Page 9 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO (Second Chance Hockey Players #1)

Chapter seven

Hazel

T he meeting with the planning and media on our arrangement for next week ran longer than expected, but thankfully, no run-ins with Liam.

Small mercies, right? After saying goodbye to Lydia, Brooke, and Landon, I debated whether to head straight home or wander around town.

Going with the latter, I made my way down the street, taking in the familiar buildings, streets, and sights.

Even though they are familiar, they still seem different when you have been away, like they have aged, or you have.

The sun is bright, almost offensively so, yet I am glad I didn’t drive this morning and decided to order an Uber.

After wandering and looking around with wonder-filled eyes like a kid in a candy or toy store, I stopped at a café.

Not just any café, The Sweet Bean Café has been one of the best cafés in town for as long as I can remember.

The sun filters through the glass windows of the café, spilling golden light onto the rustic wood tables.

On the outside, there have been a few updates - a fresh coat of paint, new lighting fixtures but the familiar smell of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries wafting from the inside out is still comforting.

Owned and run by Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave, the café used to be my sanctuary and hiding place. So, I am excited for two reasons: one, to have a taste of their pastries and my personal favorite, the caramel macchiato, and two, to see Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave.

Stepping inside feels like stepping back in time. The café smells the same - freshly brewed coffee, buttery pastries, and a faint hint of cinnamon from whatever seasonal drink they are pushing. It is comforting, the warmth I remember.

After a few breaths, I am hit with a wave of unease. Familiarity can be cruel. The last time I was here, I was…, well, a different version of me.

I approach the counter, scanning the handwritten chalkboard menu, even though I already know what I want when a voice cuts through the air.

“Hazel? Hazel McKee!”

That jolted me, and I looked up to see Gretel - tall, strawberry blonde, and still sporting that chirpy energy she had in school. “Wow, it really is you,” she said, beaming as if I had stepped straight out of a time capsule.

“Hey, Gretel,” I say with a smile. “Long time, huh?”

"Too long!" She leans forward, elbows on the counter, grinning. "Oh my, oh my, what are you doing back in Autumn Cove? Didn’t think you’d ever come back."

“For work,” I reply curtly, hoping that is enough. I shift my focus to the menu.

“You look great!

“Thanks… so do you.” I place my order and wait as she fixes it.

“Oh, when did you move back? Have you seen your friends yet? Where did you move to? Oh! Have you seen…?”

“Gretel,” I interrupt with a saccharine smile. “How are your parents?”

Thrown off, she blinks. “Oh, um, they’re good. Mom’s out back, and Dad’s out sick. That’s why I am helping out today. I could call her for you.”

“Oh, is your dad okay?”

“Yeah, just a cold.”

“Glad to hear,” I say, grabbing my order as she hands it over. “And please, no, don’t disturb your mom…, I can see her some other time. Anyway, let’s catch up later, okay? I’m famished.”

Gretel’s face fell briefly but then brightened. “No biggie! It’s so great to see you, Hazel!”

Sliding into a corner table near the window, I let out a breath.

The café was busier than I remembered. The older regulars and a few young people, mostly teens and college students, filled the room, their curious glances making my skin prickle.

A few of the regulars, like Mrs. Amberline, Mr. Goldman, who looked like he aged backward, and Mrs. Karen, one of the town’s gossips, all stopped to say hi, expressing their surprise about my arrival in town and left with a promise of me visiting them sometime before I go back to the city.

I recognize some of the young people there, some, I would rather forget.

I try to enjoy my club sandwich, which I must confess tastes just as delicious if not more delicious than I remember.

I try to shake off the stares. It is not like I’m a celebrity, but apparently, returning to Avalanche Cove after five years warrants gawking.

I focus on my club sandwich, savoring each bite, grateful for the quiet - until it is not so quiet anymore.

I was halfway through sipping my caramel macchiato when the people two tables behind me decided it would be best to have a loud conversation - about me.

"Yes, it’s her," a woman hissed, her voice unmistakably giddy and nasally. "Hazel McKee. You know, Liam’s ex-girlfriend. The gold-digger."

“And the orphan,” another chimed in with the kind of tone people use when they think they are being clever. “I never liked her anyway. Too stuck-up for this town. I was glad when she left.”

“Well, she left a beautiful, yet plain Jane, but came back a sexy grown woman one guy chimed in.

“You can’t think of anything else aside from looks?” The nasal voice lady asks in an irritated tone.

They continued yapping and yapping about why I left town, my relationship with Liam, what his sister said – apparently one of Liam’s sisters, is friends with the nasal voice girl – where I went to, why I came back, for Liam, maybe because I got kicked out of where I went to, as stupid as it is, one suggested I might be pregnant, yada, yada, yada.

I tightened my grip on the warm mug in my hands, willing myself to stay calm. Do not engage. They are not worth it.

Too late.

I stand, grabbing my drink, and walk over to their table with slow, deliberate steps. The conversation halts as they notice me, their wide-eyed expressions betraying their surprise.

“Hi there,” I say sweetly with a smile that could have given them cavities, my tone all sugar and steel. “I could not help overhearing. It’s hard not to, really, with all the whispering and laughing.”

The woman - the loudest one - flushes but tries to recover. “We weren’t talking about you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you weren’t.” I tilt my head, letting the sarcasm drip. “It’s just that, since my name came up - and my personal life - it feels only right to say a few things.”

She stiffens. I lean in slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make it pointed.

“First, I just wanted to say how lovely it is to be remembered so fondly after all these years. Truly heartwarming. I did not know I was a hot topic back then and still am apparently.”

They all begin to shift uncomfortably in their seats. The nasal voice girl, who is about 23 or 24 years old, blinked, her face pale as she stammered, “I-I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, no need to backtrack now,” I interrupted, keeping my voice as light as air. “You’ve already said so much.”

“Now, let me clear a few things up. I did leave, which is the best damn decision of my life. In that time, I have managed to build a career…, a successful career, travel the world, and achieve things most people, like you, can only dream of at 25. But since you are so keen on talking about me, I’d love to know - what have you been up to? Anything notable?”

I glance around the table, my gaze settling on each of them in turn. The guy who had mocked her earlier smirked, clearly enjoying the exchange. She glared at him before turning back to me with a tight smile.

“Anything worth whispering about? No? So, is gossiping about someone else’s life the highlight of your week? I am not sure what you’ve been doing for the past five years, but if it involves sitting here tearing people down, I’d suggest reevaluating your priorities.”

The table goes silent. The woman looks like she wants to say something, but I hold her gaze, daring her.

“Got something to say, darling?” I smile as she shakes her head.

“Thought so.” I straighten, brushing invisible lint off my sleeve. “Enjoy your coffee.”

Turning on my heel and turning back around, “Oh, and one more thing,” I add, my voice light and cheerful. “If you ever need pointers on how to be memorable, let me know. Clearly, I’ve done something right if you’re still talking about me five years later.”

With that, I walk back to my table, keeping my head high, sipping my drink as if nothing happened. I pick up my bag, and head for the door. The café hums with quiet tension as I leave, the sun blinding as it reflects off the glass.

Autumn Cove might not feel like home anymore, but I will be damned if I let anyone disrespect me or make me feel out of place.

****

On the estate, on my way back to the guest house…

My legs are protesting every step, a dull ache radiating from my calves up to my lower back.

The café wasn’t the only place I stopped today.

Nope, I decided it would be fun to play tourist more as if I had all the energy in the world.

Now? All I want is to get inside, kick off these shoes, put on my pajamas, and faceplant on the bed until tomorrow decides to show up.

Finally, the guest house came into view at the far end of the estate, and I picked up my pace.

Why is it that it is in your moment of distress that you notice something wrong with what you thought was absolutely, wonderfully amazing?

Right now, I am noticing and annoyed that the estate path to the guest house is unnecessarily long.

Who designs these places? I pull out my phone, checking my messages as a distraction from the fact that my feet feel like they have been run over. Twice. My focus is glued to the screen when I round a corner, and…

Wham.

My shoulder collides with someone solid - someone very solid. I stagger back a step, my phone nearly slipping from my fingers.

“What the…,” I look up, and my stomach drops.

Not again…

His jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might snap. His piercing eyes bore into me, hard and unrelenting, and his broad shoulders filled the space between us like a wall I could not get around.

What is he doing here?

I take a step back instinctively, feeling the weight of his glare.

“If this is going to be a habit,” he says, his voice cold and sharp as broken glass, "try looking where you're going next time. Or is self-awareness still too advanced for you?"

“If this is going to be a habit,” I fire back, “maybe you should stop lurking around like some overgrown shadow.”

His brows draw together, his jaw tightening. “I’m not the one glued to my phone, completely oblivious to my surroundings.”

“And I’m not the one projecting my bad mood onto everyone within a ten-foot radius,” I shoot back, crossing my arms.

His eyes narrow, his jaw tightening further. “Bad mood?” He says, his tone is low and cutting. “Trust me, Hazel, you’re not important enough to ruin my mood.”

I let out a short laugh, the sound dripping with disbelief and irritation. “Really? Because the vein in your forehead says otherwise.”

His hand twitches at his side, like he is holding himself back from saying something he might regret. Instead, he exhales sharply through his nose, his gaze flickering over me with an edge that feels like it could slice through steel.

“Why are you even here?” He finally asks, his tone a mix of suspicion and exasperation.

I shrug, keeping my posture defiant even as my heart pounds in my chest. “Why does it matter to you? Last I checked, you do not get a say in where I live.”

“I do when it’s my estate,” he snaps.

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and charged. For a second, all I can do is blink at him, my brain scrambling to process what he just said.

“Wait,” I say slowly, drawing out the word like I am trying to solve a riddle.

The words hit like a slap. “You…, what? You…, own this estate?”

“Yes,” he bites out. “Every inch of it, including the guest house.”

My stomach churns, but I manage to keep my face neutral. Of course, he owns the estate. Because life just loves to throw curveballs at me.

“You live here?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It is my estate. That…,” pointing to the glass house I have spent hours at night admiring, “Is where I live.”

Of all the places I could have ended up, it had to be here, right next door to him.

“Well,” I say, forcing a tight smile, “isn’t this just the universe’s idea of a joke?”

“No,” he says, his voice flat, “just bad luck. For me, apparently.”

I take a slow, measured breath, trying not to let the frustration bubbling inside me explode all over him. “Wow, poor you. Must be exhausting - carrying around that giant victim complex everywhere you go.”

He steps closer, and for a moment, the tension between us feels less like annoyance and more like an electric charge.

His dark eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto mine, and I cannot help but notice the way his sharp jaw clenches.

The light from the setting sun catches on the faint stubble dusting his skin, and despite myself, I think how unfair it is that someone so frustrating can look and smell so.

.., good. The kind of good that leaves a knot twisting low in my stomach, one I do not want to acknowledge.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of a car horn close by turns his attention to me for a second. A well-appreciated second.

“Look,” I say, “trust me, Liam, the last thing I want is to be anywhere near you.”

He steps closer, and I instinctively take a step back, but his gaze does not waver. “Good,” he says, his voice cool and emotionless. “The feeling is mutual. Let us keep it that way.”

I glare at him, my fists clenching at my sides. “Do not worry. I will not be sticking around any longer than I have to.”

“Good,” he says, his tone dismissive.

“Great,” I snapped.

The silence between us crackles, neither of us willing to look away first. Finally, I let out a sharp breath and turn on my heel, walking toward the guest house with as much dignity as I could muster. His gaze burns into my back, but I don’t look over my shoulder.

The second that I am inside, I immediately dial Richard’s number. The line barely had time to ring before he answered.

“Hazel, hi! Is everything okay?”

“No,” I said sharply. “You didn’t mention that Liam Callahan owns the estate and that he’s also my neighbor…, or rather, I’m his neighbor.”

“Same thing.” There was a pause. “Oh…, well, I did not think it’d be an issue. Is it?”

“Well, it is,” I snapped. “Is there any way I can get another apartment now? Or get out of the lease?”

“I’m so sorry, Hazel,” he says, his tone annoyingly chipper. “As I said, all available units are currently occupied, and backing out now would mean forfeiting your deposit.”

“Great. Simply great.”

“I’ll suggest you work out something with Mr. Callahan if there’s an issue.”

“Thanks Richard, you’ve been really helpful.”

“My pleasure,” he replies, either deliberately ignoring the sarcasm or missing it.

I hang up with a frustrated sigh, tossing my phone onto the couch and running a hand through my hair.

Liam’s words echo in my mind: ‘Bad luck’.

“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath, collapsing onto the couch. “Tell me about it.”