to see you getting hurt again. Other than jail, I can’t say I was sorry about how the whole thing turned out.”

  Sy’s anger flashed and he worked to unclench his fists and take deep breaths. “Why would you say that?”

  Easton picked up the sandpaper again. “Maybe Elton can help you. He’s great with words. What do I know?”

  “Pax said he’s not here.”

  “He just pulled in. Heard his car in the drive.”

  Sy hadn’t heard a thing, but E nodded to the doorway without looking up. It was a dismissal if Sy ever saw one. As much as he loved Easton, at this moment, Sy couldn’t wait to get away from him.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, storming out of the barn.

  As Sy walked back to the house, he replayed the conversation. Why did Easton seem so against this?

  By the time he got to the back porch, Sy had calmed down some, even if a nagging sense of worry clung to him. He heard Elton’s voice before he walked into the kitchen and found him talking to Pax. Elton spun to face Sy, clutching his chest dramatically.

  “Well, I’ll be! Look what the cat drug in!”

  “Hey, El.”

  Elton wrapped Sy in a big hug, whooping a loud greeting. Pax still sat at the table. “Hello? Is that all? How about a drink? Food? Pull up a chair. Make yourself at home.”

  Paxton stood as Sy sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ve got to run. See y’all later. Want these peas back in the freezer?”

  “Good idea. With both of y’all home, who knows the next time we’ll need em.” Elton winked as both Pax and Sy groaned.

  “Too soon,” Pax growled, storming out the back door.

  Elton rolled his eyes. “Touchy, touchy. Hope you’re in a better mood, Sylvester. But you’ve got the look of someone who just had a deep discussion with my brother, the wounded philosopher slash woodworker slash horse whisperer.”

  Sy grunted a response.

  Elton flopped into a chair across the table. “So, what’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to apologize to Delia. Make things right.”

  Elton’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes wide and round. “You’re joking.”

  “Not a joke.”

  “Okayyyy …”

  Sy frowned. “Why are you guys being so weird about this? It’s been six years. I never apologized and now I want to. Is that so bad? Or do you think what I did was that unforgivable?”

  Sighing, Elton met his gaze. “That’s not it.”

  “Then what?”

  “You did screw up. Big time. But honestly? None of us were that broken up about you and Delia. Honestly, we thought you dodged a bullet.”

  “Why were you guys so against me and Delia?”

  “We just never understood why you liked her. You were too good for her.”

  Sy choked out a laugh. “Me? Too good for her? That’s rich.”

  Elton shook his head. “I’m not sure you ever really saw Delia.”

  “Oh, I saw her alright.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” Elton said. “You just saw her with your eyes. And I get it. She was a pretty girl, still is. Those blue eyes and legs for days. Mostly used for social climbing though. And you were her next ladder.”

  Sy glared at Elton. “You’re remembering this all wrong. Socially? I was nothing. I played football, sure. But other than you guys, basically no one knew me off the field.”

  “Until you
got that scholarship to UT. You had the road to pro paved out for you and Delia wanted to hitch a ride.”

  Was that true? The thought struck Sy like a physical blow.

  He had asked Delia to prom after he got the scholarship. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She’d always been dating someone before, with Sy hanging out in the wings, being her friend, waiting for his chance. It was a timing thing, not related to his future plans.

  Or was it?

  “Now, Amy on the other hand …” Elton whistled.

  Sy immediately felt a protectiveness rise in his chest. “What about her? Is she doing okay?”

  “Sure is. She’s been in remission for years now. Amazing thing. A miracle, the doctors said. Are you going to apologize to her too?”

  “I doubt she cares.” Sy shook his head.

  “Hm,” Easton said.

  When he didn’t offer up anything else, Sy said, “So, I guess you’re not going to help me figure out what to say to Delia?”

  “That would be a no. I don’t want to see Delia get her hooks in you again. You’re a much bigger fish now with a much bigger wallet.” Elton pantomimed casting out a fishing line and reeling it in.

  Sy stood, barely holding back his anger. “I better go. I’ve got to find a hotel since Pax is here.”

  “Yeah, that big lug called dibs on the guest room.” Elton suddenly snapped his fingers, a grin stretching over his face. Sy didn’t like the gleam in his eye. “We may not have room, but I’ve got the perfect place for you.”

  Chapter 2

  TWO

  Amy’s phone buzzed again on the table next to her Cobb salad. Before her best friend could see the doctor’s name on the screen, Amy shoved the phone into her purse. Swallowing hard, she forced her face into a smile. “Sorry. Telemarketer. What were you saying about your in-laws?”

  Her voice must have been convincing because Jessica rolled her eyes and launched into a story about her mother-in-law’s plans to take group Christmas photos in pajamas. Amy tried to nod like she understood how terrible in-laws must be. “That sounds awful.”

  And it did, kind of. The idea of adults dressing up in pajamas with feet—feet!—and taking Christmas morning pictures was certainly overdone. But Amy would actually kill to have this problem, because having in-laws would mean having a husband to go along with them.

  Jessica rubbed a hand over her pregnant belly. “Not like this thing is going to fit into pajamas. And my sister in law suggested I cut a hole in the stomach part and they could paint my belly. Paint it!”

  Jessica tossed her glossy brown hair and Amy gritted her teeth. She and Jessica had been best friends forever. Amy couldn’t be anything but happy for her marriage, her baby, and even her long, healthy hair. Yet every moment she thought about one of those things made her irrationally jealous, then angry that she was jealous.

  Amy’s hair rested on her shoulders. Not long, not glossy, and not even a good color. Before cancer treatments, she had long, gorgeous blonde hair like her older sister, Delia. As girls do, she’d hated her hair—complained about frizz and the unruly waves.

  You never know what you have until it’s gone.

  Amy’s brain was filled with clichés and trite expressions that popped up constantly. She thought of it as her cliché databank. People had been saying them to her for so many years that they all just kind of got stuck there. Not one of them did a thing to help her feel better about the present tense. Even if Amy should count her lucky stars and just be thankful she was alive and live every day like it was her last.

  She realized Jessica had asked her something. “Sorry. What?”

  “Do you need to take the call? Is it the bed and breakfast? If you need to get back, we can go.” Jessica nodded toward Amy’s purse, where the phone was ringing again.

  Amy couldn’t see the screen, but if it was her doctor calling again, that was not a good sign. Her stomach dropped, and she fought to keep her composure. Whatever results the doctor had for her might mean starting treatments again after five years of remission. A totally different cancer this time, though. Breast cancer. Just the thought made Amy want to cross her arms over her chest to hide it.

  No, Amy would wait until tomorrow. She needed some time to process, to be ready just in case. She wouldn’t let worry ruin her lunch with Jessica.

  “Not important. We don’t have any guests at the B&B right now. Hence, my ability to escape for lunch.”

  “How is everything at the bed and breakfast?” Jessica asked.

  Amy made a face. “You’d think that I’d be booked solid since it’s the week of Christmas. But no—people would rather have a continental cereal breakfast at the Motel 8 and pay less.”

  She didn’t want to mention that even when they had guests, Amy was miserable. Having rooms booked meant that she was chained to the historic home in old Katy. She had to be around to answer questions about the area, refresh the all-day coffee and cookies bar, change the sheets, get fresh towels, and basically act like a glorified maid and concierge. All for people who didn’t care a bit about the charm of the home itself or how hard Amy had worked after her grandmother died to update it.

  “You okay?” Jessica laughed. “You look like you swallowed a lemon.”

  Amy sighed and set down her fork. “Have I always been a pessimist?”

  Jessica frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most positive people I know.”

  “That’s just because you can’t hear my thoughts. I’m sitting here complaining in my head about how much I hate running the bed and breakfast. I hate when I don’t have guests and I hate when I do. I’m equally unhappy both ways.”

  Reaching across the table, Jessica put her hand over Amy’s. “Just sell the place. No one would blame you if you did.”

  Amy shook her head. She didn’t need to explain how it had been her grandmother’s pride and joy, something she left to Amy, hoping to see the legacy passed down. Jessica knew all that already. Amy had this same argument with her Mom and Delia at least once a week. Amy wouldn’t sell.

  Unless she was forced to. The rising taxes and lack of guests might make it a real possibility. Taxes were due in January. Texas didn’t have state income taxes, but because of the Katy school district, the property taxes were sky-high. She didn’t know if there was enough in the bank for the payment next month.

  “It’s not just the B&B.” Hot tears burned her eyes and she didn’t even try to stop them. “I’m jealous of the fact that you have in-laws who have terrible photo ideas. I’m jealous of your swollen feet and that you have a guy as nice as Chris to rub them for you. That’s what’s going on in my head. My thoughts are so ugly, and I hate them!”

  Not to mention that I probably have cancer and there’s no way I’ll get lucky twice.

  A few people looked over from their tables at her outburst. Jessica’s eyes softened as Amy dabbed the napkin at her eyes.

  “Hey.” Jessica’s soft voice coaxed Amy into looking up.

  “What?” Sniffling, she wiped her nose, which she knew would be an unattractive shade of red. Some women looked pretty when they cried. Amy was not one of them. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m a terrible person.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.” Jessica squeezed her hand.

  “Then what? Give me your advice. It likely won’t help. I can’t sell the bed and breakfast, and no one wants to marry me, so I’m stuck in this cycle of unhappiness and complaining thoughts. Game over. But go ahead, lay it on me, Jess.”

  Amy had thought maybe it would feel good to get all the words out, but it really didn’t. Saying these things didn’t change one thing about her current situation. She would always be the girl who got cancer, missed basically every milestone from her teenage years because of it, and then never got back on track after she went into remission.

  She had read blog posts about gratefulness and seen stories of people beating cancer and then going through the items on their bucket list. Exc
iting things like traveling the world and sky-diving. Some people even fell in love over chemo treatments or in support groups.

  Amy couldn’t help thinking it was something about her that kept her held prisoner in this boring, nothing-happening life. With her sunshiny attitude, of course.

  “Ames. Listen to me. You are my best friend. You were before cancer. You still are. You’ll be my best friend until we die of old age, if you’ll have me.”

  Amy laughed softly. “Is this a marriage proposal? Because I think that ship has sailed.”

  Jessica pointed a finger in her face. “That. That right there is the Amy I know and love. You’re not a pessimist. You are a woman who had a ton of hard knocks and keeps getting up. Making jokes, even at her own expense. You’re so selfless that you’ll listen to me whine thoughtlessly over here—sorry about that, by the way—without saying one negative thing. Do you have some darkness? Yep. We all do. Maybe you’ve got a little more of an edge from what you’ve been through. You’ve been through more than I ever will have to deal with. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

  “That’s it?”

  Jessica frowned. “What?”

  “I was expecting some action items. You know: try harder, get on an online dating app. Something like that. You can do it! The right guy will come along! God helps those who helps themselves! That kind of stuff.”

  Snorting, Jessica shook her head. “That last one isn’t even biblical you know. God is our strength when we are at our weakest—that’s more like it. Anyway, I’m not going to tell you what to do, Ames. I’m not going to give you fake promises to make you feel better for two minutes and worse in an hour. I’m your friend. I love you and I care about you and I’m here. You’re in a hard place right now. That doesn’t make you a pessimist.”

  Amy looked down at the table, picking up a stray piece of lettuce and putting it on the edge of her plate.