Second Chances by Abbie Williams Page A
Authors: Abbie Williams
Tags: United States, Romance, Contemporary, Family, Adult, divorce, Nature, Women, teen, love, Pregnancy, Minnesota, Williams
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evening. The western rim of the horizon, visible out my passenger-side window, still held a streak of orange, but it had melted into darkness by the time Iâd navigated past Oklahoma City. Within 10 minutes I saw the first green road sign announcing Brandt, 37 miles.
My phone vibrated again then, from the central cup holder where Iâd stashed it and I saw that Jillian was calling this time, but I ignored it, too keyed up to talk. She left a no doubt lengthy voicemail, and I promised myself I would call her tonight. I needed to hear her voice and she would be angry if I didnât. The road flashed away beneath the tires, and my heart rate increased with each passing mile. 24, then 11, then threeâ¦and then I saw it off the interstate, just as Blythe had said. A neon-pink sign advertising the Arrowhead Motel, complete with a flashing arrow that quite literally pointed the direction to its parking lot. I felt my breath catch as I signaled for the right turn, slowing and at last braking completely at the stop sign. The Arrowhead Motel was the only building on the appreciable horizon, a low-slung structure that housed maybe 40 rooms. I turned left and drove a quarter mile before making the final turn into the parking lot. There were outside lights on, and vehicles parked at intervals all around the motel, including Blytheâs truck. I was here, for better or worse, and put the car into park.
Chapter Three
August, 2003 - Brandt, Oklahoma
His truck was so familiar to me that my pulse reverberated just looking at it across the way. Whatâs more, Blythe was in that motel, just beyond one of the closed doors. And yet I sat motionless, gripping the wheel with both hands, tightly, my cheeks hot and my limbs trembling, heart thudding against my breastbone as though it wanted to be released from the prison of my ribcage. For a moment I didnât think I could do it, but then the door to room 17 opened, about 50 feet away to my right, and there he was, walking swiftly towards me, his stride determined, his eyes fixed on my car.
My entire body pulsed at the sight of him, and before I even knew I was moving I was flying across the parking lot and into his arms, which opened wide and collected me close and hard against his chest. I clung, my arms tight around his neck, and he lifted me up against him, my legs bent parallel to the ground as we clutched each other for a long moment. Blythe buried his face against my neck, his breathing ragged, as though he were holding back tears. I gripped his skull and stroked his hair, curled my hands around the back of his neck, my lips pressed to his collarbone, tears flooding over my cheeks and getting him wet. Finally he said, his voice hoarse and deep, âI canât believe youâre here, but Iâm so glad you are. So glad, Joelle.â
He pulled back slightly and my feet slid to the pavement. He cupped my face in his strong hands and tipped his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. I put my hands over his much larger ones, holding them against me.
âI had to come,â I whispered. His eyes opened at my words, drove into mine with certainty and pain.
âBut you shouldnât have, baby,â he whispered back, sliding his hands gently over my shoulders, coming to rest around my waist. âYou shouldnât have to go through this.â
At that moment I noticed Rich coming down the sidewalk from the same motel room. Bly clutched me extra hard for a moment before letting me go as we turned to face Rich.
âJoelle honey,â Rich said, catching me close for a hug. I breathed against Richâs shoulder, clad in a worn flannel shirt, drawing in the scent of tobacco and his perennial aftershave; he was as much a father to me as anyone I had ever known, and I let his familiarity comfort me. He patted my back twice before pulling back to study me and as he did, Blythe moved near again and wrapped one arm around my waist. I couldnât bear to
My phone vibrated again then, from the central cup holder where Iâd stashed it and I saw that Jillian was calling this time, but I ignored it, too keyed up to talk. She left a no doubt lengthy voicemail, and I promised myself I would call her tonight. I needed to hear her voice and she would be angry if I didnât. The road flashed away beneath the tires, and my heart rate increased with each passing mile. 24, then 11, then threeâ¦and then I saw it off the interstate, just as Blythe had said. A neon-pink sign advertising the Arrowhead Motel, complete with a flashing arrow that quite literally pointed the direction to its parking lot. I felt my breath catch as I signaled for the right turn, slowing and at last braking completely at the stop sign. The Arrowhead Motel was the only building on the appreciable horizon, a low-slung structure that housed maybe 40 rooms. I turned left and drove a quarter mile before making the final turn into the parking lot. There were outside lights on, and vehicles parked at intervals all around the motel, including Blytheâs truck. I was here, for better or worse, and put the car into park.
Chapter Three
August, 2003 - Brandt, Oklahoma
His truck was so familiar to me that my pulse reverberated just looking at it across the way. Whatâs more, Blythe was in that motel, just beyond one of the closed doors. And yet I sat motionless, gripping the wheel with both hands, tightly, my cheeks hot and my limbs trembling, heart thudding against my breastbone as though it wanted to be released from the prison of my ribcage. For a moment I didnât think I could do it, but then the door to room 17 opened, about 50 feet away to my right, and there he was, walking swiftly towards me, his stride determined, his eyes fixed on my car.
My entire body pulsed at the sight of him, and before I even knew I was moving I was flying across the parking lot and into his arms, which opened wide and collected me close and hard against his chest. I clung, my arms tight around his neck, and he lifted me up against him, my legs bent parallel to the ground as we clutched each other for a long moment. Blythe buried his face against my neck, his breathing ragged, as though he were holding back tears. I gripped his skull and stroked his hair, curled my hands around the back of his neck, my lips pressed to his collarbone, tears flooding over my cheeks and getting him wet. Finally he said, his voice hoarse and deep, âI canât believe youâre here, but Iâm so glad you are. So glad, Joelle.â
He pulled back slightly and my feet slid to the pavement. He cupped my face in his strong hands and tipped his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. I put my hands over his much larger ones, holding them against me.
âI had to come,â I whispered. His eyes opened at my words, drove into mine with certainty and pain.
âBut you shouldnât have, baby,â he whispered back, sliding his hands gently over my shoulders, coming to rest around my waist. âYou shouldnât have to go through this.â
At that moment I noticed Rich coming down the sidewalk from the same motel room. Bly clutched me extra hard for a moment before letting me go as we turned to face Rich.
âJoelle honey,â Rich said, catching me close for a hug. I breathed against Richâs shoulder, clad in a worn flannel shirt, drawing in the scent of tobacco and his perennial aftershave; he was as much a father to me as anyone I had ever known, and I let his familiarity comfort me. He patted my back twice before pulling back to study me and as he did, Blythe moved near again and wrapped one arm around my waist. I couldnât bear to
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