April Embers_A Second Chance Single Daddy Firefighter Romance Read online

  That was intimate. Even if it wasn’t romantic.

  But the smallest part of me wanted him to know how I felt. Wanted him to know how he had tugged at my heart and entranced my mind and caught my stare. He deserved to know that, despite how he was treating me. He deserved to know that a woman could care for him even while he was in that wheelchair. That it didn’t make him any less of a man that could provide for someone.

  So I walked over to the table, pulled up a small chair from the corner, and began to write.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grace

  Hayden,

  I know you fired me, but I can’t leave things like this between us. We’ve weathered too much and you’re too special to me for me to leave without saying something to you. First, I want you to know that I’m not upset with you. I’m hurt-- deeply-- but I’m not angry. You harbor enough of that for the both of us. I know this has all been frustrating, but I do have something to admit to you.

  I do feel I was holding you back in your physical therapy.

  Not because I didn’t want you to recuperate, but because I was worried that you might not. I watched you risk your life and your health so you could walk again, and I wanted to make sure that became a reality for you. So I took it slower with your physical therapy. Tried to make sure we didn’t misstep. And in the end, I ended up doing you a disservice, and I’m sorry.

  I know you see that wheelchair as a symbol of emasculation, but it isn’t. That wheelchair doesn’t take away your ability to be strong, or to work, or to love. I watched you resent that chair for so many reasons other than the one true reason why I think you didn’t like it. And I think the real reason behind your anger towards it was the lack of control you had over your situation. Control I tried hard to give back to you without pushing you to a limit I wasn’t sure if you could handle.

  I’m sorry, Hayden. All I wanted was to give you what you told me you wanted.

  But don’t let that chair convince you that you are incapable of being loved. Because in the time spent with you, I saw myself loving you. I saw myself getting close to you. There were times when it was hard to keep my eyes off you and there were days when I would’ve embarrassed myself in front of the entire world to see you smile. Good women-- real women-- don’t see the chair, Hayden. They see you.

  I saw you.

  I could never be angry with you because of how I feel about you. I hate that I won’t be here to see you fully recover, but I do hope you get back whatever it is you’re looking for. I want that for you because I see how much you want it. Just keep in mind that it takes time. You came back from injuries that should’ve killed you, Hayden. Give your body time to cope the way you gave your mind time to cope.

  I also want to thank you. Not simply for the job, but for the time you allowed me to spend with you. The cups of coffee you allowed me to share with you. The meals you choked down so you could let me cook for you. They are memories I will carry with me for a very long time. Possibly forever. Know that your mother and sister mean well. They came very close to losing the only other man in their family to the same thing that robbed your family of their patriarch. They’re going to be a little clingy for a very long time, and they’ve earned that right.

  But the right you’ve earned is releasing yourself from these shackles. I do hope you walk again. I do hope the aggressive physical therapy works. But if it doesn’t, don’t chain yourself down, Hayden. Don’t allow some company or cameras or a few glances from people force you into this hole you can’t get out of. Don’t give someone that kind of power over you. You’re a strong, intelligent man. Don’t give into the pressure.

  You made an impact on my life. You imprinted yourself into my memories. And in some ways, you carved out a new path in my life. I’m forever grateful for that. But don’t convince yourself you aren’t worth loving until you get out of that chair. Because it simply isn’t true. A man isn’t defined by how tall he walks. A man is defined by how tall he feels.

  Keep your head high and your mind open, and your mental state will always follow suit.

  I wish you all the best, Hayden.

  Love,

  Grace

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hayden

  Every morning, I read that note.

  Just like all the notes she left in the flowers, it hit me.

  Hard.

  It was sitting near the coffee pot when I got back from my mother’s. I wasn’t going to stick around and watch Grace leave. I knew how much this was hurting her and I wasn’t willing to make it any harder than it already was. Things between us were tense, my physical therapy had fallen to the wayside, and my mother mentioned me firing her every time I turned around.

  But I hoped she understood.

  Until I found that letter.

  I didn’t fire Grace because I didn’t care. I fired her because I knew we couldn't be together with her as my nurse. She couldn’t be my caregiver and my lover, and it was more important for me to be able to explore the possibility of being with her than it was for her to take care of me. But I wanted-- no, I needed-- to be a whole man before that took place. And I knew she was holding back on me. Because she was scared. Worried. Feared for my recuperation just like I did. I fired her because I needed to focus on turning into the man she deserved, not the man she saw every morning struggling to make a damn pot of coffee.

  But she didn’t know that.

  She thought I’d fired her because I was upset with her. That she somehow didn’t do a good enough job. And it killed me inside. That note-- and that realization-- is what fueled me through my physical therapy. It was what kept me going, day in and day out, despite the fact that I hurt. Despite the fact that I was frustrated. Despite the fact that I was tired.

  “And breathe,” Zander said.

  “I am breathing.”

  “No, you’re not. You're holding your breath exactly like I told you not to do. You want to walk?”

  “Of course I want to walk.”

  “Then breathe, Mr. Lowell.”

  “What does breathing have to do with me standing on my damn hip?”

  “Besides blood circulation, relaxation, keeping your muscles from tensing, and delivering oxygen to the area that needs more time to heal?”

  I shot my new male nurse a nasty look and he laughed.

  He fucking laughed.

  “Look, I get it. I tore my rotator cuff playing football in high school and the recuperation was a bitch. And I didn’t want to listen to my physical therapist either. But it elongated my recovery by months because I was stubborn. Don’t do that. Put your ego aside and listen, and in a few more weeks you’ll be walking unassisted.”

  “Weeks?” I asked.

  “Yep. That's what happens when you fight the system, Mr. Lowell.”

  Zander was a good nurse. He also had no issues giving me my space. He was part-time, and came by in the mornings for three hours. He would check on me to make sure nothing had happened, we would start the day with my physical therapy, then he would check on my medication, possibly take some blood, and be on his way. Which left me with a lot of time to explore my freedom and a lot of time to think about Grace.

  I wondered how she was doing.

  I knew she’d taken her old job back. Working as a florist. And part of me wondered if I could get regular deliveries going to see her again. Maybe I could request who delivered the flowers and it would give me a chance to explain things. But I’d always find a way of talking myself out of it. Whether it was stumbling to get into the shower or a random episode of shooting pain that cascaded up my side, there was always something to remind me of the fact that I wasn’t quite whole again.

  Wasn’t quite me again.

  I passed the time standing unassisted at my desk and Skyping into work. Alicia was doing a fabulous job managing the project in the Caribbean and things were now back on track. The contracting company that attempted to contract out the work we hired them for had been replaced with a better, more
substantiated company. They were getting ahead of the weather and sometimes even working through the nights to get done and meet timetables. I told Mike to make sure they were compensated fairly for their time because I wanted to build a rapport with them.

  I wanted to dominate the islands with my luxury hotels and I wanted to have a great team of contractors at my side to do it with.

  I had meetings with the investors where I stood over video and projected my strength and recuperation. And I saw my company’s stocks match the relief my investors were feeling. My company, after months of uncertainty, was finally back on the rise. Clients were reinstating their contracts and going forward with plans that were halted at the beginning of all this shit and I finally felt like things were settling into a good and decent rhythm.

  But there was still the issue of Grace.

  My physical therapy with Zander went from painful to tolerable. It went from my wheelchair to the floor. Then from the floor to the wall. Then from the wall to hanging onto his shoulders. After seven weeks of struggling to walk and stumbling around my apartment and projecting strength after crashing back down into my chair, I was walking unassisted. I still had a bit of a limp and standing on my tiptoes still hurt like a bitch, but I was there. I was putting on clothes without falling and cleaning myself up without help. I was even standing at the stove for two hours cooking without my hip throbbing in excruciating pain.

  I had finally done it.

  “Zander.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lowell?”

  “What are we doing after my physical therapy this morning?” I asked.

  “Blood draw, then nothing. Why?”

  “Am I cleared to drive?”

  “Not even kind of. I told you working on standing on your tiptoes would be the last thing we would work on. The strain on your hip alone from such a precision technique will take us at least another three weeks to work through.”

  “Then I’m going to need you to drive me somewhere,” I said.

  “Sounds fine to me. My next appointment isn’t until one. Where are we headed?”

  Zander helped me with my physical therapy, then I got washed up and dressed. I pulled out a crisp, clean suit, then began the process of picking out a button-down shirt. The pin-striped navy suit paired well with a steel gray shirt, and the black tie I’d picked out went with the shoes I ultimately dragged out of my closet. I smoothed my hands over my outfit then grabbed for my wallet and keys.

  Today I was going to see Grace.

  We pulled up to the flower shop and I got out. I drew in a deep breath, taking in the front of the small store. So this was where Grace had worked before coming to live with me. It suited her somehow. The floral arrangements in the windows were beautiful and the wooden accents that decorated the front of the shop as well as the sign lended a natural beauty that reminded me of her. I opened the door and walked in, taking stock of the older woman behind the counter.

  She looked over at me with her kind hazel eyes, but I was looking around the shop.

  Looking for Grace.

  “Welcome to Emmy’s Flowers,” the woman said. “I’m Emilia.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Emilia.”

  “Is there anything specific you’re looking for today?”

  “A dozen of your most beautiful red and white roses,” I said.

  “Six of each?”

  “That would be perfect, thank you.”

  “Who’s the lucky lady?” she asked.

  “Someone I care for greatly who I also owe an apology to.”

  “Hence the white roses. A nice touch. I think she’ll like the suit, too. It looks fabulous on you.”

  “I try,” I said, grinning.

  “It might take me a few minutes to put it together. Are you okay waiting?”

  “That’s fine, thank you.”

  “I’m a little short-staffed today,” the woman said. “The girl who usually helps me has the next couple of days off.”

  “Well I hope it isn’t anything too serious.”

  “Oh no. Nothing like that. Sundays and Mondays are her days off from this place.”

  “I’m sure she deserves them.”

  “That she does. I’m doing whatever I can to keep her around. She single-handedly helps me keep this place going,” she said.

  “Sounds like an incredible woman.”

  “She is. I lost her there for a while to another job, but I’m glad she’s back.”

  “Did the job not work out in her favor?”

  I felt my heart stop in my chest when Emilia’s face fell.

  “I think she might’ve gotten in a little over her head. Grace-- the woman that works for me?-- she’s always doing things with her whole heart. But I think that makes it easier for her to get hurt at times.”

  It made me sick to hear her say that.

  “It’s why she’s such a phenomenal florist. And wonderful with flowers. She throws all of her love and passion and dedication into them and they flourish. She deserves that kind of compassion from other people. And I don’t think she got it at her previous job.”

  “Then it sounds like the right choice was made for her,” I said.

  The woman slowly turned to me, her eyes scanning me up and down. A rose was poised midair, clamped between her two fingers. She narrowed her eyes at me and I stuck my hands in my pockets, trying to conceal the shaking in them.

  “I didn’t say anything about anyone making a choice for her,” Emilia said.

  “Miss Emilia, I don’t think we had the pleasure of meeting when you were delivering flowers to my home. I’m Hayden Lowell.”

  The flower dropped from her hand and I watched as her expression fell.

  “You’re Hayden,” she said.

  “I am.”

  “And these flowers…?”

  “Are for Grace. If I knew where to take them.”

  “And you’re hoping I know where to take them?”

  “I’m actually hoping you can tell me where to take them,” I said.

  The struggle in the woman’s face made me nervous. This was all I had. The only other option was to keep coming back like some stalker until I could catch Grace at the shop. And I didn’t want to do that to their lovely business. I didn’t want to have to stalk Grace out in order to see her. I wanted her and this lovely woman in front of me to see me for the man I was. The man I’d turned myself into so I could be with Grace.

  “Please,” I said. “At the very least, she deserves an apology.”

  “That she does,” Emilia said flatly. “You hurt that girl.”

  “I’m sorry. But it was for the best.”

  “I’d think twice before making that kind of declaration.”

  “If I knew where she lived, I could explain to her why it was.”

  “She doesn’t need an explanation, Mr. Lowell. What she needs is someone who can stand in her corner even when it doesn’t suit the other person.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m standing on my own two feet again.”

  Emilia raked her eyes down my form before she sighed. I watched in silence as she finished rearranging the flowers and I looked back at Zander. He was sitting in the car bobbing his head to whatever music he was listening to and I was thankful he’d driven me to the shop. I listened as Emilia tapped at her cash register, then she opened up her hand and threw her eyes back up to mine.

  “Forty-five, seventy-two,” she said. “Would you like to add anything on? Like chocolates or a card?”

  “That won’t be necessary, but I would like you to add a tip for yourself.”

  “That’s very kind of you. How much?”

  “It depends. Will you tell me where Grace is?”

  “You’re not paying me for Grace’s address. You can tip me, and then if my gut is still screaming at me then you’ll have my answer,” she said.

  All I had was one chance, so I figured I’d better make the best of it.

  “Tip yourself four hundred,” I said.

  T
he woman’s jaw dropped to the floor and I stifled my grin.

  “We’ll do four,” she said.

  “Four hundred or nothing. That’s my offer,” I said.

  “You really are as relentless as she said.”

  “It’s one of my many endearing traits.”

  Emilia giggled, and I knew I had her. Whether she wanted to be had or not, I saw her eyes twinkle and I knew she was on my side.

  I just had to get Grace on my side.

  “Fine. A four-hundred-dollar tip for the woman with the address you want,” she said.

  “No. A tip for the woman who arranged a beautiful set of flowers and could use a bit of spoiling herself.”

  “Relentless and a bit of a romantic. No wonder Grace fell for you.”

  My eyebrows ticked up and the woman closed her eyes.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “She’s going to be so pissed.”

  “Please,” I said. “Where is Grace?”

  The woman finished charging my card as I scooped the roses up into my arms.

  “Go up to the light and take a left. Take the third street to your right. The apartment complex is immediately on your right and she’s in apartment 9602.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I turned my back. “I swear to you, Grace won’t regret it.”

  “She better not. Otherwise I know where you live!”

  I slammed out of the floral shop and got back into Zander’s car. I directed him using the information Emilia gave me, then I told him to drop me off. If things didn’t go well, then I’d get an Uber to get myself home.

  I watched as Zander drove off, then I turned and started up for her apartment.

  It looked like a decent-sized place, but I knew she was sharing it with someone. I had been listening to those phone conversations the day before she’d left. Listening to her voice was comforting, even if the subject matter was gut-wrenching. I was glad she had people in her life who could help her out, especially since things between us had ended so emotionally and abruptly.