Page 4 of Her Second Chance

I stand and stumble into the bedroom, tequila in hand. The black designer garment bag mocks me from my walk-in closet. I twist and turn until I get my zipper down and step out of the dress I wore to dinner with Hunter.

I rip the bag off its hook and unzip my dream dress. It’s a delicate lace, strapless dress that’s fitted down the hips and bells out with a mermaid skirt. The lace has hand sewn beads making the dress sparkle when the light catches it. I clumsily step into the dress and pull it up, ripping a delicate piece of lace. The weight of the dress causes me to lilt to the right, swaying as I try to remain standing.

Has it always been this heavy?

I grunt, taking another swig of tequila before trying to secure the back of the dress. I can’t do all the buttons by myself, so I go up as far as I can. I hold the front to my chest and take in my disheveled appearance in the mirror. My mascara has run down my face, and I’ve rubbed half of the eyelash extensions off my right eye. The scar from the tattoo along my collarbone is barely visible, having been removed long ago, but I know what it used to say.

Jason.

Does he still have my name branded onto his skin? I doubt it. He’s probably married with kids by now. I bet he’s stupidly happy. Good for him. He deserves happiness. I can’t even remember why we broke up anymore. The details of our relationship have become muddled. Still, I can’t forget the feel of his lips pressed to mine. The urgency of his kiss, breathing life into me, is seared into my brain. It probably always will be.

I take another gulp of the wretched liquor and reach for my laptop before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. Bruno peeks out from under the bed before crawling into my lap. His tongue darts out as he kisses my salty tears. My head bobs and my eyes droop. I pull up the social media website I rarely check and type Jason’s name into the search bar.

Jason Adams.

My eyes are heavy as I try to blink away what feels like sand. There are fifty-seven Jason Adams on this site. I click the first one. It’s a kid who looks like he’s still in high school. The next Jason Adams is a guy who’s middle-aged and balding, wearing a shirt emblazoned with a rifle. Definitely not him.

I sigh, blinking. I blink again, longer this time as I wait for Jason Adams' number three to load.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink. . .

Chapter 2

Hannah

Rubbing my lips together, I groan. My mouth is dry, as if I was munching cotton balls in my sleep. I blink in rapid succession, shaking my head, an action I immediately regret. My head throbs. What the fuck did I do last night?

I reach up to wipe the sleep from my eyes and notice the absence of my engagement ring. Hunter breaking up with me comes back to the forefront of my mind, distracting me from the fact that my perfect manicure has been replaced by chewed to the quick, bare nails.

I groan.

“I still feel fucked up,” a voice says, causing me to bolt upright in bed, a move I immediately regret as it has me grabbing my head in hopes of keeping my brain from dripping out my ear.

I turn to see who’s in the room with me. My freshly painted beige walls have been replaced with dingy gray ones, chipped and scuffed. I’m not at home. What the hell? I blink several times, looking around. The old walls and crown décor are familiar, yet not. What did I do last night?

“Where am I?” I rub my temples as my brain bounces around my skull.

A giggle draws my attention to the other person in the room. I see a twin-sized bed less than five feet from the one I’m lying in and strawberry blonde hair spilling over the pillow. When the person rolls over, I gasp.

“Grace?” Am I still dreaming? I haven’t seen Grace since we had a falling out our senior year of college. The details are fuzzy, but it involved lots of passive aggressive moments before one big argument that sent us in opposite directions. She didn’t approve of me giving up my internship to move to Texas with Hunter. I told her she could do way better than her off-again, on-again relationship with her boyfriend Cory. At the time, I thought she was jealous because Hunter was such a catch where Cory was a total loser. We never spoke again after the yelling match outside our sorority house. I ran into her once a few years ago at homecoming when Hunter and I were visiting the campus, but she wouldn’t even look at me. I tried to apologize for the shitty things I’d said. Sadly, it wasn’t enough. I traded my best friend for a guy, and not even one that was worthy.

“I didn’t realize you were so drunk last night,” she says, rubbing her temples.

I study her face. She looks exactly the same as she did when we were pledging. “You look so good.”

“Now, I know you’re still drunk. I feel like I was rode hard and put up wet.” She rubs the back of her neck, rolling her shoulders as if to drive her point home.

I roll to the side of my bed, placing my feet on the floor, moving into an upright position at a snail’s pace. The room sways, and I reach out, catching myself by placing my hand on the corner of the desk beside the bed. “I need coffee and an explanation of how I ended up here. Why are you even talking to me?”

She sits up, smoothing her hair out of her face. She holds up a finger. “One, I have no idea how we got home. Last thing I remember, we were using our fake IDs to get into Murphy’s.” She holds up a second finger. “And two, best friends tend to speak on a regular basis. Especially when they’re roommates.”

I squint, studying her face to see if she’s pranking me or something. I notice the mirror over her shoulder. My hands shoot to my face when I see my reflection.

“Oh! My! God! My skin! My hair!” I look, well, I look thirteen years younger. My bleached blonde hair has returned to its natural dark brown, almost black hue. The Botox injections that pulled my eyebrows into a surprised look have relaxed and the fillers are absent from my now thinner lips. I don’t look like a Dallas trophy wife anymore. “What in the actual fuck?” I whisper, pinching my cheeks.

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