Page 91 of Once Upon A Second Chance

But the thing about building something real?

You have to fight to keep it.

I sit down at the table with Penny, trying to pretend the phone buzzing in my pocket isn’t burning a hole through me.

She sets two mugs down, one in front of me, one in front of herself, and then starts buttering toast with quick, efficient movements. She’s talking about something—some new patient who insisted on bringing his pet parrot to therapy—but my brain is only catching every other word.

Because all I can hear is Andrew’s text, looping in my head.

Rebecca’s not done.

I should tell her. Right now. No secrets. No hedging. No protecting her by keeping her in the dark, because that’s not love—that’s fear.

And after everything, after the hell I already put her through, I don’t want fear dictating a damn thing between us.

I clear my throat.

Penny glances up immediately, brow furrowed, half-lifting her coffee cup toward her lips but pausing when she sees my face. "What is it?"

I wrap my hands around the mug, staring into the steam like it’ll give me better words. "I got a text. From Andrew."

Her expression shutters instantly, suspicion snapping into place. "And?"

I take a breath. "He said Rebecca’s not finished. That she’s planning something big."

For a second, the only sound is the faint pop of the toaster behind her.

Then Penny sets her cup down very carefully, so carefully it’s almost scarier than if she’d slammed it. She leans back in her chair, arms crossed.

“Of courseshe is.”

I watch the anger gather behind her eyes, sharp and electric, the way a summer storm creeps up from the horizon—beautiful and dangerous all at once.

“She’s been quiet for too long,” Penny mutters, mostly to herself. "Too quiet."

I open my mouth to say something—maybe to apologize for bringing this into her morning—but she’s already moving, grabbing her phone off the counter with a determined flick of her wrist.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She scrolls through her contacts with the focus of a surgeon preparing for a high-risk operation. “Calling in the cavalry.”

Before I can ask who that means, she hits the call button.

The phone rings once, twice, and then Lena’s voice bursts through the speaker, loud enough I can hear every word.

“Penny? Babe? Finally! I’m SO glad you called.”

There’s no context, no hesitation. Like Lena’s been sitting by the phone for days, just waiting to unleash hell.

Penny grins, savage and satisfied, the expression lighting up her whole face.

“Yeah, I need dirt. Serious dirt. Anything you’ve heard about Rebecca Churchill. No filter.”

Lena practically cackles. “Ooooh girl. You are about to owe meso much pie.”

They chat for a few more minutes, Lena promising to call her back with details so juicy they might legally qualify as libel.

Penny hangs up looking calmer, fiercer, a little amused like she’s already planning three steps ahead.