Page 69 of Billionaire's Second Chance

"Mom, that's so beautiful," Quinn's eyes watered again. "I wish I could say the same one day about the guy I end up marrying."

"Yeah, if only that guy would pass my test," I joked.

“Oh, please, Damon. You've already set the standard so low," Quinn lashed out.

"You two can wake up the dead with your bickering," my father mumbled from the hospital bed, the sound of his voice jolting all of us off our seats.

"Francis!" My mother shrieked. "Oh, thank you, God!"

She leaned over him, planting gentle kisses on his forehead.

Quinn and I towered over him, afraid to breathe or say a word.

"I was just telling them about our younger days," my mother continued, now looking at my father. "Remember when you would text me in the middle of every interview and smirk on camera when I texted you back?"

My father smiled faintly. "Sure I do."

“He didn’t leave his phone with his PA?” I asked.

“Not that phone,” my mother winked at him. "We had a separate phone just for calling each other."

Something dropped in my stomach. If Francis Alexander, the man who made my skin crawl with just one glance, the man I feared most in my life, if that man was able to give and receive so much love, then why couldn't I?

"It was you, Julia. You turned me into romantic mush," my father drawled weakly as if seeing through my empty stare, answering all my burning questions.

My father wasn't ever going to be this romantic for anyone else. My mother had influenced him. She had made him a better man. She had made him her own.

Ava's image floated to the top of my mind. My pulse escalated with the memory of our last interactions. I had been a complete ass. I had to fix things as soon as I left this place.

***

It was already dusk before I returned to the set. A few crew members were scattered around, each finishing up whatever tasks they had left. I looked around, hoping to find Ava alone. When I didn't see her, I walked toward her trailer. I paused in front of it and listened in for any noise. Nothing. Only the dim light coming through the window suggested that anyone was inside.

I knocked. Footsteps approached the door. She peered through the window, then hesitantly unlocked the door.

"Damon?" She looked at me with curiosity.

"Listen, I—" I began, then turned to look behind me. "Can I come in?"

She cracked the door slightly, just enough for me to walk through it, then closed and locked it.

"What are you doing here all alone this late?" I asked her, genuinely concerned.

"Reading," she responded, her gaze pointing to a pile of books on the table. "I saw you run off earlier. Everything OK?"

"It will be," I held her eyes with mine. "Ava, I came here to apologize. I'm an asshole. An arrogant, hot-headed ass."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, you are. Why the sudden change of heart?"

The events of the day suddenly had me feeling weak and worn out. I slumped on the couch and held my head in the palms of my hands. She remained standing, but her eyes grew more concerned.

"Existential crisis, I guess," I lifted my head to look at her. "The almighty Francis Alexander had a stroke."

With that, Ava rushed to my side, sat beside me, and held my hand.

"Damon, what are you saying? Why are you even here? Why aren't you by his side?" She blurted out.

Her hands felt good in mine. Soothing. Calming.

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