The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) by Aubrey Parker Page A
Authors: Aubrey Parker
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sit on this man’s couch when I visited Maya, and he always talked this way: like I knew all he knew, and nothing required explanation.
I guess it doesn’t matter who “the snippy woman” is, or what has Maya all “keyed up.” All that mattered was that I hung up learning two things I needed to know: Maya’s phone number and that of all the places to meet in Inferno Falls, the Nosh Pit is my worst bet.
I didn’t bother going further until Maya returned my text. I sent it with shaking fingers then had to endure an hour before she finally responded. During that time, I was certain I’d made a mistake. Of course she still hates me. How could she not? I almost wanted the interlude to last forever because the more time passed, the surer I became that she’d received it fine and was composing the perfect vitriolic response. I was afraid to look at my phone from that point on, sure that I’d find something more than a simple answer on my screen. The way Maya must feel about me — anger from long ago, stoked and simmering for years to today’s eruption — would result in something alive. Something that might reach through the phone with digital hands, giving me the throttling I so deserve.
I can’t say how sorry I am now, over text. I kept hoping she’d give me the opportunity to apologize in person. Because I am sorry. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that I was wrong. It’s obvious. It’s horribly, in-my-stupid-face obvious that I was nothing more than an irresponsible, selfish prick. A man doesn’t abandon his responsibilities. I know that now, but I didn’t get it then; I was a dumb kid. Angry and scared. I’ve never liked being tied down or boxed in, and to me that was Inferno Falls.
There was school. There was my deadbeat uncle. And then there was Maya. I couldn’t handle a baby. I just couldn’t. It was one responsibility too many, so I ran, like a coward. I ran from the diapers. I ran from the late-night feedings. I ran from the feeling of being tethered, of having something to take care of and feel responsible for. I didn’t know how to be a father. My dad was barely a parent, and my uncle definitely wasn’t.
She had nobody else, but I chose me anyway. I left. All this time, I suppose I’ve always meant to return, but I couldn’t face it — the responsibility, of course, but now there was the guilt as well. And the more time passed, the worse that guilt became.
I want to tell her how sorry I am for everything. Maybe there’s a way to make it right between us. I’d like that. If she can forgive me, and let me back in.
So I waited. And sweated. I’d told myself before contacting Maya that I was detached from it all. If she wanted me in her and Mackenzie’s life, then maybe I could be. If she didn’t, no big deal. I’ve lived this long on my own; rejection would be fine. And perhaps for the best.
But the more time passed between my text and her response, the more I realized that I couldn’t take a no. I couldn’t take her anger and rejection, even though I deserved it.
When the response came, it was simpler than I’d imagined.
There was no anger. No joy. No emotion. There wasn’t even surprise. I’ve never texted Maya, and I’ve never, ever approached Inferno since I left. But here I was getting intimately in touch, letting her know I’m nearby, and going as far as to expose my throat by saying, I don’t know if you’re willing to see me, but I’d like to see you . And all she says is, 8:30 tonight. Where?
No shock.
No elation.
No remonstration.
No wishing in return. For all I know, she took my desire to see her as pathetic. She might be holding her emotions like a knife, waiting to come here and cut me. Oh, you’d like to see me, Grady? Well, I’m not willing, so go fuck yourself. The message delivered in person so she can look me in the eye for the personal touch.
But it was all I had. So I focused on finding the
I guess it doesn’t matter who “the snippy woman” is, or what has Maya all “keyed up.” All that mattered was that I hung up learning two things I needed to know: Maya’s phone number and that of all the places to meet in Inferno Falls, the Nosh Pit is my worst bet.
I didn’t bother going further until Maya returned my text. I sent it with shaking fingers then had to endure an hour before she finally responded. During that time, I was certain I’d made a mistake. Of course she still hates me. How could she not? I almost wanted the interlude to last forever because the more time passed, the surer I became that she’d received it fine and was composing the perfect vitriolic response. I was afraid to look at my phone from that point on, sure that I’d find something more than a simple answer on my screen. The way Maya must feel about me — anger from long ago, stoked and simmering for years to today’s eruption — would result in something alive. Something that might reach through the phone with digital hands, giving me the throttling I so deserve.
I can’t say how sorry I am now, over text. I kept hoping she’d give me the opportunity to apologize in person. Because I am sorry. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that I was wrong. It’s obvious. It’s horribly, in-my-stupid-face obvious that I was nothing more than an irresponsible, selfish prick. A man doesn’t abandon his responsibilities. I know that now, but I didn’t get it then; I was a dumb kid. Angry and scared. I’ve never liked being tied down or boxed in, and to me that was Inferno Falls.
There was school. There was my deadbeat uncle. And then there was Maya. I couldn’t handle a baby. I just couldn’t. It was one responsibility too many, so I ran, like a coward. I ran from the diapers. I ran from the late-night feedings. I ran from the feeling of being tethered, of having something to take care of and feel responsible for. I didn’t know how to be a father. My dad was barely a parent, and my uncle definitely wasn’t.
She had nobody else, but I chose me anyway. I left. All this time, I suppose I’ve always meant to return, but I couldn’t face it — the responsibility, of course, but now there was the guilt as well. And the more time passed, the worse that guilt became.
I want to tell her how sorry I am for everything. Maybe there’s a way to make it right between us. I’d like that. If she can forgive me, and let me back in.
So I waited. And sweated. I’d told myself before contacting Maya that I was detached from it all. If she wanted me in her and Mackenzie’s life, then maybe I could be. If she didn’t, no big deal. I’ve lived this long on my own; rejection would be fine. And perhaps for the best.
But the more time passed between my text and her response, the more I realized that I couldn’t take a no. I couldn’t take her anger and rejection, even though I deserved it.
When the response came, it was simpler than I’d imagined.
There was no anger. No joy. No emotion. There wasn’t even surprise. I’ve never texted Maya, and I’ve never, ever approached Inferno since I left. But here I was getting intimately in touch, letting her know I’m nearby, and going as far as to expose my throat by saying, I don’t know if you’re willing to see me, but I’d like to see you . And all she says is, 8:30 tonight. Where?
No shock.
No elation.
No remonstration.
No wishing in return. For all I know, she took my desire to see her as pathetic. She might be holding her emotions like a knife, waiting to come here and cut me. Oh, you’d like to see me, Grady? Well, I’m not willing, so go fuck yourself. The message delivered in person so she can look me in the eye for the personal touch.
But it was all I had. So I focused on finding the
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