Second Chance (Penny's Story): By The Numbers, #2

By Abigail Barnette

After a passionate reunion, Penny Parker has a second chance with the love of her life, Ian Pratchett. But the problems that caused their breakup haven’t disappeared overnight. Nor have the objections of their friends and families. 

The thrill of a new beginning and an exhilarating secret bring Penny and Ian closer than ever, but when outside forces and personal disappointments threaten their fresh start, Penny must learn how to reach the guarded heart of the man she loves…before their happy ending drifts away. 

Contains content some readers who are pregnant, trying to conceive, or suffering a pregnancy loss may wish to avoid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abigail Barnette
• Release date: Jun 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533797711

Book preview

Chapter One

Snow in Manhattan used to remind me of romantic comedies. Well, a particular one, actually. Bridget Jones’s Diary. I know it’s set in London, not New York, but the idea of a long, romantic kiss in the city snow? I could definitely get on board with that. Especially since I’d just had my heartbreak totally reversed the way Bridget’s heartbreak had been undone at the end of the movie.

The part I could have done without tonight was the part where my boss’s family was torn apart by a horrible tragedy.

The man walking through the freezing onslaught beside me was every bit as handsome as Colin Firth, but way less cold than Mark Darcy. Well, at least, emotionally. Ian and I were both plenty cold. Even though I had a long wool coat on, I’d worn a strapless black gown to the gala, with a slit up the back all the way to Manitoba. My feet were bare in my strappy heels, so whatever snow wasn’t currently wafting straight up to my bare cooch—I had no idea what Ian had done with my panties, but they’d been lost to me during our hasty reunion—was presently packing uncomfortably around my toes. I was going to die the best-dressed Jack London protagonist there ever was.

I should have changed my clothes before I’d rushed to the hospital for Sophie and Neil.

Let’s go to your place. Ian put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me under the lapel of his coat.

I leaned in. I wanted to say something, but both the cold and my shock at the emotional whiplash of the evening had rendered me speechless. Partially because of the chattering teeth. I waited until we got into the car to ask him, Are you going to stay?

If he said no, I was going to intentionally break my finger, just so he’d sit in the ER with me all night. The thought of him driving home in this weather, after what had just happened...

Before I could hyperventilate, I reminded myself that the non-highway speed limit in Manhattan was somewhere between six-month old baby crawling and idling riding lawn mower. On top of that, snow was quickly shutting the city down. Ian wouldn’t be driving fast tonight.

That didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t be.

I thought I might, he answered, his voice as painfully tight as my chest. Rather than risk the drive.

My shivering might have been relief. Probably, it was the cold. Good. I don’t want you to go anywhere tonight. Not without me.

We didn’t talk. Maybe there was nothing to say. Or we were both just too stunned and tired. Whatever caused our silence, it wasn’t anything to do with us. We shared our wordless misery. It didn’t pit us against each other.

The public garage nearest my apartment was a block away, so Ian parked on the street for a change. I knew he hated that. I appreciated him sparing me the walk.

My feet ached, from both the cold and the straps of my shoes, which had rubbed my skin raw. We entered my building, and two steps up, the stairs seemed to elongate like a hallway in a horror movie. My apartment had become my own personal Everest. It seemed very likely I wouldn’t survive the trek.

Maybe Ian wouldn’t, either. He’d slowed down, and by the time I’d reached the top, he was far behind me. Ian? Are you okay?

No, Doll, he said, and I knew he wasn’t talking about the climb. But I will be. Especially once we get you warmed up.

After everything that had happened tonight, his concern was for me. And I’d treated him like total garbage during our breakup.

I was the worst person alive.

I fished my keys from my purse and unlocked my door. Don’t worry about me. Worry about Neil and Sophie.

I will, I swear, he said, following me into the apartment. But let me worry about you for a bit, as a distraction.

Rosa sat on the sofa, sporting her I-had-the-day-off style: giant floppy bun, over-sized T-shirt, and printed PJ pants. She also wore the most shaming expression a human could ever conjure up without additional props or facial features. What’s he doing here?

I could have chilled an entire wine cellar with the tone of her voice. In all the commotion of the evening, I hadn’t thought to let Rosa know that Ian and I were back together. Not that I should have to check in with my friends before making life decisions for myself, and certainly not tonight.

I slipped my coat off, and Ian caught it for me. It’s a long story, I said, knowing that wouldn’t be the end of it.

Condense it for me. Because the last time we talked about him, you two weren’t a thing.

Well, now, we’re a thing again. I wanted to snap at her, but I couldn’t summon up the energy to do that. Besides, I couldn’t usually stay mad at Rosa for more than two seconds, anyway. Without her, I wouldn’t have survived New York. I went on, Like I said, it’s a long story. I promise I’ll tell you every detail once he’s not around and it’s not so awkward. Awkward, like talking about someone while they stood right behind you. But right now, I’m exhausted.

Her boss’s family was dealt a blow tonight, Ian began—and I heard the clipped edge of annoyance he tried to hold back—Penny’s had to deliver some clothes to the hospital for them.

Rosa backed off. She was protective of me, but not so protective that she would be an a-hole about it. I did think it was a little early.

The clock in the car had read twelve twenty-five. I hadn’t believed it. "It definitely doesn’t feel early. And I definitely can’t feel my toes."

All right, Ian said, taking decisive action. Let’s get you into a hot shower to warm up.

I became keenly aware that I was not only the youngest person in the room, but I was also the person trusted least with making decisions for herself. Still, it was nice to be so cared about, even if it was a little annoying.

Okay, let me get my bathrobe, though. And you can put your coat in my room. If we could find a place for it. How I Met Your Mother had given me some seriously unrealistic expectations about how much apartment a twenty-something New Yorker could afford. Our landlord claimed our apartment was seven hundred square feet, but they had to be some pretty small feet. There was very little actual room in my room. I flipped the switch and turned on the white Christmas lights that gave a much more pleasant glow to the room than the bare-bulb fixture that shared the same outlet. I’d thrown the bulb out and never looked back.

I should have thrown the Christmas lights away, too, so Ian wouldn’t see the conditions I’d been living in. I’d been spending every weekend since we broke up in a little nest made of blankets and sadness. Not exactly the way you want your recent ex to know how you were handling the situation.

It wasn’t that I wanted Ian to think I didn’t love him, or he meant so little to me that I hadn’t grieved our relationship. But I would have liked to retain some sense of dignity.

God, I hoped I hadn’t left empty candy wrappers in the bed.

I leaned over and tried to straighten up the tangled blankets a little bit, as though I could totally play it off like the bed was made the whole time.

Stop. I’m not going to judge your cleanliness, he said behind me, his voice gentle and tired. I’m just glad to be here.

I would need that assurance every day for the rest of my life. That should have felt more embarrassing than it did. I turned to him, barely trusting my voice. Yeah? You are?

I just had to check.

He leaned down to kiss me, and I opened my mouth under his. Being this close should have made up for lost time, but it only made me feel our separation more. I held onto him to reassure myself that he was real, and really standing here with me.

I pulled away first, to look him in the eye. I don’t ever want to break up again. I don’t want to lose you. Not when it’s so easy to lose people we love.

It was impossible to be in this moment without feeling very lucky, and very ungrateful. We’d nearly thrown our love away, and for what? One fight? My mistrust? His lies?

Okay, those were good reasons. But in the face of the hell we’d seen our friends trapped in tonight, those good reasons seemed pretty damn small.

I’m not going anywhere, Ian promised. Go get in the shower.

The thought of tempting him in with me soured somewhat when I thought of Rosa’s reaction. Ian probably wouldn’t go for it, either; he was really weird about physical intimacy with my roommate home. He’d said it was because he was out of practice with cohabitants, but I had a feeling he’d always been shy.

Well, in the proper context, anyway. I knew he and his ex-wife had done the group sex thing. I wasn’t going think about that. In fact, I made a quiet resolution that I would banish thoughts of his ex from my head, forever. Making decisions based on his past—or mine, for that matter—would only mess things up again.

I gave him my back and looked over my shoulder. Unzip me?

With pleasure. He stepped up closer, the lapels of his coat brushing my dress. There was something so hot about him undressing me while he was still fully clothed. It reminded me of the time I’d waited for him in his apartment and greeted him at the door in absolutely nothing.

He hadn’t even taken his shoes off before he’d jumped me.

I shivered, but it was only about fifty-percent from that memory. I reached behind me to unhook my bra. There had to be a name for the orgasm your ribs got from being freed from a stupid strapless bra. I threw it on the floor like the trash it was. That thing is evil.

I see that. His fingertip followed one of the aching lines across my back. Whenever you’re in need of rescuing from one of those terrible devices, call upon me.

Maybe it was the literal removal of weight from my chest that made me feel a hundred pounds lighter, but I laughed. I picked up my bathrobe and pulled it on, tying the belt as I turned to him. You can ogle me later. Right now, I just want to get feeling back in my feet.

He kissed my forehead. Go on. If you need any help, just give a shout.

Though I knew it would only be for a few minutes, I was loath to leave him again. Yeah, it was pathetic that I didn’t want even a shower curtain separating us, but my exhaustion upped my anxiety and turned me into a ball of clingy panic.

Which was exactly why stepping away for a minute was a good idea.

I went to the bathroom, turned on the water and reached into the medicine cabinet for my makeup remover wipes. Taking off near-perfectly symmetrical eyeliner at the end of the night was the worst feeling in the world.

Well, not the worst, a-hole. I made a disgusted noise and attacked my face with the flimsy cloth. I had no business complaining about my life when Sophie and Neil had just lost a family member, and when Neil’s daughter, Emma, had lost her husband. Especially not when the universe had given me an awesome gift tonight.

I showered quickly, relishing the hot water on my near-frostbitten feet, and shampooed the ninety gallons of gel from my hair. When I stepped out and toweled myself dry, I heard the rumble of Ian’s voice rising and falling in conversation. Rosa had never been #TeamIan in the first place. After our breakup, it seemed unlikely that he would win her over easily. Her loyalty was one of the things I loved most about her.

I didn’t hear any angry screaming, so I figured it might be safe to listen in. The cheap, hollow door didn’t do much to muffle Ian’s words.

On paper, I’m a fifty-three-year-old divorced man who up until a couple of months ago ate peanut butter off plastic spoons for most of his evening meals.

Okay, that wasn’t likely to wind up in Rosa’s pros column. So I was surprised when she said, Yeah, and you waited for her. Not as long as some guys—

Don’t. Don’t give me credit for that. It wasn’t a heroic feat to respect her.

That cut to the heart of the matter, sharper than any other reasoning I’d considered. I’d always thought that love, true love, wasn’t something a person could explain. I’d naively assumed it was some mystical force that drew two souls together, and I’d been helpless to its powers. That was why I’d stayed with my last boyfriend for so long, though I wasn’t always happy. I’d assumed our love was fate, that it had purpose, and if I were just patient, I’d see the happily-ever-after waiting for me.

That happily-ever-after had turned out to be getting cheated on and dumped.

Hearing Ian say he didn’t deserve credit for respecting me threw everything I’d believed about love into the garbage. I hadn’t been attracted to Ian because of fate or destiny, and I hadn’t fallen in love with him just because he was charming and sweet. I loved him because he looked at me as his equal. It would have been so easy for him, with all of his life and relationship experience, to treat me the way other men had. Like a conquest or a challenge, or a puzzle they could solve. And he didn’t want to be praised for not thinking that way, because it was unthinkable to him that anyone would treat me that way in the first place.

How could I not fall in love with him?

I slipped my robe back on and ran a hand through my hair. I wiped my sleeve through the fog on the mirror and checked my eyes. Sure enough, what little mascara the makeup remover had left behind streaked around my eyes, giving me the full Imperator Furiosa effect. I debated trying to scrub it off, but I was way too tired. Ian had seen me fully hungover before—smudged eyes were not going to make him fall out of love with me.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, he and Rosa were still on the couch, the end credits of American Dad! playing across the bottom of the screen as another episode started up.

Do you want to go to bed? I asked. No matter what he answered, I was going, anyway.

Yes, before I pass out and fall over on your roommate. He followed me into my room, and Rosa called out a goodnight! before he shut the door.

Closed up in my room, alone together with nothing left demanding our attention, my hormones suddenly overrode how tired I was. The top button of his shirt was undone, and he’d rolled his sleeves back to his elbows. The juxtaposition of casual and formal really did things to me.

I got close and smoothed my palms across his chest, up to his shoulders, and let my hands linger on their way down his arms. Guys in tuxes aren’t nearly as hot as guys who’re half out of their tuxes.

Well, if you see a hot guy half out of a tuxedo, let me know, and I’ll chase him off. he said, his tone weary. Right now, I’m about to get fully out of mine and into your bed. For sleep, only.

Penny, what are you doing? How could I possibly have expected him to want to have sex when we’d just been at the freaking hospital? I sighed and smiled and tried to play it off like I wasn’t the worst person in the world by saying, "Yeah. It’s kind of hard to be in the mood with everything that’s going on."

I shrugged out of my wet robe and climbed into bed, quick. Heat was included in my rent, but the landlord tossed the word heat around loosely. I should have made the bed before I got in it, though, because while I had become accustomed to sleeping in a knot of blankets, I needed to make room for Ian under them as well. I tried to smooth them out. Sorry, it’s not like I’ve been sharing the covers a lot lately.

Oh, not a lot? He made a noise that was probably supposed to be a laugh.

I looked up. Oh, god, did he think— He couldn’t actually think I—

He seemed to be concentrating very hard on unbuttoning his shirt. He cleared his throat and said, Right. It was a bad joke. Obviously, if you had...you know... If you’d, well... It wouldn’t change anything. We weren’t together, and—

Ian, it was just something I said without thinking. I wished I hadn’t, because this opened up an entirely new and unpleasant can of worms. We were only broken up for, like, six weeks. I didn’t sleep with anybody else.

I couldn’t have. The end of our relationship had torn me up so much; I couldn’t even fantasize properly when I masturbated. And that had been, like, maintenance masturbation. But maybe Ian had dealt with his pain some other way. Like humping his way around New York, for example.

My stomach roiled.

He exhaled a relieved groan. Good. Not that it would have mattered. You weren’t beholden to me to not sleep with anyone else. But you said ‘a lot’, and that led me to believe—

Did you sleep with someone else? I blurted, dreading the worst. He hadn’t volunteered the information, and every second that passed that he didn’t reassure me, I grew angrier and more jealous of the hypothetical women he might have fucked.

No. Honestly, I couldn’t think of anyone but you. I was half a person while we were apart.

Six weeks ago, I would have doubted his sincerity. Six weeks ago, I had doubted his sincerity. Six seconds ago, I’d assumed the worst of him again.

Was I ever going to learn my lesson on this?

You were a whole person. I pulled my knees up and hugged them. You were just a hurt whole person.

So were you. He pulled back the covers and got in beside me, and I barely gave him a chance to get comfortable before I snuggled up against him, naked skin to naked skin. I remembered how he felt in an instant, like my body had memorized him. My head fit perfectly in the dip between his shoulder and his chest, and his arm curved exactly as it always had around my back.

I almost threw this away. Through my stubbornness and stupidity, I’d almost thrown this away. And he’d given me so many chances.

I got your voicemails, I admitted, trailing my fingers through the hair on his chest.

I know you did. Rosa said you played them for her. And I know they were pathetic, and bordering on harassment.

He’d left five, and maybe from anyone else, I would have considered that stalkery and horrible, but we’d broken up during a fight we’d never resolved. And he hadn’t been angry, hadn’t accused me of anything or tried to guilt me into coming back. He’d reassured me that he loved me and he’d be willing to talk to me. Eventually, those calls had ended, and it had destroyed my heart to listen to him tell me he’d loved me, past tense.

Had I only just listened to them tonight? It seemed like ages ago.

I forgive you, I told him, because somehow, all the pain seemed petty and small in comparison to his body beside mine, his voice rumbling beneath my ear as he talked, the smell of him that had lingered on my pillows because I hadn’t been able to bring myself to wash the pillowcases. I tilted my head down to hide the tears that suddenly filled my eyes. I missed the way you smell.

That disturbs me, he said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. But if it makes you happy, who am I to judge?

Lying together in silence, I drifted off to the sound of his breathing and the lazy glide of his hand petting my back.

I woke, blinking at the wall, so tired I didn’t recognize my own bedroom, with no sense of how much time had passed. I rolled over, and Ian pressed a phone into my hand.

I blinked down at it. Hello?

Penny, um, Sophie began, then briefly paused. Neil’s daughter Emma? She...died.

Oh, no. Is there anything you need me to do? I sat up, thoughts of work pummeling my brain into wakefulness. How would this affect the staff meetings? How would it affect Deja’s schedule, or delay things like getting Sophie’s approval on spreads or essays? Maybe it was tasteless to worry about those things now, but Sophie couldn’t. It was my job to tie up those loose ends.

No. There’s nothing I need, she admitted. I just couldn’t tell Ian.

It was a weird sort of honor, knowing that she’d delivered the news to me, instead. Like she trusted me as a person, not just an employee.

So, I was going to be the best damn employee she had. Sophie, I’m so sorry. I’ll clear your schedule all week, if you need me to.

I’ll think about that tomorrow, she said, and I wondered if she realized it was a line from Gone With the Wind. There were times Deja compared her to Scarlet O’Hara, but never to her face.

I hung up the phone and turned to Ian. I could tell from his face that I didn’t actually have to say anything, but I tried to, anyway. Ian...

I know. The words were hollow, and though he looked at me, he seemed very far away. He snapped back to the moment and said, We should get married.

Um...

There weren’t enough record scratches or train braking noises on the entire Earth to describe the halt my brain came to. Get married? What the hell was that? Maybe I was still half-asleep. Or dreaming. I’d never remembered feeling tired in a dream before, but dreams didn’t make sense, and what he’d said didn’t, either.

Maybe now isn’t the best time to talk about something like that, I said, trying to blink away my confusion. The best time to talk about something like that was not in the middle of the night, right after I’d just woken up. It wasn’t fair. It was like when I used to ask my father for money while he was napping.

It’s a great time, Ian insisted, maniacally awake in an instant. We want to start our lives together, yeah?

I could have used some of that wakefulness myself. Well, yeah, of course. But I don’t—

Don’t what? Don’t want to marry him? That wasn’t right. I did want to marry him. But that was eventually. Down the road. After a while.

Then, let’s go. He was so intense it actually started to seem like a good idea. On Monday, let’s go to City Hall and get married.

Monday? I hadn’t even expected a proposal for, like, a year. A wedding? Way longer. How was I even going to get a dress, or flowers or...none of those things. Because he didn’t plan on having a wedding. He wanted to elope.

I...I can’t, I stammered, to buy me a little thinking time. I have to work. With all of this, Sophie is going to need me to handle a lot of stuff for her.

He took my hands, shocking every thought from my brain. It was nice to be thoughtless for a second, after all the ones that had been whirling through my brain.

We’ll go on our lunch hour, he suggested, like it was nothing. Like people just randomly got married on their lunch hour every day.

Suddenly, cautiously, the idea became sensible to me, and my mouth slowly bent into a smile. Or maybe it was sleep deprivation. Why wait? the impatient voice that usually demanded ice cream or impulse purchases argued.

I’d never been able to argue with that voice. I smiled, still trying to get my head around what was happening. This is really stupid. And it’s not the way I ever expected this to go.

I wasn’t sure how I’d expected it to go, but I definitely had never fantasized about a wedding at City Hall after my nearly-naked boyfriend proposed to me in the middle of the night.

But that made it sort of...magical.

You want the dress and the flowers and the cake, he said, hanging his head. I’m sorry. this was selfish of me.

Anybody could have a wedding where they walked down an aisle in a fancy dress. Not everyone eloped—what an amazing story that would be for our children, one day. Mom and Dad loved each other so much they ran off and got married on impulse.

Or maybe that was the kind of story you didn’t tell your kids, in case they decided to emulate it.

That was beside the point. Ian and I always knew this was where we were heading, even if there were bumps in the road. I’d already believed in fate and destiny and all