Page 99 of Once Upon A Second Chance
At the end of the meal, as the plates are cleared and the waiter brings the check, my mother reaches across the table and places her hand lightly over Penny’s.
"I want to thank you," she says, her voice softer than I’m used to hearing. "For standing by Richard. For protecting him when he didn’t even realize he needed it."
Penny blinks, momentarily speechless.
My mother squeezes her hand once, gently, then lets go, sitting back like she hadn’t just lobbed a grenade of emotion into the middle of the table.
I glance at Penny, who’s still absorbing it, then at my father, who gives me a short, approving nod.
Maybe we’re not going to be the kind of family that spills out declarations of love over every meal.
Maybe we’re not perfect.
But maybe—just maybe—we’re getting somewhere.
And as I reach for Penny’s hand under the table, twining our fingers together, I know with absolute certainty that whatever comes next, we’re ready for it.
Together.
The truck’s engine rumbles low beneath us as we head back toward Penny’s place, the headlights carving a soft path through the quiet streets of MountJuliet.
The town’s tucked into sleep already—porch lights glowing, windows dark—and for the first time in what feels like years, there’s nothing chasing us. No lawsuits. No scandals. No ghosts clawing at the door.
Just her.
I glance over at Penny, half expecting to find her smiling the way she did at dinner, laughing at something my mother said, her hand brushing mine under the table. But she’s quiet, staring out the passenger window, her forehead resting lightly against the glass.
There’s a pinch between her brows that wasn’t there earlier.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low, careful not to break whatever thread of peace we’ve managed to weave tonight.
She turns her head and gives me a soft smile, squeezing my hand where it rests between us on the seat. “Yeah. Just tired, I think.”
She’s lying. Not about being tired—that much is probably true—but there’s something else lingering behind her eyes.
Something unsettled. But when she leans over a second later and rests her head lightly against my shoulder, I decide maybe it’s nothing that won’t heal with sleep and time.
Maybe we’re both just feeling the weight of the fight we finally won.
I squeeze her hand gently and focus on the road, letting the steady hum of the tires soothe the last frayed edges of my nerves.
By the time we pull into her driveway, the stars are thick overhead, the porch light casting a familiar golden halo across the front steps. I kill the engine, and for a moment neither of us moves. The quiet between us is full, but not heavy. Just... charged.
I turn toward her, meaning to say something—maybe something stupidly simple likeI love youagain, likethank you for tonight—but whatever words I had vanish when I see the way she’s looking at me.
Open.
Hungry.
Mine.
Before I can second-guess it, I’m reaching across the console, cupping her jaw with one hand, pulling her in for a kiss that’s supposed to be gentle.
It’s not.
She meets me halfway, her fingers threading into my hair, tugging just hard enough to make my pulse spike. It’s messy, desperate, all the gratitude and exhaustion and need boiling over at once.
We break apart just long enough to fumble out of the truck, slamming the doors behind us, laughing breathlessly as we stumble up the front steps. I barely register the key turning in the lock before I’m crowding her against the door, hands skimming under the hem of her dress, mapping familiar territory like a man starved.
