SECOND CHANCE MOUNTAIN MAN Read online

  SECOND CHANCE MOUNTAIN MAN

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  Copyright

  About

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  Preview

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  Edited by

  Teresa Banschbach

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  Copyright © 2018 by Frankie Love

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  About

  Second Chance Mountain Man is the filthy-sweet short story you’ve been waiting for!

  After a year apart, I see Honey at a wedding … and one look tells me that I love her as much as I ever have.

  She ended things once, but this time I’m not letting my girl go without her knowing exactly where I stand.

  She may think the bride and groom are perfect, with their white picket fence life, but we don’t need that.

  I’ve got a hammer and nails, and I can build something from nothing.

  But Honey and me? We’re not nothing.

  We can mend this broken fence.

  I love her and it’s about time she knows.

  Chapter One

  Honey

  Hawthorne is waiting for me, looking even better than he did a year ago when we said goodbye.

  Well, when I ran.

  He still has his thick beard and those steel grey eyes that should feel cold but have only ever offered warmth. He’s in a perfectly fitted tuxedo, and my eyes widen as I take him in--I’ve never seen this rugged mountain man so cleaned up.

  How did Laura not prepare me for this? I haven’t seen Hawthorne in twelve months. I turn around where my best friend is standing with her father, about to walk down the aisle. Widening my eyes, I silently ask her what my ex is doing here. The man I have been thinking about every day since I left. The man I long for … the man I hurt.

  The man I want so damn bad.

  Laura leans in. “I didn’t know. It was last minute, Hawthorne stepped in and--”

  She’s cut off as the wedding planner steps forward and tells Hawthorne and me that it’s time to walk down into the chapel.

  I swallow. Hard.

  Then I step closer to Hawthorne, the wedding music filling the foyer of the chapel, and he offers me his arm.

  I take it, knowing I have no choice––I’m the maid of honor at my best friend’s wedding, and apparently Hawthorne is the last-minute best man. I can’t exactly turn and run this time. My best-friend’s wedding is about to begin.

  “What are you doing here?” I lean in and whisper, trying to ignore the flip-flop in my belly, the pounding of my heart. Hawthorne smells like pine trees and rich leather and promises he meant to keep.

  Promises I broke.

  “Mark’s brother’s flight was delayed,” he says in his low, gravelly voice. A voice that used to say I love you. A voice that said We’ll last forever. A voice that asked me to stay. “I fit the tux, so I’m filling in.”

  I inhale, my hands trembling as I grip the bouquet of pink roses, offering the two hundred guests in attendance a warm smile as we make our way down the aisle. Candlelight fills the sanctuary, creating a dreamy atmosphere. I let my shoulders fall, focusing on Laura and Mark’s special day, and not the man standing beside me.

  The man I fell in love with two years ago. The man who asked me to marry him.

  “You look as beautiful as you ever did, Honeysuckle,” he tells me, his hot breath sending a shiver down my spine. Standing so close to him after so much time is torture and I blink back tears. He is the only person to ever call me Honeysuckle. The only person who looked at me and saw something sweet. He said being with me was like spring time, a fresh start for both of us.

  But I was the one who needed a fresh start when we met. He was steady, I was in pieces. Alone, picking up the fragments of my life … and then he showed up, proving to me he was nothing like my last boyfriends––the ones who hurt me, hit me. Insisted on tearing me down. Hawthorne was strong, but it wasn’t his fists he fought with. He believed in the power of love.

  That kind of strength terrified me.

  I had never known it before.

  I give him a quick glance and see the sincerity in his eyes. He was always so genuine, so true-blue. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

  It was me who was scared of the truth. Of handing a man my heart, scared he would break it.

  Instead, I broke it all on my own the day I walked away, boarded a plane, flew across the world and disappeared in my research on wildflowers, focusing on the book I was writing.

  At the end of the aisle, we part ways, and I take my place next to the bridesmaids, watching Laura walk down the aisle in her white organza gown, a long veil trailing her, a glittering tiara on her head--making Meghan Markle look like a second rate princess. Blasphemy, maybe, but today Laura looks like a queen.

  As they exchange their vows, I train my eyes on Laura and Mark as they slip rings on one another’s fingers, promising till death will they part, and I cheer with the guests as they are pronounced husband and wife.

  It could have been me, standing here with Hawthorne--to have and to hold. I can’t help but steal a glance at the man who raked his hands through my hair, who kissed away my pain, who picked up my shattered dreams and helped me piece them back together.

  He’s looking right at me.

  This time I don’t look away.

  Chapter Two

  Hawthorne

  Timing is everything.

  When Honey left a year ago, I hated to see her go. That sweet thing had been through the wringer, and if my love scared her, then she needed to let time heal her, not me.

  But seeing her here, all I can do is pray that her broken wings have mended. That she remembers how to fly.

  The reception is fancy as fuck, and I shake my head as caterers offer guests the happy couple’s signature champagne cocktail. Where is the damn whiskey?

  Smirking, I take one of the flashy drinks. This may not be my scene, but it’s a wedding and, truth is, I’m a romantic at heart.

  Why would I still be pining after the girl who got away if I didn’t believe in love?

  Honey is with the bridesmaids, she’s in a pale pink dress like the other women, but she stands out from the crowds. She always has. She has a heart-shaped face, raven colored hair, bright blue eyes that are so clear you can see straight to her soul. Too bad she does whatever she can to hide that from the world.

  But I see. I see her.

  Ever since I met her at the bookstore, two years ago, I knew she was mine. I was looking at hiking books and she was looking up wildflowers and we fell in love between the pages of a guidebook--both of us on a trail that led us home.

  Or at least, it should have. I would have built us a cabin next to a hundred year old cedar tree--rooted in place, just like my devotion. The foundation to the house would be thirty yards behind a river running as strong as our passion, honeysuckle growing as wild as my love for her.

  I swallow; knowing home isn’t exactly where the path took us. There was a fork in the road and she turned right without me. She left me al
one in the woods, watching her run. She was scared but I was steady. I would wait for her.

  And I have, all this time. But seeing her again, not knowing if she still longs for me … still thinks of me? It kills me. And it’s taking everything within me not to go over to her and pull her in my arms; ask her to look in my eyes and tell me what she sees. Because even from here, across this ballroom, when I look at her, all I see is forever.

  It’s all I’ve ever seen when I look at Honey.

  “You’re staring,” Mark says, pausing as he passes me. We head toward the photographer who is corralling the wedding party for pictures.

  “I can’t help it, I fucking love that girl.”

  Mark grins. “You should tell her.”

  I shake my head at my long time friend. He knows it’s the last thing I told Honey before she left. Well that, and the four little words that scared her away for good: Will you marry me?

  “She made it clear she didn’t want me when she ran away to Europe, Mark. I’m not gonna beg her for something she doesn’t want.”

  “People change,” Mark says.

  “Yeah, if Honey wants me, the ball is in her court.”

  I run a hand over my beard, setting my glass on a table as we walk outside to join the wedding party. “I was hoping she would be here, but … seeing here… damn, it’s harder than I thought.” Trying not to sound too obvious, I ask, “Do you know how long she’s in town?”

  “Oh, she moved back, this week. Damn, you really are off the grid, aren’t you?”

  Ignoring the comment, I ask, “Your brother still not here? I feel weird being in the wedding photos.”

  “Yeah, his flight got all jacked up. He won’t make it. You have to stand in for him, seriously. Besides, I think it’s funny -- the only reason you weren’t a groomsman in the first place is because I knew it would be torture making you put on a fucking tux.”

  I snort. “Well, I’m happy to help. But you’re right, I must really be a good friend to dress up like a penguin for you on short notice.” Looking over at Honey I think wearing this tux isn’t the reason today is torture. It’s seeing the girl I love. The girl who doesn’t love me back.

  Mark claps me on the back before heading over to his bride. He kisses her easily and I can’t help but wish it were Honey and I standing here.

  When the photographer begins arranging the wedding party for pictures, I do my best to ignore the fact that Honey is ten feet away, reminding me of everything I miss. When the photographer asks us to stand together for a picture, I breathe her in like she’s a warm, sunny day. Like we’re on a country road driving at thirty-five miles an hour with the windows down and the gentle wind in her hair.

  “Yes, just like that,” the photographer says. “A little closer together, yep, a little closer still, okay, perfect.”

  When the photographer finishes I exhale, knowing everything I want is inches away.

  “God I miss you,” I say before she steps away.

  She looks up into my eyes, and I know she sees what I’ve always known.

  My heart beats only for her.

  Chapter 3

  Honey

  I have a deep urge to beg the photographer to send me the photos she took of Hawthorne and me, but before I can embarrass myself, Hawthorne is looking down at me.

  Those eyes burn into mine and I know he has been waiting for me all this time.

  Which makes me feel even shittier than I already do.

  “God I miss you,” he says, his voice sweeter than my name, his words echoing the beat of my heart.

  I pull in my bottom lip, not trusting myself to speak. There is so much to say. Words I’ve held back for an entire year, not wanting to email or write them in a letter. They are words I need to say face to face.

  I knew this was coming. I moved back to town a week ago, living in a motel until I figure out what’s next.

  “It’s time for the first dance!” the DJ calls and Laura reaches for my hand, squeezing it tight.

  “I hope I don’t mess this up,” she says, and I turn away from Hawthorne, smiling at my bright-eyed bestie.

  “You got this. Living On A Prayer is your jam, Laura,” I tell her with a laugh. Laura and Mark have been taking dance lessons for three months in preparation for this.

  “Come watch,” she says as her husband leads her inside to the dance floor, her beautiful gown bustled so she doesn’t trip.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I tell her, following. Hawthorne follows too, and we take our seats at the table designated for the wedding party, sitting side by side.

  The music starts, and everyone starts clapping and laughing as Mark and Laura begin their routine. It’s adorable and Pinterest-worthy and exactly them.

  Hawthorne and I were never like those two. They are wide smiles and big laughs. We were slow dances to our favorite record and late night confessions in a blanket fort built for two and early mornings on the rooftop, watching the sunrise.

  Why did I let the sun set on what we had?

  He catches my eye and I know he is remembering too. All of it.

  My unraveling. Him putting me back together. The mess I was. The woman I was scared to become.

  His. Forever.

  Bon Jovi’s anthem ends and I watch as Laura is wrapped in her husband’s arms, as he dips her, her white dress flowing behind her. He clutches her thigh and everyone whoops and hollers as Mark leans down to kiss his bride.

  Effortless and breezy, Mark swept into Laura’s life and they bought a house with a picket fence, they painted each room bright white. I’m not saying their love is simple, but it surely isn’t complicated.

  “Dance with me,” Hawthorne says and he takes my hand. I spent the last year on the foothills of the Irish mountainside documenting rare wildflowers. But really I was finding myself.

  I ended up back where I started.

  I need to tell Hawthorne that; tell him everything. Tell him he was right and I was wrong. I don’t want to be defined by fear. And I won’t let a string of boyfriends who hurt me control my future. Not anymore.

  But what if it’s too late?

  The music starts, the first notes causing our eyes to meet. It’s our song.

  “Did you ask them to play this?” I ask him as the song begins. It’s River by Leon Bridges and the lyrics take me back in time… Take me to your river, I wanna go.

  For a moment, I want to go too. I don’t know if he’s moved on. What if I’m too late? My heart pounds as the song washes over me. I feel swept away. I should go.

  But Hawthorne’s hand is on my waist, holding me in place--tethering me to this moment.

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  I look over Hawthorne’s shoulder and catch Laura’s eye. She shrugs, smiling, mouthing sorry! But I know she isn’t. She said I was a fool to leave him. She believed in us before I did. Playing this song was her idea. God, how I love that girl.

  “I missed you too,” I tell him, my body against his, as if I am right where I belong.

  “Mark says you’re back for a while?” Hawthorne tenses, and I know so much hinges on this.

  Am I really here for good?

  “There’s nowhere else I want to be,” I manage to say, the truth so plain to see. Hawthorne is my home. I just hope he kept the light on for me.

  “Will you leave again?” he asks, his words laced with hurt. I hurt him.

  He has no reason to trust me. He said forever and I said goodbye. He asked me to stay and I ran away.

  He looks down at me, the music speaking our language, and our bodies have already memorized each move. We don’t need dance lessons; we have enough history to know what steps to take.

  But it’s always been one step forward, three steps back.

  I close my eyes. A single word could change my life.

  “Never,” I whisper, our foreheads touching. I don’t want the song to end. I want Hawthorne to kiss me; I want him to feel what I feel.

  But he doesn’t.
The song finishes and he steps away and he looks at me as if seeing a ghost.

  I don’t want to be a shadow of his past; I want to be his future.

  Chapter 4

  Hawthorne

  I want to kiss her, but if I do that here, now, I won’t be able to get through the best man’s speech I need to deliver. I have nothing prepared, but considering how much Honey hates public speaking at least I’ll set her up to shine when it’s time for her to give hers.

  Then I’ll drag her out of this reception and hold her like the treasure she is, refusing to let go. And God’s knows I owe Mark a speech, considering he’s the reason I’m standing here, next to Honey, in the first place.

  Her eyes are glassy as the song ends and just looking at her is like seeing my future. When we met she’d been through hell and back, hurt so many times, by so many men. Her exes, her bosses, her professors. It’s like everywhere Honey went, she was told she was something, not someone.

  And that well of pain caused her to hurt herself in ways that changed her. Changed the way she saw herself, changed the story she told herself each day.

  But Honey is different now. I can see it when I look in her eyes. She knows what she wants, who she is, in a way she didn’t a year ago.

  When I asked her to marry me she was so scared of being hurt that she couldn’t accept the love I had to offer.

  But now it’s different.

  She came back.

  And yes, she’s back for Laura’s wedding, but that’s not all. She wrapped her arms around my neck and told me she wouldn’t leave again.