Page 41 of Second Chance Serenity

Reyna leans in and kisses his cheek. “Dad, I’m going to be just fine.”

“If you don’t hit with the first two knuckles, you risk breaking your hand.” I grab the other side of the heavy bag, and Reyna glares up at me. Since Jaxson is watching over her parents, she came back here with me and has been trying to blow off steam ever since. “Come on, let’s get you some lemonade. I just made some this morning.”

I turn, and she follows, stripping off the gloves as she does. By the time we’ve reached the door to my apartment, her hands are bare again. I take the gloves from her and set them on the table by my door—right beside mine.

Somehow, seeing them there together causes the ache in my chest to grow.

Reyna steps into my apartment, and I watch as she studies the photographs on my wall. Images of me overseas, of my work with the kids over there and the translator I’d befriended. She’s in my space. My home. And for some reason, I’m feeling more vulnerable now than I ever have with her.

After pouring two cups of lemonade, I offer her one.

“I like your fish.”

“Thanks. Matty helped me pick them out when I got back. He was a lot younger then. Cute and helpful versus the moody teen he is now.”

She doesn’t smile, just continues surveying my space with the scrutiny of a drill sergeant in a basic training barracks.

Does she like my apartment? Or does she think it’s too small? Does it matter?

“Why did you leave me?”

The question catches me off guard, and I stare at her, mind blank, for a few seconds as I try to process it. “What?”

“You heard me.” She sets the lemonade aside and crosses her arms. “Answer the question.”

“I—” I swallow hard. How do I explain to the woman I’m protecting that I was afraid of my own father?

“That’s what I thought. Couldn’t give me an answer then, can’t give me one now.” She turns to walk away, and I reach out to grip her arm. Reyna freezes, and the skin I’m touching practically burns my palm as the connection that’s always been between us snaps through me.

“I was afraid.”

She rips her arm free and turns to face me. “Excuse me?”

“I was afraid,” I repeat. “My father wanted me to go pro. He was pushing me to leave for college and play ball so I’d get drafted by a big team. He told me that staying and marrying you would be a mistake that we both would regret.” I swallow hard, the pain on her face shattering my already tattered pride. “I couldn’t be the weight that kept you down. I couldn’t give you a life that you wouldn’t want.”

Her green eyes fill with tears as she stares up at me. “I thought your dad liked me.”

“He did. He does.” I close my eyes. I’m screwing this up. All of it. How many times have I wanted to have this conversation with her? And here I am, messing the whole thing up. “But he told me that I was walking away from a life that would be better than the one he had. He wouldn’t leave me alone. We fought, constantly, until?—”

“You left.”

“Yes.”

Her expression darkens. “Yet you couldn’t be bothered to tell me why? To explain to me that it wasn’t my fault that you left? That it wasn’t what we’d—” She trails off, tears streaming down her cheeks, and seeing them fall is like a thousand daggers to my heart.

“Did you not read any of my letters?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if I did.”

“Yes, it would have.” I take a step closer, desperate for her to see. For her to understand that walking away from her was the single worst decision I’ve ever made. “Because if you’d read them, you wouldn’t have thought for a second that my leaving had anything to do with you.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to read your pathetic words when you could have just told me in person!” she screams. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt? How hard it is to walk down the street and know that everyone is whispering about you? About how sad it is that you got left behind?”

Truthfully, I hadn’t considered what it would do to her to remain in the place where everyone knew what she’d gone through.

“People told me that they were sorry for what happened. That it was such a shame. But I was young, and hey, first loves never last anyway, right?” A tear slips down her cheek, and I long to reach forward and brush it away. “But you managed to get away from your dad. From everyone. And couldn’t even be bothered to tell me why. I gave you everything,” she says. “All of me. And you discarded me like none of it mattered.” She slams both palms into my chest, shoving me back a few steps.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me?” I yell the question, unsure how else to get her to see. To understand. “How much I wished I could take back what we’d done so that—” The moment the words come out of my mouth, I want to ram my own fist into my face.

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