Page 51 of Once Upon A Second Chance

The air leaves my lungs.

Richard's jaw works. "No. But I didn't prevent the problem either."

Jesse scoffs. "That some surgeon word game?"

"No." Richard meets his gaze head-on. "It's the difference between what the court said and what I know. I know the anesthesiologist got the numbers wrong and it harmed the patient, resulting in a bad outcome. My only crime was not insisting on double checking his math."

A car door slams in the distance. Somewhere, a dog barks.

Jesse turns—and spots me frozen in the alley mouth. His face does something complicated before settling into a scowl. "This isn't over, Hogan."

He shoulders past me, his work boots kicking up gravel.

Richard sags against the wall, rubbing his face. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough." My voice sounds raw. "I don’t think I realized you blamed yourself."

The admission hangs between us, fragile as a spider web.

Somewhere inside the clinic, a phone rings. A patient laughs. Life goes on.

Richard reaches for me. Stops. Lets his hand fall. "Where do we go from here?"

I take his hand anyway.

"Forward, of course."

The porch light flickers as I pull into the driveway, casting jagged shadows across the peeling paint of my front steps.

My shoulders ache from the day’s tension, my knuckles still stiff from gripping the steering wheel too tight. The clinic’s chaos, Jesse’s interrogation, Richard’s guilty feelings—it all swirls in my head like storm clouds.

I kill the engine, the sudden silence ringing in my ears. Bijou’s excited barks echo from inside—she must’ve heard the car.

But then I see it.

A shadow shifts on my porch swing.

Not Mrs. Delaney’s familiar silhouette. Not Jesse’s hulking frame.

Him.

My blood turns to ice.

Travis Dawson leans forward, the chains of the swing creaking as his boots hit the wooden planks.

Moonlight glints off the silver hoop in his ear, the one he’d gotten the summer after high school, back when I thought he was charming—before I knew he was manipulative and controlling.

Back before the calls at 3:00 in the morning, the "casual" drop-ins at work, the way his hands had tightened just a little too much around my wrists that last night.

"Hey, Pen." His voice is all honey and venom, just like I remember. "Heard you’ve hooked back up with doc from New York."

Bijou’s barks turn frantic, her paws scratching at the door.

Travis stands, unfolding to his full height—six-two, all lean muscle and bad intentions. He’s dressed like he just came from the auto shop, his grease-stained jeans and tight white tee a deliberate costume.

Remember how I used to fix your car for free?it says.Rememberhow you owed me?

My fingers tighten around my keys, the jagged edges biting into my palm. "Get off my porch, Travis."