Page 22 of One Last Chance

Shawn stays quiet for a while. I feel his gaze on me but don’t look.

“Well, maybe you just gotta try harder if you’re really interested in someone,” he says in an airy tone that makes me raise my brows in surprise. “You’re always so business-y and reasonable. Stepping aside for people just to make everyone happy, giving up on deals when you’ve calculated the loss will leave things well enough to tolerate or whatever… Sometimes you gotta do the stupid thing, Dad.”

Something inside resonates with those carefree words, thrown out by a young man with not much experience. Maybe he’s right that my way of thinking at work is influencing other aspects of my life. I do weigh every decision in relation to how it will benefit everyone—the firm, or the family—and if the negatives are not too great, not devastating enough to tank me, I let things go. I had to learn that to be successful, but…love is different, isn’t it?

Maybe I should do the foolish, hopeful thing.

“Daaaaad!” I jerk my head up at Mac’s startling shout. He plummets toward us like a falling star, panting. “I’m thirsty. Can I have a snack?”

Shawn and I share a smile.

“There’s a cupcake place not far away. We love going then when we’re st—” He almost chokes up at his words and widens his eyes. “Th-the food is great, so come on!” Jumping up, he taps Mac’s shoulders and pushes him in front of himself to go. I shift on the bench, waiting for Shawn’s guilty gaze to find me with a curious grimace. I can’t find it in myself to be mad at him, so I let out a quiet chuckle and stand.

My father would have given me endless grief about it, but I know there are worse things for Shawn to be doing than gettingstoned in college. As long as he’s enjoying his life and managing school, I consider that a success.

“Come on, Daddy!” Mac shouts at me when I slow down my step behind them, hands in my pants pockets.

“Coming,” I shout at him. Taking in a deep inhale of the fresh air, I take out my phone and look at it.

Doing the stupid thing without overthinking it…

I could try that.

Chapter 8

Dayton

The buzzing of the AC unit is driving me insane, and so is the clicking of my keyboard. With a groan, I rub my temples and stare at the endless sea of black numbers and letters standing out against the bright white screen in front of me. It’s Mondayand barely past lunch and I’m already feeling like a zombie working mid-week overtime.

I roll my eyes back when an email notification pops up in the corner of my screen. It’s from the office supervisor, Anthony.Great. I already sent the work he needed, didn’t I?

‘Dayton, could you please check the charts on page 14? I think you used the data from last month instead of this one by accident.’

“Fuck,” I mutter, quickly opening the last file I sent him. Ididmess up. Again.

Head in my hands, I lean over my keyboard. This is the second time today. Usually, Anthony would end the email with a sharp ‘need it back ASAP’, but today he didn’t, because he knows that the only time I mess up like this is when I’m in heat.I hate this shit.My brain is all mushy and scattered, my head hurts, and my body feels tired but jittery at the same time.

I lean back in the chair and look around my little area.Get your shit together. I can sort myself out at home. For now, there’s still a few hours of work to get through, so I pop in another headache pill, sip my cold coffee, nervously shift in my seat and get back to it.

By the time I arrive home, I’m completely drained and ready to turn off my adult brain. Before I do, I water my plants, otherwise I would put it away for yet another day and I could never neglect my babies like that.

Finally, I take my clothes off, slip into a comfortable lounge set—complete with sweats and a soft top—and get myself a glass of wine before collapsing on the couch.

With a deep sigh, I slowly crank my head back. I thought sitting down would help with the vertigo, but it’s hitting me particularly hard today. My body feels hot and uncomfortable.Stickyin an extra gross way.

I don’t remember Ma ever struggling like this…but again, she always had herother halfbeside her. Whether it’s even actually scientifically proven or just some placebo effect of what people keep perpetuating, having a partner when in rut or heat is supposed to be soothing. Relieving the shitty symptoms that come with this hormonal mess. And the not-so-shitty ones…like actually being able to elevate being so damn horny with the help of another human being, not just your hand.

I close my eyes. I’ve managed to not think about it pretty well. I’ve managed to convince myself what happened with Rowland was nothing but yet another failure. Just another date that didn’t work out, no big deal.

So why do I still feel so hurt when I think about it?

And I can’t even tell why exactly I’m hurt. We saw each other two times. He had no real obligation to tell me about his kids. But I wish he did. Why do I care so much?

When my phone starts vibrating on the coffee table in front of me, I nearly spill my wine. Jerking forward a little too quickly for my hurting head, I groan before opening my eyes wide as I look at the screen.

This is some weird cosmic coincidence if I’ve ever seen one.Rowland.

I sit on my couch, frozen, staring at his name while the phone buzzes in my hand. All the nausea and weird anxiety that’s been bubbling up inside of me the entire day drops to my stomach, and I almost need to puke. Sharply, I place the glass on the table.

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