Last Chance: A Second Chances Novel (38 page)

Hadley

“Y
ou gonna be okay by yourself?” Gabriella asked.

Nodding, I hugged her and Paxton both. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for trying to catch the guy who did this. You risked your life,” I said to Paxton.

He shrugged. “I just wish I’d caught the fucker. Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

I nodded. “I will. But I think you’ve done more than enough for me at this point. I really can’t thank you enough.”

They made their way to the door just as my phone started to ring. It was Felicity. Everything had moved so fast, all I could tell her after the accident was that Nick was in the hospital and that she had to get there. I dreaded having to explain the details.

“Felicity.”

“What the hell is going on? What happened to Nick?” she demanded, her voice rough. I could hear squealing tires in the background.

I had cried so much, I didn’t think it was possible to shed another tear. My mind was numb and my whole body hurt. “Someone broke into my house and shot Nick and Scott. Scott didn’t make it. They told me to run, and . . .” I stopped and threw a hand over my mouth. The guilt came rushing back. I hated myself for putting them in that situation. “They told me to run and I did. Scott would be alive if it wasn’t for me. And who knows about Nick,” I sobbed.

“It’s not your fault. Nick will be okay. We have to believe he’ll be okay.” We cried together until the police chief, Robert Wilson, cleared his throat.

“Felicity, call me as soon as you find anything out about Nick. I have to go.”

We said our goodbyes and I turned to face the chief.

“I know this is a difficult time for you, but I need to ask you some questions,” he said. Robert was a middle-aged man with salt and peppered hair and almost a head taller than me, which was pretty tall considering I was five foot ten. I looked up at him and nodded.

“Okay. But I should probably call my dad before this gets onto the news.”

He shook his head. “No need. I called him already.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Does he know about Scott?”

He sighed and when I opened my eyes, he nodded. “He was a good friend of your father’s, just like I am. George and I go way back, Miss Rivers. And with everything that’s happened, I have a solution to keep you safe. Now follow me. We have a long night ahead of us.”

“You’re moving me
where
?” I gasped, shooting to my feet. Robert sat back in his chair while I paced his office.

Before he could respond, my father spoke up first, his deep voice resonating out of the telephone speaker. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. I know this isn’t want you want, but we have to keep you safe, at all costs.”

“I understand the concern, but why do I have to go all the way to Wyoming? Why can’t I stay in California, somewhere closer to home?”

“Because,” Robert interrupted, drawing my attention, “we need you in a safe place; where no one will recognize you, and no one would look for you. Even your father isn’t going to know exactly where you’re going.” He leaned forward, his gaze serious. “With that being said, no one can know of your location, not even your friends. Understand? You will be going dark until we catch this bastard.”

My gut clenched and I nodded, tears springing to my eyes at the thought of not seeing Nick, or going to Scott’s funeral. My mind shifted to Scott’s family, and the pain they’d be going through. I wouldn’t be around to tell them how sorry I was. Then there was Nick, who was going to be fighting for his life without me to help him through. He’d always been there for me, and now I’d be leaving him in his greatest hour of need.

My dad sighed and the sound startled me. “Not to mention, sweetheart, your tour will have to be put on hold.”

I gasped, I’d totally forgotten about my upcoming commitments across the country.

“There’s just no other way. Once word gets out to the media, your fans will understand. You’ll be too easy of a target if that bastard knows where to find you.”

Exhausted, I sat in the seat across from Robert. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, once all your papers go through. You’ll no longer be Hadley Rivers. We’ll have to give you a new identity.”

Nodding, I wiped at the tears sliding down my cheek. I would be abandoning everyone I cared about, while they dealt with my mess. “How long will I be gone?”

Robert shrugged. “Hard to say. Obviously, if we don’t have luck finding the cocksucker, we can’t keep you hidden forever. But you’ll just be putting yourself at risk if you come back too soon, and without a plan in place.”

“I understand.” I couldn’t stay away forever, and I definitely didn’t want to ever step foot in my house again. The memories were too powerful. I’d never be able to walk in my kitchen and not see Scott and Nick laying in pools of blood. “Where will I be staying tonight? I can’t go back home.”

“You’re coming with me,” Robert explained. “My wife already has the guest bedroom ready for you. Deputy Savage is at your house now, grabbing some of your things. It should be enough until you get to Wyoming.” He looked down at the phone and cleared his throat. “George, I think that about wraps it up. I’m going to step out so you two can talk.”

“Thanks, Robert. I appreciate you taking care of my daughter.”

“Anytime.” Robert grabbed his keys and stepped out of the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I picked up the phone and sat there; the enormity of the situation hitting me all at once.

“Hadley, you there?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m here. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up from this nightmare.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault.”

“Does Scott’s family know?” I asked, swallowing hard. He didn’t have a wife or kids, but he still had parents and siblings who loved him.

The line grew quiet before he came back on. “Yes. They’re upset, but they knew the risks.”

“Will you please tell them I’m sorry?”

“Yes, pumpkin, I will. Now why don’t you go home with Robert and get some rest. You have a long day tomorrow.”

That was an understatement.

Continue reading
Roped In
now

EACH STEP I TAKE IS PAINFUL. Not in the sense that I’ve been physically injured — unless you can count my heart being torn out and ripped to shreds, twice, as being physically hurt — but in the sense that my body aches with any type of movement. I’m sore all over from too much crying and a lack of eating. Withering away to nothing, as my best friend, Lois has been saying for the past two weeks.

The fact that it’s been two weeks since my life has been turned upside down flipped inside out and run through the ringer stops me mid-step. Lois smashes into my back, no doubt looking at her phone, texting someone she shouldn’t be and meddling in my affairs. Even though I love her, I want her to stop. I want to wake up from this nightmare and have my life go back to the way it was six years ago.

Lois places her hand on my back, urging me silently to take the next step, and the next one and the next one after that. She’s been my rock for as long as I can remember, and surprisingly there was a time when I didn’t need her as much, but that’s all changed.

At the top of the staircase sits a table with a small bouquet of freshly picked flowers, a nice touch to the drab location. When Lois pulled in front of the building, I recoiled in my seat. The brick building, old and worn with age, shows no sign of being welcoming. The sidewalk is cracked and weeds grow in between the slabs. The only saving grace is the park across the street, and while it’s empty, it looks inviting, if not a place to escape.

Lois opens the door before I can raise my hand to knock. She’s impatient with me and I understand why. I know deep down she’s afraid I’m going to turn and run. Believe me the thought has crossed my mind a time or two. I know it’s not the answer, but it makes the most sense. If I can’t be found, I can’t be hurt, and I’ve had far too much hurt in my life to last me until my last breath. With her hand on my back, she gives me a gentle nudge to step into the office. The woman behind the glass wall looks up briefly and gives us a half smile. She probably feels the same way I do about the building. It’s lacking in life, much like I am right now.

After giving her my name, I sit down next to Lois. Her face is now stuffed in a magazine, and she’s ignoring me. This is her idea of tough love. I’ve been down this path with her before so I know what to expect. You’d think by now I’d be a pro and can deal with whatever is thrown my way, but I’m not. It seems that every few years my idea of happiness turns into a weak excuse for life.

My name is called, and I’m directed through an open door. The room I step into is lackluster and cold. I cross my arms to ward off an impending shiver and chastise Lois for making me wear a dress today. My cardigan is resting in the backseat of her car when it should be on my shoulders.

“Good morning. What’s your name?”

It’s in the chart on your desk
, I want to yell out, but refrain. Lois would likely hear me and scold me like a child. I’d take it though because she’d be right. The lady behind the desk doesn’t ask me to sit down or guide me to the chair or couch in her office. She doesn’t even look at me. This meeting is feeling a bit too impersonal for my taste, and as I reach for the door, I hear her clear her throat.

“Ryley, I like to ask my patients to say their names so that their identities aren’t forgotten when we start discussing why you’re here.”

It makes sense, I think. I opt to sit on the couch, but only on the edge. I don’t want to be comfortable or complacent.

“Ryley Clarke,” I answer, letting my name flow easily from my lips.

“Tell me, Ryley, what brings you in today?”

Of course she wastes no time punching me in the gut. If it weren’t figuratively, I’d flinch and let her know that it’s not okay to hit, but instead I straighten my back and ponder the question that seems to have brought me to this point in my life. A point where I’m required, no begged, to enter therapy to help figure out the rest of my life. Maybe not even the rest, but the next step. Either step I take leads me down a path of love, pain and irreparable hurt.

Most importantly, I don’t want to be here. I don’t think talking to a third party with a psyche degree is the answer. Sadly, I’m the only one who feels that way. I’ve been told therapy will help, but I’m not so sure it will. You can’t fix something that has been destroyed for years. We aren’t a family of teddy bears with missing eyes or ears that can be sewn back on making us look somewhat new. We’re a damaged bunch, destined for nothing but heartache.

I pick at the threadbare couch that I chose to sit on. It looked more comfortable than the chair in front of her. It’s royal blue, or at least it used to be. I think at one time it was probably soft, plush and very comfortable, and people didn’t have a problem lying back, closing their eyes and letting all their worries flow from their mouths. You would think that with the many people that come through the door, a new couch could be purchased. I may be wrong in my assumption. I likely am. This couch holds secrets that no one ever wants out, and it’s about to know mine too. Maybe that’s why she keeps it this way.