Page 85 of Once Upon A Second Chance

I cross to the window and push the curtain back just enough to peek out.

And there he is.

Richard.

Standing on the porch, truck still running behind him, looking like he just ran a marathon and lost a fight with a hurricane somewhere along the way.

He’s breathing hard, hair tousled, hands fisted at his sides like he’s trying to physically hold himself back from kicking the door down.

My heart slams against my ribs.

I don’t move at first. Just stand there, watching him, frozen by the force of wanting and fear and hope all crashing together in one overwhelming wave.

He shifts his weight, aboutto knock.

About to say something.

And I know, in that split second, that whatever happens next—

It’s not going to be quiet.

It’s not going to be simple.

It’s going to bereal.

I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and move toward the door.

Because I’m tired of being afraid of the things that matter most.

I open the door before he can knock.

Richard startles slightly, like he wasn’t sure I’d answer, like part of him expected me to leave him standing out there in the dark.

He looks up at me, and for a second neither of us says anything.

It’s all there between us—the apology in his eyes, the fear in mine, the thousand things we never said because we were too proud, too scared, too stubborn.

“I’m sorry,” he says first, voice rough around the edges, like he ran here through a storm even though the night is dry. “Penny, I am so goddamn sorry.”

I fold my arms tightly across my chest, not to push him away, but to hold myself together. I don’t trust myself not to break if he gets too close too fast.

“For what, Richard?” My voice is low, steadier than I feel.

“For lying to your parents? For making me feel like I was something to be ashamed of? Or for not fighting for me when it should’ve been the easiest thing in the world to tell them the truth?”

His face crumples, just for a moment.

He steps forward, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t touch me. His hands hover at his sides like he’s afraid even that would be too much.

“For all of it,” he says, voice breaking. “I was scared. Not of you. Not of us. Of... failing you again. Of screwing it up like I always do. Of my parents looking at me the way they always have—like I’m not good enough for the life they imagined. And somehow, instead of choosing you—the only thing I ever gotright—I defaulted back to being the son they wanted instead of the man I’m supposed to be.”

The words hit me like stones—not because they hurt, but because they’re raw and real andhis. He’s not hiding anymore, not smoothing the edges to make it easier for me to forgive him.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, jaw tight.

“They’re in town. They came to visit. Took one look at this place and told me I was wasting my life. My mother... she asked about relationships again.”

He lets out a sharp breath, half laugh, half broken noise. “And today, I didn’t lie. I told them everything. About you. About us. About how I love you more now than I ever thought was possible when we were kids who thought we knew everything.”