Regret (Never Waste a Second Chance Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Copyright © 2016 by Janice M. Whiteaker

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  www.janicemwhiteaker.com

  First Printing, 2016

  Regret

  Janice M. Whiteaker

  ONE

  Paul fought the urge to jump as a sharp pinch stung his left ass cheek for the fourth time in under a half hour. The already irritated flesh ached with what would certainly be an angry bruise as he quickly descended the ladder hoping to take the advantage away from the tiny, hunched woman standing below him.

  His work boots hit the ground and he darted away from the fingers, gnarled with arthritis, already headed his way. Hazel giggled like a schoolgirl, her pale blue eyes glimmering under lids heavy with age. Paul sighed.

  “That’s the last one.” He folded the six-foot ladder he kept in his old truck, being careful not to give his ex-girlfriend’s mother any openings. He unhooked the plastic bag over his arm that held ten burned out light bulbs and held it out to the old woman.

  She took the bag from him and batted her eyes. “What would I do without you Paulie?”

  His aggravation with her good-natured flirting softened. “Call me anytime. I don’t want you to get hurt again trying to change these on your own.” He looked up at the soaring ceilings in the old house. It was a miracle she hadn’t been hurt worse.

  She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “Takes more than a little spill to off an old wiry bat like me.” Hazel shuffled in the direction of the kitchen, her pink terry cloth slippers barely making a sound as she moved across the thin-planked hardwood floors. “Let me get my purse darlin’.”

  Paul let the ladder angle down until it was parallel with the floor before hooking it under his arm. “You know I’m not taking any money from you.”

  The old woman turned and put her hands on her hips, tucking the volume of her housecoat against the slightness of her frame. “You come all the way over here, change my lights and fix my toilet.” Her heavily drawn on eyebrows wiggled across the lines of her forehead. “All while I have my wicked way with you. It’s the least I can do.”

  Paul followed behind her as she continued on in search of the black synthetic leather handbag he knew darn well was sitting on her bedside table. “I live one block over and it took me all of a half hour. I’m happy to do it if it keeps you from standing on a coffee table sitting on a dining room table and attempting it yourself.”

  Hazel dropped the bag of spent bulbs onto the yellowed kitchen counter and crossed her arms, her mauve lips drawing into a tight line. “I’m still so mad at her.”

  Paul eyed the door. With the ladder he was almost as wide as he was tall so the chance of being able to make a quick escape was less than zero. She had him trapped, just like at the top of the ladder, only this time she was coming at him with something way worse that those two surprisingly strong fingers.

  “That man she has now is worthless. No job, no skills, no sense of humor.” Hazel shook her head, the crisp nearly white curls covering it still as stone. “Worthless.”

  The word settled in his gut like one too many servings of dumplings. Heavy and sickening.

  Worthless.

  The man he was left for was worthless. The man a woman chose over him. The man she carried on with behind his back.

  It shouldn’t sting like it did. He hadn’t loved her, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe that was why, no matter how good he was to a woman, how well he treated her, she always left, usually for someone else, someone who claimed they loved her.

  Hazel slid a slim white cigarette out of a hard pack she grabbed off the counter. Squeezing it between her lips, she flicked an amber lighter to life and sucked in, the pursing of her mouth transferring lipstick onto the filtered end. As she slowly blew the smoke out, Hazel shook her head again. “She picked wrong. I told her that too.” She took another draw. “Probably why I don’t see her much.”

  He didn’t want to have this conversation before and he didn’t want to have it now, but the idea that an old woman was risking her relationship with her daughter over incorrect assumptions would eat him up. “She made the right choice. I didn’t love her.”

  Hazel's already thin lips flattened even more. She flung the hand holding her cigarette to one side. “What’s love?” She leaned back against the counter her face a mix of aggravation and disbelief. “What does it matter if a man says he loves you when he’s a worthless piece of shit?”

  Paul could answer that question.

  A lot. It matters a lot.

  Her daughter wasn’t the first to leave him over the only four-letter word he’d ever had a hard time saying, but he did decide she would be the last. “Don’t hold it against her. She just wanted someone to love her.” Paul edged toward the door.

  “What about you?” The softness in Hazel’s voice surprised him. She was bawdy and brutally honest and he’d liked her from the get-go, but she herself struggled with the softer emotions. Maybe that’s why they got along.

  He backtracked, siding up to her small frame, being careful not to clear the kitchen shelf with the ladder. “I got you.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on her soft cheek.

  The blush coloring her face was still blooming as he pulled the door closed, taking full advantage of her momentary silence to make a hasty retreat before she found more uncomfortable things to talk about.

  The ladder was loaded up and he was idling at the only stop sign between his house and Hazel’s when he had an idea. Maybe he could get her set up with a local church. Have the ladies go out and keep her company. They’d probably even bring her lunch.

  The thought was short lived. The image of her sitting around with the church ladies, smoking and cussing as they sat wide-eyed, saying silent prayers for her salvation, was enough to make him laugh out loud. He was still chuckling when he pulled into the lot at the hardware store.

  It was crunch time on the house he and the boss lady were renovating. Now Mina was more of a partner, and she hated being called boss, but any opportunity to aggravate her, was an opportunity he happily took.

  They were almost out of drywall screws and Paul was doing his damndest to make sure the job stayed stocked. If he and Mina had any hope of finishing their current job before ground broke on rebuilding Thomas’ house there couldn’t be any delays, no matter how small.

  His mood immediately sobered, all amusement and thoughts of Hazel gone. The wind whipped around him as he hurried across the blacktop, hands tucked in the pockets of his heavy canvas coat, doing his best to ignore the stab in his gut.

  That damn house.

  He could hardly stand to think of it. When that place burned down it could have taken people with it. People who were important to him. Thomas. Mina.

  Nancy.

&nb
sp; The icy wind pulled the air from his lungs. That’s what he told himself anyway, even though it took more than a few seconds inside the warmth of the store to get it back.

  “You like it here so far?”

  Paul recognized the voice and it made him consider walking back out the door, but he’d never been one to walk away from an asshole. And he needed a box of goddamned screws.

  He passed the desk knowing his presence wouldn’t go unnoticed. A six-four, two-hundred and fifty pound frame was hard to hide, but he was going to try anyway. The less he had to deal with him the better.

  “Paul!” Mike’s voice called out the minute he came into view. It had been more than a few months since he’d seen his old classmate and Paul could swear the man was even fatter and his hair dyed even blacker, if either of those was even possible. “Come over here. I want you to meet someone.”

  The man standing next to Mike was about the same age, but that was where the similarities ended. He was tall. Not as tall as Paul, but significantly taller than Mike. He was lean, probably could still wear the pants he wore in college. He had all his hair, cropped close to the sides of his head in what Paul could only imagine was a trendy style. He was tan. In early March. The coldest early March in as long as Paul could remember.

  “This is Neil. New owner.” Mike thumbed in Paul’s direction. “This is my buddy Paul. You’ll see him a lot.”

  Paul decided not to correct Mike on the ‘my buddy’ part. He held his hand out to Neil. “Nice to meet you.”

  Neil took his hand in a shake that told Paul everything he needed to know about the guy. Limp wrist, weak squeeze. Just like Mike. A man who tried like hell to look the part, but when it came down to it his sack didn’t take up nearly enough space in his boxers.

  “Neil just moved here from Iowa. Got divorced and wanted a change.” Mike ran a meaty hand over his slick comb-over.

  Neil leaned back against the counter at his back. “I needed some fresh meat. Gotta find the next Mrs. Meyers.”

  Yup. This guy was exactly what Paul thought. A turd.

  “Good luck with that.” Paul turned to leave before he said something he’d regret. This was the closest hardware store by quite a few miles and he didn’t want his mouth to ruin it for him.

  “I was telling Neil there were quite a few opportunities in town I’d like to get my hands on, right Paul?”

  Paul froze. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Every damn time he saw Mike it ended the same way. Mike’s married ass talking about all the women he wanted to get his fat fuckin’ paws on. Paul’s feet were moving toward the front of the store before this situation could go any further. Turned out walking away was much easier sober. He’d get the screws tomorrow. Somewhere else.

  He barely made it to the door before Mike’s voice rang out behind him, loud enough it was clear he intended to be heard. “You’ll have to check out Nancy Richards. She’s a hot piece I’ll tell ya that. Just needs a real man to make her see what she’s been missing out on.”

  There were few things he wanted to do more than turn around and punch Mike right in his bloated face. Lucky for Mike one of those things would make that a counterproductive move.

  He pushed back out into the cold night air and forced his feet to keep moving until he was back in his truck driving toward his last stop of the evening. Hopefully, it went better than the last. If not, it could bring a swift end to nearly three months of sobriety.

  His blood was still pumping hot in his veins as he parked the truck outside the auto parts storefront. A quick trip in and he’d have a new battery for his girl and head home to spend the evening getting her back up and running.

  It took him less than two minutes to grab what he needed and be at the empty checkout counter. He leaned across, checking to see if someone was crouched down going through the manuals lining the shelving under the registers. No luck.

  He was about to dump the battery and call the night a loss when the sound of voices from the far side of the store made him pause. He stalked toward them.

  “Can I get someone to check me ou--” His words died in his throat.

  “Hi Paul.” Nancy stood next to a store employee easily ten years younger, six different wiper blades in her hands. She shifted on her feet.

  “Hi Nan.” It was all he could manage. Sadly it was better than what he usually came up with when she was around.

  She looked down at the slim, clam-shelled packages. “I’m sorry for holding you up. I needed new wiper blades and I was trying to figure out which ones to get.” She turned to the man standing behind her and then back again, oblivious to the daggers he was shooting Paul’s direction. “He was helping me.”

  The man cleared his throat. “I’ll be with you in a minute sir.” His eyes went back to Nancy.

  Paul stepped forward, snagged the blades for Nancy’s Honda off the shelf and held them up. “Got ‘em.”

  Nancy slid the wipers she held back into place before reaching for the set Paul held. “Thank you.”

  He tucked them under his arm alongside the battery. “I got it.” He turned and went back to the counter, setting his battery and Nancy’s wipers on the glass surface.

  Another employee came out of nowhere and greeted him with a smile. “Did you find everything okay?”

  “Yup.”

  The man yammered on as he finished the transaction, but none of it registered. His brain was focused completely on the woman standing close by his side. So close he could smell her perfume, and it was not at all what he expected. It was different than anything he’d ever smelled. It was exotic. It was spicy. It was sweet.

  It was perfectly fitting and it was ruining his already shitty night.

  Receipt in hand, Paul left the store, holding the door open for a very quiet Nancy. She followed him into the lot, her brows drawn together. They grew even closer, a worry line forming in the middle, as they walked past his truck.

  He set the battery by her front tire and snapped open the first wiper pack. Before he could get the old blade off, she was at his side.

  “You don’t have to do this. I can have Thomas do it tomorrow.”

  He snapped open the second pack. “It’s already almost done.”

  Nancy huffed out a breath, the puff of hot air hanging like a filmy cloud in the air between them. She grabbed around inside her purse. “Well you certainly didn’t need to pay for them.” She yanked her wallet free and unsnapped it, flipping the leather case open. “Let me at least pay you back.”

  “No.” The word came out harsher than he meant it but maybe that was a good thing.

  Grabbing the trash and old blades along with his new battery, Paul stepped away from the car and away from her, but he made the mistake of not turning away.

  She stood beside the car, wallet still clutched in her hand, looking oddly defeated. “The engagement party is tomorrow. Are you coming?”

  He shook his head, knowing his answer wasn’t going to come as a surprise. He’d told the bride-to-be he wasn’t coming a dozen times. “Can’t.”

  She stared at him, her mouth barely opening before closing tightly shut.

  He wanted to stay just a few seconds more, looking at her. Watching her silky blonde hair flip with the wind, her cheeks turning pink from the cold. Watching her watching him, but that was one more thing that would be a counterproductive move.

  He had a life to live and there was only one way he could do it and still keep his sanity.

  “Goodbye Nan.”

  TWO

  Nancy caught her hip on the edge of the white Formica counter topping the center island as she hurried around the kitchen.

  “Damn it.” She rubbed the spot with the heel of her hand, hurrying onto the oven without slowing down. If that tray of artichoke dip didn’t come out now, bad things were going to happen. Like the smoke alarm going off.

  Shoving on an ancient hot mitt, tinted brown on the palm from years of abuse by screaming hot pans, she quickly pulled out the almost overdon
e appetizer and plunked it down on the stove, blowing a stray hair out of her eyes as she went. The smell of heavily browned, but not yet burnt cheese wafted up from the white baking dish. At least she’d missed that disaster. Even if only narrowly.

  The clock on the back of the range clicked ahead another minute, driving home the fact she had ten minutes left to get it together before people started showing up.

  Headlight beams flashed across the lace curtains covering the front windows.

  “Shit.” She dropped the mitt onto the glass cook top and tried to smooth back the wisps of hair escaping their tie as she rushed toward the front of the house.

  Before she could reach it, the front door swung open, bringing in a swift shot of cold air and an unreasonable amount of relief as the first arrivals filed in.

  “Oh thank God.” If there was one thing her future daughter-in-law had it was great timing.

  “What can I do?” Mina had her coat off and was in the kitchen washing her hands before Nancy could get the first word out.

  Under normal circumstances she would have balked at the idea of a bride, especially this bride, helping with her own engagement party, but these were desperate times.

  Nancy looked around the kitchen. It was clean at least, and the folding table intended to stand in as a pseudo buffet was set up under the far window and covered with a cloth, but that was as far as she’d gotten. “I need to start laying everything out. I don’t even have the plates or napkins opened. I still need to get out all the chips and crack--”

  “We got it. Don’t worry.” Mina peeked into the front room. “Kids, can you come in the kitchen?”

  Within seconds, Mina’s daughter and son, Maddie and Charlie were opening utensils and organizing them on the rectangular table. Mina pulled out serving bowls and filled them with chips and crackers and slider buns while Nancy arranged the appetizers and dropped in serving spoons. By the time people started walking through the door, the buffet was set perfectly and drinks were lined up across the counter.

  Nancy wrapped her arms around Mina. “Thank you. You saved my ass.”