Page 3 of Her Second Chance

My mouth drops. “Are you kidding me? You want my dog?” I’ll be damned if that son of a bitch gets my fat, one-eyed Yorkie. Bruno is my baby. There’s no way I’m allowing that. “You gave him to me on our first anniversary. He’s mine. You can’t take him back now.”

Hunter pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “He’s my dog too, Hannah.”

“When’s the last time you walked him? Or fed him? Or paid him any fucking attention?” I pick up his drink and toss it back, choking it down as my anger reaches its boiling point.

He rubs his hands down his face, a sign that he’s tired of this conversation, tired of me. “Fine.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “You can keep the dog.”

I grab my purse and storm out of the restaurant. The effects of pounding three drinks in such a short time hits me. Hard.

Once outside, I fumble with my phone, ordering a car to come get me. Our penthouse isn’t too far away, but in the ridiculous stilettos I wore because Hunter thinks they make my legs sexy, I’d probably break my neck. Drunk plus heels will certainly equal death.

Luckily, I don’t have to wait long for the car to arrive. The driver takes one look at me and decides it’s in his best interest not to engage in conversation. Good call, buddy. I’d probably start blubbering about how I’ll never find love. Or worse, start waxing poetic about the one that got away.

I text my friends frantically on the six-block ride, but none of them respond. I’m not surprised. Sue has a new baby, and Allie is on her honeymoon in Fiji. I’ll probably be the spinster friend who gets uninvited to everything now that I’m not part of a couple. Nobody in their thirties wants to invite the sad single friend. My social life is officially dead. Fucking Hunter. He ruined everything. Not that it matters. The only friend I want to talk with is Grace. Unfortunately, that can’t happen. She wouldn’t answer my call.

I don’t even respond to the driver when he pulls in front of my building. Kirk stands in front of the building, grinning. He’s always smiling. Usually, I like that about him, but tonight, I want to smack the happiness right off his face. Misplaced anger or not, I have a lot of it coursing through my veins at the moment.

“Good evening, Ms. Carpenter.” It takes a fraction of a second for me to realize he doesn’t look me in the eye. In fact, I can’t remember the last time he did.

I stumble to a stop as it hits me. “Did you know?”

His eyes widen. I look down and realize I’m grabbing his lapels. I step back, trying to reign in my crazy train. No need to get an assault charge to cap off this shitty night.

My nostrils flare as I breathe hard. “Has he brought her here?” I ask, teeth clenched.

Kirk looks away.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. He paraded another woman into my apartment, and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me. What the fuck? I bake you cookies once a week.”

Kirk steps back and opens the door, still not meeting my gaze.

I snort. “Bros before hoes, I guess.”

I storm past him, my head throbbing in time with my racing pulse. This time of night the entry way is empty allowing me to wait for the elevators in privacy, muttering under my breath all the things I wish would happen to Hunter and a few I wouldn’t mind spilling over onto Kirk, who I now see as his accomplice. When the elevator arrives, I’m still alone. Thank god for small favors.

I punch the button to the penthouse so hard I break a nail. Stupid fake nails. What artist has nails this long? I frown. What artist goes three years without creating anything? Or has it been longer? I’ve been too busy playing the perfect future Mrs. to Hunter that I haven’t done the one thing that feeds my soul.

By the time the doors open to my foyer, I want to rip shit off the walls. Instead, I unlock my door and go straight to the bar. I grab the first bottle I see, not even bothering to read what it is. Bruno picks up on my dire mood and scampers off to the bedroom, presumably to hide under the bed. Not that I blame him. Hell, I’d hide from me too.

I try not to puke when the amber liquid hits my tongue. Ugh! Fucking tequila. I haven’t had this shit since Jason and I went to Mexico for Spring Break our junior year of college.

Jason.

I close my eyes and slump against the wall, sliding down until my ass hits the polished marble floor.

Jason.

I haven’t thought of him in years. Why did my mind turn to him now?

The tears I’ve been holding back since Hunter shattered my illusion of a perfect life hit with a vengeance. Despite feeling like I hate him right now, I love Hunter. I’ve loved Hunter since the moment he saved me from tripping over some passed out pledge and falling down the stairs during a party at his fraternity house. He was everything I thought I wanted. Tall, handsome, and wealthy. As a girl who grew up on a ranch, never having much of anything, Hunter represented a life I thought meant success. But more importantly, he represented safety.

Fresh off my breakup from the only guy I’d ever seriously dated, I needed to feel wanted, to feel worthy, to feel safe. Hunter filled that void and then some. He swept me off my feet. And at some point, during all that sweeping, I forgot who I was. I became the woman he wanted me to be and felt lucky every step of the way. When did I become so weak?

Still, as much as I love Hunter, I never felt one tenth of the passion I felt with my first love. Hunter was comfortable. And I think deep down, I knew he could never shred my heart if he left me. Not the way Jason did. When Jason left, I was abandoned, struggling to survive. Yes, I realize that’s a bit dramatic, but it’s true. He ran over my heart and left it barely beating, clinging to life.

I take a long swill of the tequila, grimacing through my tears. Now, the safe choice has left me, and I’m alone. I’ll never get to walk down the aisle wearing that white dress.

Dress.

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