Page 52 of Second Chance Serenity

Our gazes hold, and the moment that passes between us feels so potent one could cut it with a knife. How did we get here, both of us so broken that it seems impossible we could fit back together? “I read your letters.”

Michael continues moving, though his expression darkens. “I thought you would have thrown them away."

"I tried to," I admit. “My mom pulled them out of the trash because she knew I’d want to read them one day. Even if I couldn’t admit to myself that I would.”

He chuckles. “Is it bad if part of me wishes she had left them in the trash?”

“I don’t.” My tone is serious, my gaze locked on his even as he turns me on the dance floor. “Michael, I’m sorry that I didn’t read them before. If I had?—”

“It’s okay, Reyna. I hurt you. I shouldn’t have expected you to write me back. Honestly, at some point, I knew you wouldn’t. But writing to you helped me feel less alone.”

The lump in my throat burns.

“Which, of course, wasn’t fair to you. I see that now.”

“You said that a part of you hoped you wouldn’t come home.”

“That part was there. For a long time.”

“And now?”

He pulls me in closer and leans down, whispering in my ear, “I am blessed to have come home, Reyna, because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be sharing this moment with you.”

My heart hammers, need surging through my veins. Even as I know it’s a bad idea, that it will likely lead to more pain, I want him to kiss me. Right here. Right now.

The music suddenly dies, and the room is plunged into darkness. It’s a bucket of cold water to my face as adrenaline surges through my system, making my movements jittery. My stomach twists into knots. Are they here? Did they find us? Or is it something totally explainable?

Everyone around begins to mutter, and Michael tugs me against him. “What was that?” I hear him ask. “Where?”

Phone lights begin to illuminate the dance floor, and Michael pushes me through the crowd, not bothering to pull his own out.

“Jaxson is guiding us,” he whispers to me.

I don’t speak, just let Michael lead me away from the dance floor. We reach the back room, and something slams into us. I fall to the side and the lights come back on right as Michael tackles a man wearing all black.

“Get back here!” Michael yells, and I can only hope the others can hear through his earpiece.

Through the doors and on the dance floor, the music comes back on, and people begin dancing again, unaware of the danger lurking just outside the doors.

“Reyna Acker.”

I turn at the mention of my name and find myself staring at a second masked man mere feet away from me. There are two of them now? Where did he come from?

“Get back onto the dance floor!” Michael orders.

I turn and rush forward, but the man is faster. He hits me like a linebacker, and I fall to the side, my head ringing where it impacts with the wall.

Michael slams his fist into the man who’d been going after him and launches himself at the man coming for me. The sickening crunch of bone fills my ears as he slams his fist into my attacker’s nose, then lunges for me and pulls me to my feet.

He sprints down the hall, taking me with him.

“They’re behind us,” he says. “Hurry!” He tugs me down the hall and toward an emergency exit. From their planning, I know Jaxson will have left a truck there just in case, keys inside the gas cap. We push through the door, letting it slam behind us, then close the distance between us and the vehicle.

A gunshot rings out, and Michael stumbles.

“No! Michael!” I scream.

He turns and snarls, a predatory growl leaving his lips as he faces off with a masked man holding a firearm. Michael rushes forward, and the man fires again, but he misses this time, and Michael takes him to the pavement.

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