That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(97)

And no matter how many times I tried to explain the situation to my dad, how I’m actually saving Ren from my destructive paths, his only response was, “You’re a dumbass.”

I let out a heavy sigh. Got to love the old man for saying what’s on his mind.

“I’m about to let it go, and it’s really windy out here.”

Jesus Christ. I make a mental note to complain to my parents about having so many children.

Standing from the couch, I stumble over toward the door and fling it open. Brig stands on the other side, mail in hand and a disgusted look on his face.

“Dude, you look sickly.”

I snatch the mail from his hand and then slam the door shut.

He knocks lightly. “Might want to take a shower; that smell you’re carrying is putrid.”

“Fuck off, Brig.”

I fall back on the couch and toss the mail on the coffee table in front of me. Slouching into the cushions, I’m finishing the rest of my beer when a small light-blue envelope catches my eye.

I’ve seen that envelope before. Many times. It’s the same blue envelope that’s brought back my past in full force, piercing my heart with a deathly reminder of what I’ve lost.

Leaning forward, I scatter the rest of the mail to the side and pick up the recognizable envelope, flipping it between my fingers.

Familiar handwriting, a comforting script.

A well-known address I’ve spent many nights at.

A desperation to reach out to me that comes like clockwork every month.

Ren’s parting words to me ring through my head. After what I’ve been through, I had the courage to try something new, to open my soul to you and give you everything I have.

She had the courage to move across the country; where the hell is mine?

It was stolen away from me the minute I lost Claire.

I turned from the confident, easygoing man I once was into a cautious worrier, someone who isn’t truly living but just going through the motions, never experiencing anything, just breathing.

But when Ren came along, my life changed. I saw a glimpse of what it could be, of the happiness I could achieve. And yet I took it all away from myself.

Well, guess what, Griffin? You’re hurting me right now, and the pain is way worse than any two-by-four.

The pain is debilitating.

Suffocating.

The fear consumes me; it’s eating me alive.

I flip the card over in my hand and slip my finger under the flap, making a small tear in the seal. The sound of the paper ripping open makes me feel like my heart is tearing open at the same time.

Maybe it’s because I’m drunk, or maybe it’s because I’m desperate for any sense of comfort from this blinding pain I’m suffering from, but I find my finger working its way all the way through the seal, popping the envelope open.

I set my beer bottle down and slip the card out of the envelope. White and plain, nothing but a W on the front. Having never once opened one of Kathy’s letters, I have no idea what might be inside. Stupidity and curiosity collide, forcing me to open the card.

There isn’t much written inside, just one sentence followed by her signature.

Please call me, Griffin.—Kathy.

The comfort of the couch cushion surrounds me as I lean back, contemplating my next move.

Call me. It’s a simple request, one I’m sure she’s asked many times. One I’m sure she’s desperate for me to fulfill.

And because I’m an emotional and erratic asshole right now, I pick up my phone and type out a text.

Griffin: Hey, Kathy. It’s Griffin. Are you free tomorrow?

I toss my phone to the other side of my couch and close my eyes, allowing the tears that rise to the brim of my eyelids to fall down my cheeks.

It’s time.



I knock on the door in front of me, a wave of nerves trying to propel my body in the other direction.

Flee. Flee right now, my heart screams at me, but my brain tells my feet to stay put. If anything, I owe it to Kathy to be here.

The sound of footsteps nearing the door skyrockets my nerves into panic mode, and just before I’m about to bolt, the door swings open, and an older version of the woman I used to know appears, still wearing her typical turtlenecks and sweaters. Her face is weathered, her hair gray; I wonder just how many years were taken off her life by the loss of her daughter.

“Griffin,” she says on a surprised sigh, “I’m so happy you’re here. Please, come in.”

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I take a step into her modest house, decorated in mauve and light-blue tones. She pulls me into a gentle hug before letting me go to shut the door.

Immediately my eyes fall on a picture of Claire on our wedding day. Her head thrown back, a smile on her face, it’s a candid shot, one I’ve cherished just like Kathy. It’s the kind of smile that reflects the beauty of her soul. Claire was always so happy and carefree; it was hard not to be in a good mood around her.

“Please, take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Water,” I croak out, my throat dry all of a sudden. “Water would be great, thank you.”

She pats my hand and then makes her way to the kitchen, where I hear her fill up two water glasses. She returns in no time, not giving me much of a chance to look around, not that I really want to. The memories hurt too much. Hell, being here, in the familiar scent of the environment Claire grew up in, just about breaks my heart into a million unfixable pieces.