Page 19 of First Chance

Jo

Fuck my life. I’ve burned all of my bridges.

I’m type A to the extreme. I plan everything, make lists, write addendums for my lists, and choose my battles wisely. Yet today of all days, I’ve blown up every single connection that I have. I have nowhere to go. I refuse to go home, and I have no one else.

It’s almost midnight as I idle in front of the gates to Second Chance Sanctuary. I’m way more uncertain about driving through them now than I was the first time I was here.

I shouldn’t be here, it’s late, and he told me not to be here at night but, I’ve already pissed him off once today.

How much worse could it get?

My feet are aching so badly by the time I park and turn my car off that I rip my shoes off and chuck them into the backseat. I’ll just curl up in my seat and get some rest somewhere I feel safe. I can figure out my life tomorrow. I’ll come up with a plan, I’ll–

“What the hell are you doing here?” Lochlan barks at me through my window, forcing my eyes wide. It’s so dark I didn’t even see him comeoutside.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” I admit, pitifully, my voice barely sounds real as it escapes through the crack I made in the window.

He stares at me with those dark eyes that are always filled with so much conviction. So much anger. But this time they look filled with sorrow.

“Come have a seat on the porch.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, and it doesn’t seem like he’s giving me a choice as he steps back, giving me space to open my door.

I don’t necessarily want to get out of my car just to be scolded, but it’s better than being told to get the hell off his property.

He holds my door open as I climb out of the car, letting the cool paving stones bite at my bare feet. I don’t rush to get to the porch, accepting the discomfort after the day that I’ve had.

Lochlan trails me until I get to the rocking chairs and then indicates for me to sit in the chair next to his. There’s a short glass sitting next to his seat, a finger of amber liquid in it that is dark enough to be bourbon.

We sit next to each other in silence for so long that a chill whispers across my skin, and I hug myself to ease it.

“You can’t sleep here in your car,” he says suddenly as if all this time he’s been trying to figure out what to say and that’s what he came up with.

He stands up, and I think that’s the end of the conversation, but he only snatches a jacket from inside the doorway to drape over me. It smells like he’s worn it a few times, but clean like men’s soap with a slight twang of cigar smoke. He either smoked one a while ago, or he’s been around someone who has.

I like it.

“I was hoping to be gone before you woke up. I thought maybe you wouldn’t notice.” I tuck the jacket up under my chin, burrowing deeper into it.

“You don’t know what time I wake up.”

I huff. He always says what I expect, but not at all at the same time. “You’re right, I was just hoping to avoid making you mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, Jo.”

“Really? Had me fooled.”

He sighs and downs the rest of his drink. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

“Then why did you say it was okay?” The question rumbles from his chest roughly, but with hesitant curiosity.

“I don’t know, that’s what you say when someone apologizes.”

“Don’t do that.”

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