Page 6 of Second Chances

I reach for the wine glass and take another large gulp.

“I’ll have to see if I can get tickets.” It’s the only reply I can give my mother. I don’t know how to manage her disappointment.

“It would be so good to see you up on that stage performing instead of Pippa.” Mum places her fork down and tears well-up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I’m trying to keep my own tears from surfacing. We both fall silent. The tick of the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room is the only sound. I put another mouthful of food into my mouth and chew it carefully. It’s delicious flavor has gone.

“It wasn’t your fault, darling. It was an accident. One of those things that happens. I’m just saying you were destined for greatness. I would have loved to see you performing for the Royal Ballet instead of teaching little children how to do first position. You’re worth so much more.”

“Mother, please.” I just want her to stop. “I’m sorry I fell. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going. It’s one of those things. I’m not unhappy with what I’m doing. The children and their enthusiasm are a blessed reward for what I do. To be a top ballerina would’ve been lovely, but I have a weakness in my leg, and it would never have withstood the pressure.”

I place my fork down and let out a large huff of air. I need more wine. I’ve somehow finished my large glass. Getting up, I go to the kitchen and pour another one. I know the bottle will be drunk before the evening is over.

Going back into the dining room, I resume my seat at the table. My mother is now pushing her food around her bone china plate with her sterling silver fork.

It’s been fourteen years, almost half of my life, since the accident, and the damage is still there in my relationship with my mother. I shouldn’t dread seeing her, but I do.

“I’ve been invited to judge at the annual winter rose competition.” My mother changes the subject.

“That’ll be nice,” I reply, my heart no longer in the conversation. We fall silent. The rest of the evening continues with small talk until I go home. As the taxi pulls away from the ostentatious Chelsea mansion, I finally let me tears fall. I’m a disappointment to my mother and will always be.

Chapter Two

Ryan

“Ssh,” my mother coos. “It’s ok. Everything’s going to be ok. We have you. Your family has you. You’re home.”

That’s pretty much all I remember from that day on the roof. I’ve blocked out trying to jump off it and kill myself. I’ve been told I pointed a gun at my parents, Miranda and Pete, and threatened to kill them, but I don’t remember that at all. I thought I had nobody who cared for me, but I did—my mother and father both wanted me. It was my grandfather, my mother’s father, who told all the lies and turned me against them. I’d latched onto the first person to show me kindness without fully understanding my grandfather’s motives—motives, I’ve since learned, which were driven by revenge against my parents for falling in love and by my grandfather’s lack of control in trying to keep them apart.

After I tried to kill my mother, my father, and my siblings James and Sophie, I listened to their words of comfort but chose to take my own life instead. I’d been so wrong. I’d hurt, damaged…killedso many people, and all for a revenge that wasn’t necessary. That is the man I’d become back then, and now I have to try and come to terms with it.

“How are you feeling today Ryan?” My counselor opens his notebook and prepares to write down every word I say.

I’ve been incarcerated in this loony bin for over a month now. It was either that or prison, according to Matthew Carter, the bodyguard of my billionaire younger brother, James. I’d shot Matthew, so I could understand why he was a little angry with me. Especially as we’d been friends for so long. We’d met when we both worked together at MI5. Matthew had eventually left and set himself up as my brother’s bodyguard—it was a fortunate turn of events that allowed me to get close to the family I didn’t think wanted me.

“Good,” I reply. I don’t feel good. I’ll never feel good again. I feel guilty.

“The truth,” the counselor persists.

“Shit,” I reply and fiddle with a non-existent piece of lint on my jogging bottoms.

“Well, we’re making progress. Two weeks ago you would have insisted that you were fine even though we both know you aren’t.”

“Progress, great,” I reply, not caring. I’m having one ofthosedays. One where everything weighs heavily upon me. Sometimes I’m positive—I can see the future, and how it’s possible for me to have one. Today, I just want to hide away because of what I did.

Fuck, I’m a mess. Why am I this way?

“Progress is always good, Ryan, even if sometimes we have bad days, which you are obviously having today. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“I killed an innocent woman,” I spit out. My counselor has been paid handsomely to ignore such revelations

“She wasn’t that innocent.” My mother leans forward in the chair next to me. My parents have come to every counseling session that they’ve been allowed to attend. They both visit me every day, spending as much time as possible with me. When they aren’t here, they’re helping Amy and James with their children. My mother places her hand on my knee, and I instantly feel the warmth of it seep into my body. I’m like a child again, needing her touch. I seek it out as much as I possibly can—a little sad for a grown man of thirty-four years old.

“You work for MI5, Ryan. Would you say for example a man holding a child hostage and threatening to kill them was innocent?” my counselor asks.

“No, but the man doesn’t deserve to die all the same. He needs to be taken into custody and punished.”

“But if you had no choice—if it was either the child or the man, would you kill him?”

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