Page 64 of Second Chance Fate (Hope Falls: Brewed Awakenings #5)

Taylor inhaled slowly through her nose and exhaled slowly out of her mouth as she tried to identify exactly what she was feeling.

It took her a little bit to pinpoint what it was.

She felt calm, happy, and at peace. Which, granted, was a new state for her to be in, but she still wasn’t exactly sure why she was hiding in the bathroom while the reception was in full swing.

For years, she’d functioned as a person who was in survival mode.

A person who had no one to depend on. A person who was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and nine times out of ten, it not only dropped, it had a bomb attached to it that detonated when it hit the ground. But that wasn’t her reality anymore.

Not only did she have the most supportive, protective, loving, oh, and hot partner and father to raise Owen with, in Caleb, but she also had an entire community around her that would be there if she or Owen ever needed anything.

She used to allow herself to fantasize about a romantic relationship, but she never came close to imagining her life as it was today.

Just like Owen saying Caleb was a better version of the fictional Coach Taylor, he was also better than the fictional man of her dreams.

Hearing him speak today made her feel so proud, so incredibly proud, that this was the man who was not only the father of her son but also her husband.

He was the man who chose to marry her. It felt like she was dreaming or she was living in a fairy tale, and Caleb was even better than a prince because he was actually real, and he came with a built-in support system.

She’d always heard it takes a village to raise a child, but she didn’t even know villages like this existed.

So why was she hiding in the bathroom while right outside the door there were hundreds gathered down by the riverside celebrating her and her husband’s marriage?

For the last hour, she’d spoken to more people and been hugged more than she probably had in her entire life, and she was not being hyperbolic.

Annie told her yesterday that the church would welcome her with open arms; she hadn’t realized that she meant that so literally.

Taylor was feeling fine physically and didn’t feel ill, and she wasn’t that fatigued, but she was drained mentally and emotionally from sensory overload.

When she heard the squeak of the bathroom door opening, for some reason she panicked, rushed into the stall in the corner, sat on the toilet, and lifted her knees up to her chest so her feet were off the ground to hide. She wasn’t trying to be sneaky; she just wanted a few more minutes to herself.

Before the bathroom door closed behind her, she heard a female voice she didn’t recognize speaking in a tone that sounded stretched tight, like a rubber band about to snap. “Yes, I’m still at Yaya’s in Hope Falls. Yes, I’m staying here. No, I haven’t answered his calls.”

Taylor watched a pair of black Chuck Taylor Vans with white trim walk to the other side of the bathroom under the stall.

“Why?” She audibly inhaled and then exhaled slowly before emphasizing the next word in two separate syllables. “ Be-cause I don’t want to speak to him. Why don’t I want to talk to him ? Is that a rhetorical question, or are you?—”

The Vans walked back under the stall to the other side.

“Oh, wow. You’re actually asking me. Okaaay, this should be fun.”

Taylor felt horrible that she was eavesdropping on what was clearly a private conversation.

She lowered her feet to the ground so that they would be visible to the woman on the phone, and she would know she was not alone in the bathroom.

She thought about flushing the toilet or even just walking out, but she didn’t know if that would be better or worse.

“I’m not answering his calls, and I don’t want to speak to him because we have very different beliefs.”

“Oh, you want examples? Sure. Okay. Well, I believe that when you are with someone for eight years and are engaged to them, you don’t put your dick in anything that breathes; he believes you do.

I also believe you shouldn’t use your family law firm as a dating site; he believes that you should.

Or, maybe it would be more like an escort service since his clients do pay him for his services.

First, he helps them fuck their husbands over, and then he fucks them.

Oh no, I’m not done. I also don’t believe in rating the people I’ve been with.

But can you guess who does? Cue Jeopardy “Think” music: doo doo doo doodoo doo doo doooooo, doo doo doo doo DOO doodoodoodoodoodoo doo doo doodoo doo doo doo, DOO doo doo doo doo.

.. doo... doo... DUM DUM. Who is Dillion “The Douche Bag” Wentworth the third?

Ding, ding, ding, that is correct. Dillion “The Douche Bag” Wentworth rated the women he fucked and kept a record of their score of one to five, five being the best, by putting fleshlight emojis in the corner of their files. ”

“No, not flash with an a, flesh with an e,” she explained. “It can also be called a pocket pussy. It’s a flashlight-shaped device with a silicone interior that men put their penises in and?—”

Taylor watched the Vans travel to the other side of the room again.

“How do I know what they are? Because I don’t live under a rock, Mom, and?—”

“Wait, hold on, let me get this straight. You are offended that I know what a fleshlight is, but Dillion, who used them to rate his clients, which he cheated on me with, you are defending ?”

Taylor’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out and saw it was Caleb asking where she was and if she was okay. She quickly messaged back, telling him she was in the bathroom and was fine. She definitely didn’t want him sending out a search party.

“Why does that matter?!” the woman asked, the volume of her voice rising.

“His assistant accidentally forwarded some private correspondence between him and a current client, or maybe it wasn’t an accident because, guess what, it turns out Dildo, I mean Dillion, was fucking her, too.

Either way, it raised some red flags, so I did a little bit of digging, and holy shit, and I mean a little bit.

I barely pulled on a tiny bit of string, and all of his bullshit unraveled at the seams.”

“Seriously? I tell you that he is boning his assistant, and the problem you have is with my language?”

“No, Mom, he didn’t cheat on me because I’m crass . He cheated on me because he’s a selfish, narcissistic, pencil-dick, garbage piece of shit.”

Taylor could see the shoes under the stall as the woman silently stomped in place, most likely out of frustration at the phone call.

“ How can I say that?! Are you seriously asking me that?” Taylor heard the woman pace to the other side of the room. “Did you not hear me when I said that he ra-ted the cli-ents he fucked by putting fleshlight emojis in the corner of their files like he’s giving them a fucking Yelp review?”

Taylor pursed her lips together as she held in a laugh. She couldn’t help it. She felt horrible for whoever was on the other side of the stall door, but her comedic timing and delivery were spot on. She wasn’t sure who she was, but she really wanted to be her friend.

“Okay, first of all, he’s not sorry. I promise you that. And even if he was, yippidee fucking doo-da. He can take his sorry ass to find someone who would put up with that shit because I am not the one.”

The woman took in a very slow audible breath and then exhaled a very slow audible breath. “No, Mom, it’s not about pride, actually. It’s about having some fucking self-respect.”

“You know what?” Her tone changed; it shifted to a calm, mellow, sweet tone. “If you love him so much, why don’t you marry him?”

There was a rustling sound, and then more feet stomping, but Taylor couldn’t see the shoes, so she must have moved to the other side of the bathroom.

Figuring this was probably as good a time as any, she flushed the toilet, gave it a few seconds, and walked out.

When she did, she saw a woman who looked vaguely familiar.

She was small in stature, with long, strawberry blonde hair and huge doe eyes.

She'd come into Brewed Awakenings once, and Taylor remembered thinking at the time she looked like a Disney princess or fairy and that her energy reminded her of Anna Kendrick.

“Hi, you’re the bride.” She pointed at her. “Taylor, right?”

“I’m not… I mean, not really the bride; this isn’t a wedding.

” Taylor felt weird having people congratulate her, which was one of the reasons she was hiding in the bathroom.

She’d only insisted on doing this because she knew how much Caleb meant to this community, and she didn’t want to rob them of being able to celebrate this milestone with him.

But the people didn’t even know her, and today wasn’t her wedding day. “But yes, we got married. Oh, sorry.”

She didn’t mean to say married after what she’d just overheard.

“Sorry, for what?”

“Just, I heard that the guy…you know…”

“Oh, that. No, don’t be sorry. And congratulations! Also, you look gorgeous, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Taylor smiled with a nod. It had been her go-to move today at a loss of what else to do.

She was wearing a very simple scoop-neck, backless, A-line dress with a form-fitting bodice, one-inch straps that fell right above her knees.

It was simple and understated, but she hoped pretty as well.

“I’m Frankie.”

“Nice to meet you.”

She held up the phone. “And I am sorry you had to hear that.”

“No, it’s fine. Not fine…I mean, that sounds… I’m sorry.” Taylor wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. She was starting to think she wasn’t good at small talk.

Before she could self-correct or ask the ground to swallow her whole, the door flew open and a blur of red hair flew past them and into the first open stall. Taylor immediately recognized the ginger locks.

“Viv, are you okay?” she asked.