Page 75 of Once Upon A Second Chance

He shakes his head, smiling despite himself.

And in that moment, I know it doesn’t matter how many rumors get started, how many accusations swirl or sideways glances sting.

Because at the end of the day, people will remember the man who jumped into the river.

And so will I.

The clinic empties out slowly after lunch, the usual post-morning rush lull settling over the halls.

Darlene’s humming badly along with the radio, Lena’s flipping through supply orders, and Simmons disappears into his office with a grunt and a stack of patientfiles.

I find Richard in the break room, standing by the window with a third cup of coffee, staring out at the parking lot like he’s a million miles away.

I close the door behind me.

He glances over, catching sight of me, and immediately straightens, like he’s preparing for whatever disaster might walk through next.

“Hey,” I say, soft.

“Hey.”

I cross the room and slip my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his chest. His heart beats steady and strong under my ear.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

Then I tip my head back to look at him.

“I’m proud of you,” I say simply.

Something in his face shifts—just a little. The muscles around his mouth go slack, his eyes soften.

“Not because of today,” I add. “Not because you jumped into a river or made the front page. But because of who you are. Who you’ve always been. Even when no one was looking.”

His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer like he needs the anchor as much as I do.

“I didn’t do anything special,” he murmurs.

“You did. Youdo.Every day.”

The quiet stretches between us again, but it’s different now—fuller, heavier with something inevitable pressing between our ribs.

I lift a hand, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingers.

“You know,” I say lightly, “we haven’t exactly been following the rules lately.”

He huffs a soft laugh against my hair. “Not even a little bit.”

“We're supposed to be taking things slow. Two sleepovers a week. No big declarations. Remember?”

His hand cups the back of my neck, gentle but sure. “Yeah. I remember.”

I feel the breath he draws in, deep and steady, before hespeaks again.

“I love you, Penny Morgan,” he says, voice low and rough and utterly certain. “I’m sorry I broke the rules. I’m sorry I didn’t keep it simple, didn’t make it easy. But I’m not sorry I found my way back to you.”

For a second, the words just hang there.

Open.