Page 189 of Broken Brothers

There wasn’t anything I could do to change their mind, though. I had to find someone else. Even with Sarah, if we wound up together, it was going to be as if it was a brand new person. The Sarah Hill I had fallen for wouldn’t be the same Sarah Hill in a decade’s time.

But I began to realize that just because it hadn’t worked out in my favor with Sarah didn’t necessarily mean that it wouldn’t work out with someone else. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I began to think that I just needed to give things a chance. My name wasn’t Chase, it was Chance. I lived off of the opportunity to have a chance and seize it.

Life would give me a second opportunity, and a third, and a fourth, and so on until I finally got it right. Maybe it would be with Sarah all over again. Maybe it would be with a different girl. Maybe it would be with a different girl a second time. Who knew?

I just knew that there was a such thing as second and third and fourth chances, not just in life and in classes but in romance.It was a comforting thought, and one that might have colored how I really felt in the moment.

But you know what, damnit? I really believed I was named Chance for a reason. I really believed that I would get such chances until I proved myself right.

I just hope whoever I get the best opportunity with is the one I take the most advantage of.

77

It had been two weeks since justice had finally been delivered.

Two weeks ago, I walked into the office of my adopted father, Edwin Hunt, to find Morgan standing there, a whole courtroom’s worth of evidence of Edwin’s misbehavior, criminal threats, and ethical misconduct. It was a battle that had started out as low-level in my early adulthood and had taken on a rather personal flair in recent times. The fight with Edwin was fierce, the kind of thing that you couldn’t make up. He had faked a profile of an old fling of mine to get me to send nudes, and Morgan had apparently betrayed me, only to sell out Edwin in the end.

And yet, all of the fighting and battling had been worth it. With my victory over Edwin, I had finally reclaimed my life as my own. I wouldn’t have to worry about Edwin pulling underhanded maneuvers to defeat my business endeavors. I didn’t have to worry about whose side Morgan was on. Truly, I could live in peace and finally begin to believe in trust.

I had to say, the past two weeks had felt like a vacation, and I hadn’t even quit any of my other goals or business endeavors. Iwas still supplying advice and mentoring to Claire at Rising Sun and to Andrew at Virtual Realty, my two biggest investments, but I wasn’t having to look over my fucking shoulder for the old man. I wasn’t having to wonder if someone would hire away each company’s employees for the sake of fucking me over, not caring what happened to Claire or Andrew.

I could just do my job.

It had also been a week since I had moved out of my previous place, a place that wasn’t even my own, a place that had been something of a precarious place to live. I had moved out of Layla’s apartment and into my own space, a space that didn’t have quite the pizazz of my previous place, but one that provided a lot more of a homely feel and, finally, an apartment that I didn’t have to share with anyone else. I liked Layla and Morgan a lot, don’t get me wrong, but damn it felt good to be able to stretch out in my boxers, on my couch, and not have to apologize to anyone about the view.

Layla hadn’t taken it so well. She and I had started to rekindle our relationship, even having sex one night, but it was the right move. I really, truly wanted to give her a sincere shot. Though I was still in my early twenties, I had had plenty of fun through the years, and Layla had given me something real. She had also shattered my heart, but in some ways, that made it more valuable that we had gotten back together. But in any case, me leaving had made her think that I was leaving her.

I had taken this week apart from her to try and see how I still felt about her.

It was kind of a silly move, really. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Every moment that wasn’t occupied with work usually saw me either looking at her Facebook or Instagram page, thinking about what sex with her was like, or thinking about where we had gone on our dates and where we might go. I kept textingwith her to a minimum, but all that meant was that I had to make a conscious effort not to look like a desperate fool who needed her in my life.

So, in short, I was going to see her soon. Tomorrow, in fact. We had a couple of rules in place I had established—rules Layla wasn’t exactly keen on—but they were rules that were going to help me figure out if she really was the one.

For now, though, I had a couple other people to entertain.

It was six o’clock on a Thursday evening, and I was desperately putting the finishing touches on making my place look presentable. I was cleaner than most guys my age, but I still didn’t feel like it was good enough for the woman coming over. No matter how much I scrubbed the counters or swept the floor, the apartment never seemed clean enough. I suppose that was the curse of living in Manhattan, that pristine was a relative term.

I made sure the table was set and the chicken I had started to bake was coming along nicely. I checked on the sweet potatoes, which also were coming along nicely. Finally, I checked the broccoli and turned on the stove to begin boiling it.

I had the food ready. Now, I just had to get the floor—

A soft knock came at my door. I jumped in surprise, having not checked my phone in the last half hour. I had no idea they were going to come so soon.

“One sec!” I yelled.

I quickly gave the table one last wiping, cleaned my hands, and went to the door.

There, with a huge, easy smile on her face, my mother stood, with my older brother Morgan behind her.

“Oh, Chance, darling,” my mother said as she embraced me.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, feeling even more relaxed with her having come over.

It was a nice feeling to feel this light and free now. I was a fighter by nature—it’s what had gotten me to where I was—but I didn’t really have anything left to fight for. I suppose I could “fight” for Layla, but I had learned relationships were more about building toward something rather than fighting for, at least in the combative, competitive sense.

“And Morgan, you punk,” I said, smiling as he pulled out a bottle of Bacardi rum. “It’s a school night, I can’t be having that.”