That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(12)

I’ll have to ask my brother.



“Rogan, what’s up?”

The Har-Bahr, Port Snow’s local bar, is buzzing more than normal. I sit down next to my brother and raise two fingers to the bartender, Calvin, signaling my usual. Water and ice. I don’t drink much, especially when I told the fire station I could be on call anytime; it’s not like I have anything else to do with my nights.

“Heard about your Hulklike powers stomping up the side of a hill today. Showing off?” Rogan winks at me and takes a sip of what I know is water as well. We’re probably the only two who come to the bar not for the drinks but just to get out of our heads and our houses.

“Word spread already? That was fast.”

Growing up in Port Snow, population eight thousand, had its pluses and minuses. The community is like a close-knit family, and whenever someone is in need, we’re there for them. When they say it takes a community . . . Port Snow is that place. But on the negative side, as kids, my raucous brothers and I never got away with anything.

Accidentally breaking Old Man Wickham’s window while playing baseball.

Toilet papering every house on Whisper Way.

Floating a candy bar in the community pool, pretending it was something else . . . yeah, that was a gross one.

We were caught and turned in to our parents every single time.

It made dating and breaking curfew extremely hard, but we had our ways.

And even though getting in trouble with my parents isn’t a concern anymore, gossip still spreads like wildfire; it’s impossible to do anything without the entire town talking about it, including my brothers.

“Franklin over at the deli said you were huffing and puffing up the hill so much that your shirt ripped open, and you had to grab a new one from the truck. Called you a living legend with pecs for days.”

Franklin has an appetite for gossip and burly fishermen, not to mention a rather impressive imagination. He’s probably the worst gossip in town besides the old hens who hang out with Mrs. Davenport.

Calvin sets a water in front of me and moves on to the next customer. We leave a tip every time, so he doesn’t mind us taking up real estate at his bar.

I take a gulp of water. “I can agree with Franklin on the ‘pecs for days’ comment, but there was no shirt ripping. The woman I helped out of her car actually needed a shirt. She used hers to stop the bleeding on her head, so I gave her a spare.”

Rogan shakes his head. “News spreads around this town like the worst game of telephone ever played.”

Couldn’t agree more, but I won’t voice my opinion on the matter. Rogan is a little more jaded when it comes to Port Snow. He’s always had plans for bigger and better things, so I try to tamp down the negative aspects of the town whenever he’s around. I don’t want to push him further away from the family than he already is. He’s one job offer away from moving the hell out of here, and seeing as he’s the brother I’m closest to, I don’t want to see him leave.

Selfish move, maybe, but he needs this town; he just doesn’t see it yet.

“Speaking of the rescue today, her name was Ren Winters. Is she the woman who’s renting Alabaster Haven?”

“Hell if I can remember.” Rogan drags his hand through his hair and pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and opening his email. “Uh, Ren Winters, Alabaster Haven . . . yup, that’s her. Is she not staying now?”

“I have no idea. I just have her luggage in my truck and figured I would ask so I could drop it off.”

“Ah yeah, it’s her first day in town, right?” Rogan shakes his head and pockets his phone again, eyes cast forward. “Rough first day in Port Snow. Think I should send her an email and tell her to run the fuck away as quickly as she can?”

“No.” I take another gulp of water. “Is the key to the house in the lock by the garage?”

“Yup.”

“So you’re not going to greet her? Welcome her to Port Snow?”

“Not even a little.”

“You’re a shitty landlord, you know that?”

He takes another sip of his water and nods. “Well aware, bro. But to ease your mind, I’m meeting with her tomorrow to sign her lease. I’ll be sure to ask about your ‘pecs for days.’”

I chuckle. “Fuck off, man.”





CHAPTER FOUR





REN


When it comes to parents, a child has the right to filter their life. Meaning we have the right to tell or not tell them everything that’s happening in our lives. This is out of pure preservation. You’re saving them from worry—and saving yourself from the headache of dealing with them.

To put it simply, there is no way in hell my parents will hear about my little moose encounter.

Not even a chance.

Because if they knew I spent my first day in Port Snow trapped in a car and bleeding from my head because a moose decided to test the boundaries of spatial awareness with vehicles, they would be flying out to Maine tomorrow to take me home.

Nope, they don’t need to know about that little incident, or the stitches in my forehead, or the fact that I’m going to have to spend a nice little chunk of change fixing a car I just got. By some miracle, when I spoke briefly with the automotive shop, they said that little cretin of a vehicle isn’t completely totaled. All it needs is some bodywork and a new radiator, and that’s it. What are the odds?