A Second Chance
JOHANNA
Somehow I keep calm, but I’m shaking inside. Chills run up and down my spine. It’s just as well I’m seated, as the muscles in my legs seem to have the consistency of jelly.
The air purification system can’t keep up. Dan’s midnight-forest fragrance fills the room so strongly I can practically taste woodsmoke with every breath, though despite my strong sense of smell—for a beta—I shouldn’t catch more than hints. The perfume must be seeping into the chair he sits in. I’ll likely catch whiffs for days at the least reckoning, meaning I’ll revisit this moment over and over.
It’s been a long time, and memory plays tricks, but I don’t remember his scent ever carrying such a snowy, wintry aspect—except that last meeting, when he asked me to choose.
When, as I now know, he’d expected me not to pick him.
Despite the snowy edge to his aroma, he’s sweating. His bangs cling to his forehead, forming jagged silver streaks that point to the haunted eyes below.
I should hate him.
But I don’t.
My heart aches.
For all he did—the things that he didn’t intend, but can never take back.
For the empty spot he left in my life when he interpreted my refusal to choose as rejection of him and walked away—no matter that he expected it—an emptiness echoing across the years to resonate anew.
For the scare he gave Max, which had likely been the final nail in the coffin of Max ever allowing an alpha around other than during his heats, eliminating the possibility of forming our own pack. Yes, Max had invited Corin into our lives and house, but that was different. As Max’s cousin, Corin didn’t count as a potential alpha partner—quite apart from Corin being the kindest, most considerate alpha in Max’s family by far, despite being dominant as all get out at times.
Regardless, that’s one mystery solved. Turns out, I could’ve lived happily without knowing, even after wondering all these decades. A perfect example of the adage to ‘be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.’
Yet my immediate response is to tempt fate again by asking another question, seeking another answer, even if I get it.
But not yet. Sweat still beads Dan’s forehead. His chest heaves periodically with noisy, shuddering exhales. He’s barely moved in the chair with his back still ramrod straight.
I hold up a hand, and he watches, only his head turning and not his torso, as I rise. I open the door and ask my assistant for some water. A few moments later, when I set the simple oblong glass in front of him, he merely stares at it. Only after I reseat myself does he manage to pry free his hands from the chair arms. He uses both hands to lift it, apparently worried that his faint tremors might cause him to spill.
By the time he’s drained it, he’s able to set it down with one hand.
Time to ignore being wary of what I wish for.
“Why did Max reach out to you while he was dying?”
Dan opens and shuts his mouth twice before shrugging. “I can’t say. I don’t know who he was at the end. We never talked, only exchanged a few letters, little more than notes. I have the last with me, if you’d like to see it. That’s why I’m here now.”
The wintry aspect of his midnight-forest scent no longer floods the room. What remains warms to at least early spring. No almost-tangible snow in the air anymore.
Yet I’m the one trembling now, on the verge of another answer I may or may not regret.
Dan strokes the breast pocket of his suit coat, then pulls out a square of paper. Unfolded, it makes, at best, a half sheet. Setting it on the desk, he pushes it toward me.
At first, the spiky lines blur on the page. Brushing my fingers over my eyes removes the tears, and the words become clear:
Your loss was my gain. Here’s a second chance if you want it. Don’t mess it up.
I can almost hear Max speaking in the rasp his voice developed at the end.
“A second chance? For what?” I make the mistake of looking up.
Red streaks Dan’s cheeks. He meets my gaze, but his throat works hard as his tone drops low. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“What do you guess?” My rising suspicions are at once both welcoming and unsettling.
