Page 19 of Once Upon A Second Chance (Once Upon A Time…To Happily Ever After #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Penny

The local news article online has the kind of headline you’d expect from a town that once ran a front-page story about a goat getting stuck in the elementary school playground:

"Mount Juliet Doctor Saves Toddler from River!"

The subhead reads even better:"Quick-thinking orthopedic surgeon hailed as hero after daring rescue on Cedar Trail."

I skim through the piece again, grinning like an idiot.

It’s got everything: a breathless parent quote (“He just jumped in without a second thought!”), a shaky cell phone picture of Richard half-soaked with the kid clinging to him like a life raft, and even a closing paragraph about how the mayor is "considering" an honorary mention at the next town council meeting.

I’m still shaking my head when the clinic door swings open.

Speak of the devil—and apparently, local legend.

Richard walks in like he hasn’t just made the town’s collective heart grow three sizes.

Jeans, sneakers, a slightly damp baseball cap shoved backward on his head. He’s carrying two coffees and a bakery bag like it’s just another Tuesday.

I cross my arms and lift a brow. “You planning on mentioning anything about the whole ‘rescuing a child from a raging river’ thing? Or were you just going to sneak in here three hours later and pretend nothing happened?”

He smirks and sets the coffees down. “I figured you’d hear about it somehow.”

“Oh, I heard.” I grab one of the cups, inhaling the blessed scent of caffeine. “Along with the rest of the tri-county area, apparently. The story is already online and it looks like it’s trending.”

He looks mildly embarrassed, which just makes it worse—or better, depending on how you view your boyfriend becoming accidental hometown royalty.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter around the rim of the cup.

“You’re impossible,” he says, bumping my hip lightly as he passes.

I roll my eyes, but my chest feels about three sizes too full.

By midmorning, the buzz has fully set in.

It starts with a patient I’ve been treating for a torn rotator cuff—Mrs. Henley—who spends her whole ultrasound session fishing for details.

“He just leapt right in?” she asks, wide-eyed, as I work the probe over her shoulder.

“Apparently,” I say, trying to keep my voice professional even as my cheeks tug upward.

“And he’s your Richard Hogan, right?”

I hum noncommittally.

She beams. “My granddaughter says he looked like a superhero coming out of that water.”

By noon, half the waiting room is chattering about it. Darlene’s already printed the article and tacked it to the front desk corkboard, complete with a glittery star sticker and the words "OUR VERY OWN HERO" in bubble letters.

Even Simmons, who’s been pretending Richard doesn't exist for the last two weeks, claps him on the shoulder in the hallway and mutters, “Hell of a thing you did.”

The shift is almost palpable.

Patients who used to give him the side-eye now stop him in the halls, shaking his hand, thanking him.

Moms schedule appointments for no real reason other than “just wanting a checkup” and maybe a glimpse at Mount Juliet’s newest folk hero.

It’s ridiculous.

And also a little bit perfect.

Richard takes it all in stride—modest, quiet, the same way he handled the real emergencies when the tornado hit. Like being a good man is just what you do even when no one’s watching.

I catch his eye as I finish up my last patient before lunch. He’s standing by the reception desk, coffee in one hand, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to get used to all the attention.

I wink.

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 patient files.

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. You do. 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 he speaks 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.

Bare.

Alive.

Then I laugh—a shaky, watery sound that feels like it’s breaking something loose inside me—and say, “Screw the rules.”

His mouth is on mine before the words even finish leaving my lips.

It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s heat and desperation and relief all tangled together, months—years—of walls crashing down in one glorious, messy collapse.

I fist the front of his shirt, dragging him closer, and he groans into my mouth like he’s been waiting forever to kiss me like this without permission, without hesitation, without rules.

“Penny,” he says, voice rough, desperate, like a prayer he’s been holding inside for years.

“I know,” I whisper against his mouth. “Me too.”

Then—His phone rings.

Sharp. Loud. Impossible to ignore.

Richard lets out a groan of pure agony, forehead dropping against my shoulder.

“Don’t answer,” I mumble, trying to pull him back to me.

He kisses my collarbone, lingering, reluctant. “Could be the hospital.”

I let him go because that's what adults do, even when every cell in my body screams otherwise.

He digs the phone out of his back pocket, still half holding me, and squints at the screen.

His whole body goes stiff.

“Who is it?” I ask, pushing up onto my elbows.

He grimaces. “My mother.”

I sit up fully now, tugging my shirt back into place. “You should answer.”

He scrubs a hand over his face like he’s already regretting it, then taps the screen and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Ma,” he says, voice dropping into that clipped, careful tone I’ve only ever heard him use with his parents.

I stand and start gathering the coffee mugs from the table, pretending I’m not eavesdropping.

There’s a pause, then Richard says, “Yeah, I’m still in Mount Juliet. At least a little longer.”

He listens, nodding.

His free hand gestures vaguely like he’s trying to shoo me away, but I just lean against the counter, arms crossed.

Then, his mother’s voice—sharp, nasal—crackles just loud enough for me to catch a word here and there.

"New... relationship... someone serious?"

My heart beats a little faster.

I don’t know why I’m holding my breath.

Maybe it’s stupid.

Maybe it’s—

“No,” Richard says, quick and sure. “No one.”

The word hits harder than a slap.

I set the mugs down a little too hard, the clatter making him glance over.

I look away.

The call ends a minute later with promises to see each other soon—"Your father’s flying down too, we're staying at the inn, you’ll make time for dinner, won’t you?"—and then Richard slides the phone into his pocket like he didn’t just knock the air out of me.

He turns toward me, smiling like nothing happened, like we could just pick up where we left off on the couch.

But I’m already moving.

I yank the door open so hard it rattles in its frame.

“Penny,” he says sharply, confusion flashing across his face. “What’s wrong? Are you…?”

“I have to get back to work now.”

He freezes, still standing by the couch, his hand half-lifted like he was about to reach for me again.

“Talk to me, Penny. What’s happened?”

I grip the edge of the door with white-knuckled fingers. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to pretend I didn’t just hear what I heard—but it’s lodged there, deep and ugly and undeniable.

I shake my head. “What’s happened? I think you made it pretty clear on the phone just now.”

He crosses the room in two strides, closing the distance between us.

“Penny, come on,” he says, softer now. “It’s my mother. You know what she’s like.”

I laugh—a hollow, brittle sound that feels nothing like me. “Yeah. I know exactly what she’s like. And I know exactly what you’re like when you talk to her.”

He flinches.

“You told her there’s no one.”

My voice cracks despite every ounce of strength I try to muster. “No one, Richard, like I’m nothing. Like we’re nothing.”

“It’s not—” He scrubs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” I snap, feeling the hurt clawing up my throat. “You can jump into a river to save a stranger’s kid but you can’t tell your own parents you're with me?”

His face twists. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s simple.” My hands tremble at my sides. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Penny.” He says my name like he’s trying to anchor me, but the ground’s already gone.

He looks tired. Strung out. Like he’s stuck between fight and flight and he doesn’t know which way will hurt less.

“You think I don’t remember what they said about me back then?” I say, my voice low and shaking. “Just a physical therapist. Not good enough. Not ambitious enough. Not polished enough for their precious son.”

He closes his eyes like the words physically hit him.

I press on, because if I don’t get it all out now, it’ll rot inside me. “And maybe you think that too. Maybe you’ve always thought that. You just got lonely enough to forget for a while.”

“That’s not true,” he says immediately. He reaches for me again, and I see the desperation in his eyes now—the part of him that’s realizing he’s already lost this round.

But I don’t let him touch me.

I can’t.

I shake my head once, sharp and final.

“Save it,” I whisper.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

The clinic begins to come alive again, staff returning to their duties after the lunch break, patients checking in for their appointments. A dog barks outside somewhere. The normal world continues like nothing's breaking apart in my life…in my heart.

Finally, slowly, he drops his hand.

He swallows hard.

“Okay,” he says, voice raw. “Okay. We’ll talk more later, when we have more privacy.”

And then he turns—shoulders stiff, head down—and walks down the hall.

I watch him walking away and, for the first time in a long time, I realize—

Sometimes love isn’t enough to undo the ways people have already broken you.

Not unless they’re willing to fight harder than this.