Second Chances Read online

  Second Chances

  Teresa Roman

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Also by Teresa Roman

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Second Chances © copyright 2018 Teresa Roman

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  For my children,

  who bring me through the darkest moments of life.

  1

  If tossing and turning were an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medalist. I seemed to have reached the point where I could no longer fall asleep without the help of pharmaceuticals. Every night was the same. As soon as I got into bed, my brain would fill with the same unrelenting, intrusive thoughts. I reminded myself for the hundredth time that I didn’t have the power to turn back time, so there was no point in dwelling on mistakes I couldn’t undo.

  After an hour I gave up the struggle, got out of bed, and popped a melatonin into my mouth. It took longer to work than I wanted it to, but eventually I drifted off, not waking until the morning.

  Instead of the alarm or the sound of the garage door opening as my husband Ryan got home from another graveyard shift at the hospital, it was the phone that pulled me out of my sleep. I glanced at the bedside clock and immediately panicked. Seven thirty. That meant I only had half an hour to dress and get the kids ready for school. I must’ve slept through the alarm or forgotten to turn it on.

  I reached for the phone, hoping that whoever it was they’d spit out whatever they had to say quickly. “Hello,” I said, my voice still heavy with sleep.

  “Is Vanessa Collins available?”

  “Who’s calling?” I asked.

  “This is Dr. Mallet. I’m a physician in the emergency room at Sacramento Valley Hospital.”

  That was the hospital where Ryan worked. “My husband’s not home from work yet,” I said. “But I can leave a message for him if you like.”

  It suddenly dawned on me that it was strange Ryan hadn’t made it back yet. The hospital wasn’t that far. He got off at seven, and it never took him longer than twenty minutes to get home.

  “Well, it’s not him I need to speak to. It’s you,” the doctor said, his voice gentle. “I’m calling because your husband was involved in a motor vehicle accident on his way home from work this morning.”

  For a moment, I couldn’t think of what to say. “Is he all right?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Collins. Unfortunately, he was in critical condition when the paramedics brought him in. He went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance on the way to our hospital. We did everything we could for him, but he didn’t make it. He passed away a few minutes ago.”

  “He what?” I asked, feeling like the air had been sucked out of me.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your husband passed away.”

  If it weren’t for the sound of my kids in the kitchen I would’ve sworn that I was still asleep and in the midst of some bizarrely realistic dream. “Are you sure it’s really him?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we’re sure.”

  A sudden wave of dizziness came over me. Thankfully, I was still in bed, or I would’ve probably lost my balance and fell to the floor. I was too stunned to think of anything to say.

  “Mrs. Collins? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “I expect you’ll want to see him before he’s taken to the morgue.”

  “I … I have to take my kids to school,” I said. As those words left my mouth, I wondered if that was right. Their father had just died. Surely that warranted missing a day of school. But I couldn’t bring them to the emergency room with me. They were too young. I couldn’t picture either of my kids handling the sight of their father’s dead body. The last thing I wanted to do was traumatize them. “But I’ll come down right after that.”

  “Okay,” Dr. Mallet said. “We’ll see you soon. Be sure to ask for me when you come by. I just started my shift, so I’ll be here all day.” He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  The doctor hung up, and I just sat there for a minute, trying to process everything. Ryan couldn’t be dead. That’s why I wasn’t crying. Or maybe it was because I knew I couldn’t break down in front of the kids. I made a point of never crying in front of them because I was their mom, and mothers needed to be strong for their children. Despite my brain fog, I managed to get out of bed and pull on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Just then Lydia walked into the bedroom.

  “You do know what time it is, right, Mommy?”

  “Yes, yes, yes. I know.”

  Hands on her hips, she said, “I don’t want to be late for school.”

  “You won’t be,” I replied. “See, I’m already dressed.”

  Lydia turned around, and I followed her down the hallway and into the kitchen, where my son, Jacob, sat at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of him. “How come Daddy’s not home yet?”

  I stared at him, tongue-tied for a moment. “He’s just running a little late. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.” Had I just lied to my child? Ryan’s not dead. This whole thing had to be one huge misunderstanding.

  “We have to leave in ten minutes,” Jacob said.

  I took a deep breath, trying to keep myself from having a full-blown panic attack. “Did you and your sister finish packing your lunches?”

  “Yes,” Lydia chimed in. “But I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  “You know how to pour yourself a bowl of cereal,” I said.

  “I don’t want cereal. I’m sick of cereal.”

  I was about to snap at her but forced myself to stop. I needed to hold it together for my kids’ sake. Once I got them to school, I’d be able to sort everything out. A part of me believed that I’d show up at the hospital to find that the doctor who’d called earlier had made a giant mistake. Ryan could not be dead. This day would be like any other. I’d take the kids to school, come back home, scarf down a quick breakfast, and get to work while Ryan slept after coming home from a twelve-hour night shift. Around three, just after returning home from picking our kids up from school, Ryan would amble into the kitchen, grumbling about his coworkers and how much he hated his job, while I did my best to come up with encouraging words.

  “I don’t have time to make you eggs. How about a piece of toast?”


  “Only if you put honey on it.”

  I smiled at her. Lydia was my sassy child, but I couldn’t help but love her spirit. “I wouldn’t dare make it any other way.”

  A few minutes later the three of us rushed out of the house. Lydia still had her half-eaten toast in one hand. I dropped them off, giving them each a kiss on the cheek and then watching as they ran into the school building before driving away.

  It was only then, after morning drop-off, that the rush of the morning dissipated. With the kids safely in their classrooms I could really think about Ryan and the phone call I’d received earlier. I was still sure that Ryan wasn’t dead. It had to be a mistake, but if it was, then where the hell was my husband? Ryan was never more than a few minutes late. He was also one of the most careful drivers I knew, so it seemed impossible that he’d gotten into a car accident. I sighed as I drove off. The only way I’d know for certain was to go to the hospital and see for myself.

  Morning traffic was a nightmare, which further frayed my nerves. Normally, it took me less than fifteen minutes to get to the hospital where Ryan worked. Instead, it took me nearly half an hour. By the time I arrived, I was wound as tight as a spool of thread. Ryan cannot be dead. Ryan cannot be dead. Those words echoed in my head over and over as I headed toward the emergency-room entrance.

  Since Ryan had taken a job as an X-ray tech at Sacramento Valley Hospital five years ago, I’d been by to see him a handful of times, so I knew my way around fairly well.

  I walked up to the emergency room’s registration area.

  “Can I help you?” a young woman behind a glass partition asked.

  “Um, yeah. I’m here to see Dr. Mallet.”

  “Your name?”

  “Vanessa Collins,” I said.

  “Just one minute.” She took off down the hallway behind her. My heart pounded while I waited. Ryan cannot be dead. Ryan cannot be dead.

  When she returned it was with an older man at her side. He opened the door that separated the waiting area from the emergency room and ushered me inside.

  “Are you Dr. Mallet?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He extended his hand, and I shook it. The doctor wore navy-blue scrubs, had salt-and-pepper hair, and a calm disposition that put me just a tiny bit more at ease. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Collins. I’m just sorry that it has to be under these circumstances.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded.

  “Are you waiting for more family or friends?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No.” There really wasn’t anyone to wait for. Ryan’s family didn’t live in California, and he didn’t have any close friends.

  I followed Dr. Mallet down the hall, through one more door, and down another hall before turning into one of the patient rooms. The doctor glanced at me before pulling back a curtain to reveal a gurney—with my husband lying on it. I sucked in a breath at the sight of him and then covered my mouth with my hand. That dizzy sensation returned and buckled my knees. Dr. Mallet caught me and helped me over to an empty chair.

  My chest tightened, and I struggled to catch a breath. I willed myself to calm down then looked up at the doctor. “How could this have happened?”

  “Night shifts are tough. The paramedics think Ryan fell asleep at the wheel. His car was hit head-on. He had a lot of internal bleeding, and by the time he was brought here, it was just too late.”

  “I … I can’t believe it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Of course the doctor hadn’t made a mistake. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. How could I have thought otherwise? Dr. Mallet wouldn’t have called me if he hadn’t been sure who Ryan was.

  My heart sank. How the hell was I supposed to tell my children their father was dead? The thought of it made me sick to my stomach.

  I had the hardest time bringing myself to turn my head and look at Ryan. I’d never seen a dead body before. Save for a few small cuts that must’ve come from the windshield shattering, his face was undamaged. His skin was drained of color, and his eyes were closed. A sheet was pulled up to just under his chin.

  Widows were supposed to cry at the sight of their dead husband’s body, but my eyes were dry. I didn’t know what to say or do. I felt like I was in a state of suspended animation.

  “I should leave you alone,” Dr. Mallet said. “We’ll talk more whenever you’re ready. Just ask one of the nurses to page me.”

  I wanted to grab his hand and tell him not to leave, but that would be crazy. For a minute, I just sat there trying to sort through my thoughts. It had been a mistake to send the kids to school. I should’ve kept them home. But I was in a rush and not thinking. Apparently, I was just as bad a mother as I had been a wife. The thought finally sent rivers of tears streaming down my face.

  2

  I sat there crying for a few minutes. Then somehow, I managed to make it to my feet and took a few steps closer to where my husband lay. How was it possible that he was dead? Ryan was a night owl. He grumbled about his work all the time, but he always said he preferred the night shift.

  He barely looked like the man I’d met just a little over ten years ago. My thoughts traveled back to that day. It was in a bookstore of all places, the one in which I worked while I was in college. Ryan had come in looking for a book he needed for school. Gross anatomy. While we searched the shelves, looking for the right book, we got to talking. He was finishing up his last few X-ray technician classes.

  “I’m also in my last semester,” I’d told him.

  “Oh yeah? What are you studying?”

  “Human resource management.” It sounded so boring compared to his major.

  After he was done with his purchase, he came back to ask for my phone number. I tried to play it cool as I wrote it down on the back of a store flyer and handed it to him. I wasn’t one to give out my phone number to every guy who asked for it, but Ryan was handsome, and in the few minutes we’d talked, I felt a connection. Something about his personality drew me in.

  Ryan was a romantic and not just in the bring-you-flowers-and-pay-for-dinner kind of way. Whenever we went out, he opened doors for me, held my hand as we walked, and insisted on carrying my bags for me. I fell for him fast and hard. Two months into our relationship, he proposed. We’d just had sex when he turned on his side to look at me and said, “I think we should get married.”

  I didn’t respond, figuring it was just one of those things guys sometimes said in the afterglow of a passionate lovemaking session. It was sweet, but I didn’t think he was actually proposing.

  “Well, are you going to answer me or not?”

  I furrowed my brows in confusion. “You didn’t ask me anything.”

  “Yes, I did,” he insisted. “I just asked you if you wanted to marry me.”

  I wondered how far he’d take this little game of his. Just for the heck of it, I decided to play along. “No, technically you didn’t ask. You just said we should get married.”

  “Fine. Will you marry me?” he asked, too shy to meet my gaze. “Is that better?”

  I sat up and lifted his chin with my hand. Maybe he wasn’t playing a game. “You’re serious? You really want me to marry you?”

  “Yes.” He stared back at me with those gorgeous brown eyes of his.

  “Do I get a ring?” I wasn’t one of those women who’d dreamed of getting the perfect diamond ring, but a proposal didn’t seem real without something to wear on my finger.

  “I want to buy you something amazing. I just don’t have the money right now.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, realizing I’d probably just embarrassed him. Ryan was almost done with his X-ray tech training. Until he passed his license exam and got his first job, his income was as measly as mine. “I don’t care about rings.”

  “Well, I do. And once I get enough money, I’m going to buy you a diamond big enough to blind you.”

  I leaned down to kiss him. I didn’t doubt that he’d keep his word. Despite his limite
d funds, Ryan was generous with gifts. “The answer is yes,” I said, ignoring the tiny, soft whisper in the back of my head that told me I was crazy for agreeing to marry someone I’d only been dating for a couple of months. “I’d love to marry you.”

  He kissed me and pulled me down on top of him, rolling me over until my back was pressed against the bed. I felt him grow hard and spread my legs in anticipation. Ryan had amazing stamina when it came to sex. He could get hard again minutes after climaxing. On the nights we spent together at my place or his, I barely slept because he was up every few hours whispering into my ear that he wanted me. And I never minded. He made me feel beautiful, desirable. It hadn’t taken long for me to fall madly in love with him. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to be perfect for him.

  Looking back, it was hard to say exactly when things between Ryan and me started to fall apart. It was probably before he slid an elegant pear-shaped diamond ring on my finger, the one he’d promised to get me, and definitely before we exchanged our vows. But love had blinded me. I refused to listen to my friends who told me I was crazy for jumping into marriage so quickly.

  I choked back more tears as I thought about the misery Ryan and I had fallen into. For years—I wasn’t even sure how many—neither of us had been happy. Half the time, I hated his guts. And now he was dead. I didn’t know what to feel. Regret, relief, guilt, fear, sadness, a mixture of all those things?

  What was I going to tell the kids when they got home from school? I had no idea how I was going to get the words out. Between the mountain of unhappy memories I had of Ryan, and the complete shock of his death, not to mention the daunting prospect of single motherhood, I wasn’t sure I had anything left to spare. How was I supposed to comfort my children when I felt like I was on the verge of falling apart?