Page 125 of Your Second Chance
I could be open to hearing what Austin had to say, not because it was easy or because I wanted to, but because I knew that the people I had—the ones who truly loved me—would support me endlessly.
44
nova
I should have been earlier. I should have gotten a cup of coffee, sat down, and mentally prepared myself. Of course, the day had other plans. Scarlette had thrown up this morning all over Luna and me.
Luna, who was utterly terrified of vomit, had practically barricaded herself in the bathroom, leaving me to clean it up. I didn’t blame her—she was useless when it came to anything remotely gross—but it added to the chaos. I refused to let Aunt Mae step in. She was older, and the last thing I wanted was for her to catch whatever bug Scarlette had.
Instead of a calm morning with time to gather my thoughts, I’d been up to my elbows in disinfectant and trying to reassure a sick kid while juggling everything else.
Here I was, standing in the very last place I wanted to be on agoodday. On a day that had started like this? I wanted to be anywhere but here.
As I walked up to the coffee shop, the cold air biting at my cheeks, I realized maybe the chaos of the morning had been a blessing in disguise. I hadn’t had time to overthink or spiral about what I’d say. No time to rehearse a hundred different versions of this conversation in my head.
It was just me, the brisk Winnetka wind, and the door to the coffee shop in front of me.
I pushed it open, the warm scent of roasted coffee beans wrapping around me as I stepped inside. My heart pounded in my chest, but I moved forward.
There he was. Sitting at a corner table, looking up as the door swung shut behind me.
I didn’t give myself a chance to hesitate. I walked right in, caught his gaze, and gave him a small wave. It felt awkward, but at least I didn’t falter. Without missing a beat, I turned toward the counter, focusing on the barista like this was another ordinary morning.
I can do this.
I repeated the words in my head as I ordered a coffee, my voice surprisingly steady. Ollie told me I was strong, and I clung to that like a lifeline. He told me this was the right thing to do, no matter how much it felt like Austin might try to take her away from me.
The thought still hurt, but I didn’t let it stop me. I grabbed my coffee, took a deep breath, and turned toward the table.
He was leaning slightly forward, his hands resting on the table, and for a moment, I almost didn’t recognize him. This wasn’t the Austin I remembered—the man who stumbled through our life together, always on edge, always fighting some invisible battle he couldn’t seem to win.
He looked . . . healthy.
His hair was clean, his curls softer and more controlled than I’d ever seen them. His clothes were neat, fitted, like he’d put thought into what he wore instead of grabbing whatever was closest. Even his posture was different—more composed, more present.
I knew better than anyone that addicts could hide their struggles, put on a mask that fooled even those closest to them.But there was something about him today. Something that felt different, something I couldn’t quite place, but couldn’t ignore.
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the cup as I walked toward him.
I slid into the chair across from him, trying to keep my hands from shaking. My heart was pounding, as I looked at him. It felt surreal, like seeing a ghost from a life I’d worked so hard to leave behind.
“Hi,” I said, the word feeling heavier than it should.
His expression was guarded but curious, like he didn’t know what to say.
The silence stretched for a moment before I blurted out, “You look sober.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been sober for almost five years now.”
Five years. My mind reeled. Five years ago, I was drowning, carrying so much of his weight, trying to hold us both together. Five years ago, I was fighting to live because of the place I was in. We were both fighting our own battles.
“That’s amazing,” I said, my voice warmer than I expected. I meant it, though. Despite everything, I wanted to believe he was proud of himself. He deserved that, at least. “I bet you’re proud of yourself.”
He let out a small huff of air, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “I am,” he admitted, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of the person he could have been back then. The person I’d hoped he could be.
Sobriety wasn’t easy—I knew that much. For all the anger and hurt I felt, I could still admire what he’d accomplished.
“You’re engaged,” he said.
