Page 14 of Once Upon A Second Chance (Once Upon A Time…To Happily Ever After #2)

Chapter Eleven

Richard

The second I see him—cornering her against the door, hand braced above her head, too close, too smug—I don't think.

I move.

"Get the hell away from her."

Travis turns slowly, like I'm a minor inconvenience. His smirk widens when he sees me. "Speak of the devil."

I don't care what he means. Don't care who the hell he thinks he is.

All I see is Penny—pressed against her own door, her knuckles white around her keys, Bijou's frantic barking vibrating through the wood.

The porch light catches the fear in her eyes before she masks it.

That's all it takes.

I'm between them in two strides, forcing Travis back with my body. He smells like motor oil and cheap beer, his breath hot and sour when he laughs.

"Whoa now. Just catching up with an old friend."

My hand finds his chest. "Last warning."

He glances at Penny over my shoulder, his grin turning vicious. "What? She didn't tell you about us?"

I shove. Hard.

Travis stumbles down the steps, catching himself on the railing. His eyes flash—surprise, then anger. "You got a death wish, Doc?"

"Try me."

For a heartbeat, we're frozen—him on the bottom step, me blocking Penny, the night air thick with tension. Then his shoulders relax, that smarmy smile sliding back into place.

"Whatever. She'll come crawling back when you bail again." He saunters toward his truck, tossing over his shoulder, "Enjoy my leftovers, Hogan."

The engine roars to life, tires spitting gravel as he peels away.

I don't turn around. Can't. Not until my hands stop shaking.

Then—

"Richard."

Penny's voice cracks. When I face her, she's trembling, her fingers still clenched around those damn keys.

I reach for her slowly, giving her time to pull away. She doesn't. My thumb brushes her wrist, feeling the rabbit-quick pulse beneath her skin. "Did he hurt you?"

She shakes her head, but her breath hitches when the neighbor's porch light flickers.

That's all the answer I need.

I cup her face, my touch feather-light. "Look at me."

Her lashes lift, revealing stormy green eyes. There's fear there, yes—but something hotter, darker. Something that makes my blood pound.

The keys clatter to the porch.

Then her hands are in my hair, her mouth crashing against mine. The kiss is all teeth and desperation, her body pressing flush against me. I back her into the door, one arm caging her in as the other finds the curve of her waist.

Bijou's barks turn frantic. Penny nips my lower lip. "Inside. Now."

The door barely closes before she's on me again. Her nails scrape down my chest, fumbling with my buttons. I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my hips as I carry her to the couch.

"Wait," I growl against her throat. "We should—"

"I don't want to talk." She tugs my shirt open, buttons pinging across the floor. "I want to forget."

Her teeth sink into my shoulder. I groan, flipping us so she's beneath me, her hair fanned across the cushions. My hand slides under her shirt, finding warm, soft skin.

"Tell me to stop," I murmur, tracing the lace edge of her bra.

She arches into my touch. "Don't you dare."

She yanks at my belt, breath coming hard and fast. I catch her wrists, pinning them above her head. "Penny—" Her name is a rasp. A plea. She twists beneath me, a fierce, beautiful tangle of limbs and heat. It undoes me.

My mouth finds her neck, tasting salt and skin as my hand slips lower. Her shirt rides up, and I push it over her head, feeling the shiver that runs through her when I bury my face between her breasts.

Her breath hitches again—this time for me—and she writhes against my thigh, frantic and eager.

"Richard," she gasps, snapping the word like a thread.

I let go of her wrists. Her hands are on me instantly, pulling at my jeans until they sag around my hips.

She's relentless, insistent, her touch everywhere at once. I hook a finger in the waistband of her scrubs, tugging them down with one vicious pull.

Her thighs cradle me as I press against her, both of us still half-dressed and wild with need. She loops an arm around my neck, dragging me close for another bruising kiss.

"Please," she breathes into my mouth.

It's enough to make me reckless. I tear off the rest of our clothes, losing myself to the sound of fabric ripping and Penny's soft moans.

Then I'm on her again—in her—her body arching to meet mine in a perfect fit.

We move together in an urgent rhythm—harder, faster—until all I know is this: the slick heat of her skin against mine; the broken way she says my name when she shatters; the fierce relief when I follow.

For a long moment after, we just lay there—limbs tangled and damp with sweat as our breathing steadies. Bijou whines from behind the bedroom door. Penny laughs softly against my chest.

I brush a damp curl from her forehead, kissing the spot it leaves bare. "You okay?"

She nods without lifting her head, tracing lazy circles on my shoulder. "I really have missed you so much. I’d almost forgotten just how much."

The words are light but something catches in them—a sadness that tightens in my chest like an old bruise. I sit up slightly, cradling her face in my hands so she'll look at me.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say quietly.

She closes her eyes for a long beat before opening them again. They're clear now—none of that stormy fear from earlier—but there's something fragile there, too.

"I believe you," she says finally.

I want to believe it—to believe she trusts me again—but there's still so much between us: years of hurt and doubt and things unsaid.

Bijou barks sharply from the other room—a tiny white exclamation point—and Penny smiles wryly as she sits up.

"Guess we should let him out before he chews through the door."

I watch as she pulls on clothes that leave me feeling half-naked: loose pajama pants; an old concert tee I've never seen before; hair twisted into a messy knot on top of her head like a crown made just for this moment—the two of us creating a future together again after so many years.

I realize this is exactly what I’ve been missing.

The clinic smells like it always does—antiseptic, hand sanitizer, and whatever sad attempt at coffee is burning in the break room—but today, there’s something else underneath it.

Tension.

Not the fallout-from-Rebecca tension, or the office-politics kind. This is different. Sharper.

Penny walks through the hallway like she’s waiting for something to jump out of the walls.

I see it in the way she flinches when someone laughs too loudly near the nurse’s station.

The way her eyes flick toward the windows every time the blinds rattle in the breeze.

The way she startles when I call her name—even though I say it softly.

Hypervigilance.

I’ve seen it in patients before. Combat vets, assault survivors, nurses who’ve been through too many traumas in a row without a break.

But I’ve never seen it in Penny.

Not like this.

She drops a chart at her workstation and nearly jumps out of her skin when the printer behind her coughs to life. Her laugh is brittle when she notices me watching.

“Guess I’m a little on edge.”

“You want to take a break?” I ask gently. “You could go sit in the back, take a minute.”

She shakes her head too fast. “I’m fine.”

She’s not.

But I don’t push.

Instead, I shadow her through the morning. Quietly. Casually. The way you might walk beside someone who’s afraid of the dark—not to rush them, not to fix it. Just to be there.

We’re reviewing post-op instructions with Mr. Delgado when it happens again.

A car backfires in the parking lot.

The bang is sharp, unexpected.

Penny jerks so hard she nearly knocks over a tray of gauze.

Mr. Delgado startles. “Lord, what was that?”

“Backfire,” I say quickly, steadying the tray before it tips. “Old Ford, probably.”

Penny’s breathing is shallow. Her knuckles are white on the countertop.

I nudge her gently. “I’ve got this. Go check on the supply delivery, okay?”

She blinks. Nods. Disappears down the hall like she’s chasing oxygen.

Mr. Delgado eyes me. “She all right?”

“She will be,” I say, hoping it’s true.

She’s in the storage room fifteen minutes later when I find her—alone, arms crossed, one foot tapping out a frantic beat against the linoleum. Not crying. Not falling apart.

Just locked in that space between calm and collapse.

I close the door behind me.

“Hey.”

She doesn’t look at me. “I’m not falling apart.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

She swallows. “I hate that he still gets in my head like this.”

“You’re allowed to feel what you feel, Pen.”

“I know. But I still hate it. I was involved with Travis for about half a minute—until I saw him for what he is: a bully and a coward.”

Silence settles between us, heavier than usual.

I move slowly—no sudden movements—and sit on the edge of a crate across from her.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all to me.”

She finally looks at me, green eyes rimmed in tiredness and frustration. “He used to do this thing… show up out of nowhere, kind of threatening, and make it seem like I was being dramatic if I got scared. Like I was crazy for reacting.”

“You’re not crazy.” My voice is steady, but my blood’s boiling.

She exhales. “My brain knows that. My body’s still catching up.”

A pause.

“I didn’t want you to see this side of me.”

I reach for her hand. “This is part of you. That means I want to see it.”

She presses her lips together like she’s holding back tears—or something worse. “What if he shows up again?”

I don’t hesitate.

“If he shows up again, you’ll file a police report. No questions. No hesitation.”

She blinks. “I don’t know—”

“I do.” My voice hardens. “Because you deserve to feel safe in your own home. At work. Anywhere. And if he even thinks about coming near you again, we’ll bury him in legal consequences so deep, he’ll be counting court dates instead of spark plugs.”

That gets the smallest smile out of her. Barely there.

But it’s something.

“You really mean that?” she whispers.

I don’t let go of her hand.

“Yeah, Penny. I do.”

She leans forward until her forehead rests lightly against mine. “You’re not who you used to be.”

“Neither are you.”

The silence stretches again. But this time, it’s not sharp. Not painful.

Just... quiet. Still.

Safe.

And in that quiet, I make myself a promise.

Travis Dawson will never get within ten feet of her again.

Not while I’m breathing.

I’m halfway through a microwaved chicken pot pie and a medical journal article when the knock comes at the motel room door.

Three sharp raps—too confident to be the clerk, too casual to be a cop.

I know who it is before I even open it.

Andrew Keller.

He stands on the threshold looking like he stepped out of a GQ shoot and straight into hell: collared shirt crisp, expensive watch glinting under the porch light, hair styled within an inch of its life.

“Nice place,” he says, eyes flicking over the dated carpet and fading wallpaper like he’s cataloging the damage.

“Not in the mood for company,” I say, already closing the door.

His hand hits the frame. “Just five minutes. No Rebecca. Just me.”

I let it hang there for a beat, then open the door fully and step aside.

He enters like he owns the place—eyes sweeping the room, nose wrinkling at the lingering scent of takeout and hospital soap.

“I came to talk,” he says.

“I gathered.”

He stays standing while I sink back into the armchair, fork abandoned on the tray table.

“Well?” I ask, waving a hand. “Repent, betray, insult, or leave. Pick one.”

That gets a flicker from him. Something like guilt—or the very best imitation of it money can buy.

“I shouldn’t have testified against you,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “No shit.”

Andrew sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I didn’t know what Rebecca was trying to pull back then. I thought the hospital was just covering its ass. I didn’t realize I was playing right into her narrative.”

“You’re a grown man, Andrew. Not a houseplant. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He winces. “Okay. I guess I deserved that.”

I lean back, arms crossed. “What is this, exactly? Your apology tour? Trying to absolve yourself so you can sleep at night while she burns down everything I care about?”

“She’s not—” He stops himself. Starts again. “She’s not as in control as you think.”

I laugh, dry and sharp. “That’s rich coming from the guy who moved in before the ink on the divorce was dry.”

He flinches. Just a bit.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I add. “I’m not jealous. You two deserve each other.”

His jaw tightens. “You don’t know what she’s like now.”

“Oh, I know exactly what she’s like. I just don’t care anymore. But here’s the thing—she’s here. In this town. Where I now plan to live. Stirring up lawsuits, rumors, and ghosts I’ve already buried.”

I stand, slowly and deliberately, walking toward him until we’re eye to eye.

“So let me be clear, Keller. You and your new girlfriend stay the hell out of my business. That includes the clinic, the town, and especially Penny.”

Andrew’s mouth opens, but I’m not finished.

“If you’ve got a shred of decency left, convince her to pack it up and head back to whatever penthouse you two call home. If not—then leave her. Because this small-town circus? She won’t win it. Not here.”

There’s a pause.

Then he scoffs, but the edge is gone from it.

“You really think you’ve changed? Still sound like the same self-righteous prick to me, Richard.”

I shrug. “Better than being a coward who sold out his friend for a footnote in someone else’s power play.”

That hits.

He doesn’t show it much—but I see the twitch in his jaw. The flicker behind his eyes.

A beat of silence.

Then: “You always were good at making people feel like shit.”

I smile, all teeth. “Only the ones who deserve it.”

Andrew turns toward the door. Hesitates. “You really think she’ll walk away just because I ask?”

“No,” I say. “But if you still mean anything to her, you might be the only one who can make her stop before she nukes the whole county.”

He leaves without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stare at it for a long moment, jaw tight.

Then I sit back down, cold pot pie forgotten, and open the clinic’s on-call folder.

If this town’s going to become a battleground, I’ll be damned if I show up unarmed.