Chapter 2 - THE PRICE OF A SECOND CHANCE
“Then what?” Lucas repeated.
Ethan watched the gas station shrink behind the sedan's rain-streaked windows.
“Then I'll decide.”
Lucas had worked beside him for six years. He knew Ethan's silences, his temper, and the difference between a business opportunity and a personal obsession.
“This isn't about real estate.”
“Did I ask for your opinion?”
“No. You asked me to buy a failing gas station because a woman you haven't seen in seven years works there.”
Ethan turned.
“Careful.”
Lucas raised both hands. “I'm being careful. That's why I'm asking whether you've considered the possibility that walking back into her life might be a terrible idea.”
Ethan looked away.
The truth was that he had considered nothing else.
“Find the owner,” he ordered. “And get me everything you can legally obtain about the property's financial condition.”
“Legally?”
“Do you want me to spell it?”
Lucas sighed and returned to his tablet.
Twenty minutes later, Ethan's phone rang.
It was a number he hadn't saved, but he recognized the area code.
“Mr. Hale?” a woman asked. “This is Denise Miller. My father owns Miller's Fuel & Grocery. Lucas Grant contacted us about a possible purchase.”
Ethan sat straighter.
“Your father wants to sell?”
“He's been trying to sell for eight months. The roof leaks, the refrigeration system is dying, and the bank has been patient longer than it should have been.”
“What would he accept?”
There was a pause.
“Mr. Hale, before I give you a number, I need to tell you something. Claire Whitmore isn't the reason we're selling.”
“I never suggested she was.”
“Good. Because my father likes her. She works double shifts, keeps the books when he can't, and takes care of him after his dialysis appointments. If you intend to buy this property to punish her, you'll be buying more trouble than land.”
Ethan's jaw tightened.
“Everyone seems to have decided they know my intentions.”
“Perhaps you should ask yourself what they are.”
She hung up.
For several minutes, Ethan stared at the dark screen.
He hated the fact that a stranger had managed to make him feel defensive.
He hated even more that she might be right.
At the gas station, Claire was closing the register when the store's back door opened.
“Mom?”
She turned.
Noah stood beside the refrigerator, his white cane folded against his leg.
“I'm here.”
“Is the angry man gone?”
Claire swallowed.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Did he make you sad?”
“No.”
Noah tilted his head.
“You sound like when you say you're not tired.”
She knelt in front of him.
“Sometimes grown-ups have conversations that aren't very pleasant.”
“Was he your friend?”
Claire closed her eyes briefly.
“He used to be.”
Noah considered that.
“Can people stop being friends and start again?”
The question hurt more than Ethan's cruelty had.
“Sometimes,” she whispered. “But not always.”
Mr. Miller appeared from the office, leaning heavily on his cane.
“Your ride is here, Claire.”
She rose quickly.
“I can finish the inventory first.”
“Inventory can wait. You can't keep working sixteen hours a day.”
“I need the overtime.”
“And you need sleep.”
She forced a smile and helped Noah into his coat.
On the drive home, she kept checking the rearview mirror, although there was no reason to believe Ethan would follow them.
Their home was a small rented duplex behind an auto-repair shop. The furnace rattled, the kitchen window leaked, and Noah's bedroom contained a secondhand keyboard with three keys that no longer worked.
But it was theirs.
Claire had spent years making it feel safe.
She warmed soup, helped Noah wash his hands, and sat beside him while he ate.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Anything.”
“Why don't I have a picture of my dad?”
The spoon slipped from Claire's fingers and struck the bowl.
She had prepared for this question a hundred times.
She had never found an answer that didn't sound like a betrayal.
“Your father wasn't able to stay in our lives.”
“Did he know about me?”
Claire stared at her son.
The truth stood between them, enormous and merciless.
“Yes,” she said finally. “He knew.”
Noah's small hand tightened around his spoon.
“Then why didn't he come?”
She reached across the table and held his fingers.
“Because sometimes adults make choices that hurt other people. And sometimes those choices have consequences they don't understand until it's too late.”
Noah nodded, accepting the explanation without understanding its full weight.
After she tucked him into bed, Claire went to the kitchen and opened the tin box hidden behind the flour canister.
Inside lay a hospital bracelet, a faded photograph, an old scholarship envelope, and a small thermal-paper receipt folded into quarters.
She had kept the receipt for seven years.
Its ink had nearly disappeared.
She unfolded it carefully.
At the bottom, beneath the date and total, were two handwritten words.
For Ethan.
Claire pressed the paper against her lips.
She had promised herself that she would never tell him.
Not unless the truth became the only way to protect their son.
Her phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
You need to tell him before someone else does.
A second message arrived.
Blake is back.
Claire's blood ran cold.
May you like
Because Blake Harrington had been gone for seven years.
And he had never left anything unfinished.
