Chapter Two
Will this day ever end? Roxanne dropped her chin to her chest, massaging her temples, seeking refuge in her car.
It was the first time she’d had a quiet moment to herself in eight hours.
Most days she loved her job. Today was not one of them.
Fate had decided to make Roxanne its bitch and was enjoying every second.
She could almost hear cackling in the back of her mind.
“Well, it can’t get any worse,” Roxanne whispered. It was more of a plea than anything she believed.
It could always get worse.
Roxanne closed her eyes, relaxed into the headrest and inhaled a deep cleansing breath.
She did it again and again. She was holding so much tension in her shoulders, her muscles started to ache.
The breathing exercise wasn’t having the calming effect she’d hoped for.
Unfortunately, a particular whiny voice rang in her ears.
Roxanne had dealt with every type of client in her event-planning business.
She’d been doing it long enough to know not everyone was pleasant to work with.
Usually, she had the patience and finesse to get along with everyone, even the most difficult.
But this bride was especially challenging.
How that woman had suckered some poor man into marrying her, she’d never know.
I give it two years.
Roxanne sighed, flicked open her eyes and snapped back to reality.
She’d scheduled two other meetings and was checking out a new venue in the afternoon.
The best thing she could do was move forward and focus on the positive.
Mainly, that she didn’t have another appointment with that bride for another two weeks.
She settled into her seat, locked her seatbelt in place and started the engine.
She quickly glanced in the rearview mirror and, before she could catch herself, she gasped, widening her eyes.
Oh hell! She leaned closer, inspecting her face.
The deep crease on her forehead wasn’t there this morning.
This bride had aged her five years in a matter of three hours.
She scowled which only magnified the deep indent between her eyebrows. Stop looking!
She slowly reversed out of her spot, cursing the bridezilla who’d taken up her morning. She was there mainly for the venue. The coordinator was running late, so Roxanne had offered to answer questions in her place. Big mistake.
“It’s over now,” she muttered and slowly drove through the marina parking lot.
Yacht weddings weren’t common, but they were amazing, and this one would be too.
The power of positive thinking. Her gaze scanned the pier, catching sight of the bride-to-be pacing and flailing her arm with the other attached to the phone at her ear.
That poor groom-to-be. She was probably in the throes of complaining about every little detail.
Roxanne circled the lot and down the driveway, coming to a stop sign at the exit. She glanced to her right at the oncoming traffic. It was especially light for this time of day. She was about to ease up on her brakes. She never got the chance.
Without warning, a loud crash of metal jolted her body, and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
There was no time to think or act. The collision came out of nowhere.
She slammed against the steering wheel and, for a brief second, the impact knocked the wind out of her.
Her chest burned, and though her mouth was wide open, she couldn’t breathe.
Panic set in, and her eyes welled from being unable to take in air.
She white-knuckled the steering wheel, her right leg locked in place, pressing her foot against the brake pad.
The last thing she needed was to get thrust into the oncoming traffic.
Relax and breathe. Relax and breathe. Fucking breathe!
Finally, her windpipe gave way, and she sucked in a deep breath.
Oh, thank God. She pressed her hand against her chest, rubbing the center of her rib cage.
Her heart raced, threatening to beat out of her chest. Through shaky hands, she was able to settle slightly; enough to glance at her rearview mirror and see the blue sports car behind her.
A figure flashed from the corner of the mirror, seconds before she heard a knock on her window.
“Oh shit, are you okay?”
Roxanne blinked and slowly turned her head. A young guy was crouched down by her door peering in with concern. Was she okay? His car was practically hitching a ride on her trunk.
No, I’m not okay!
Oh, the irony. Not five minutes earlier, she was reciting those famous last words, “it can’t get any worse”. Then BAM! It did. She gazed up at the ceiling of her car and muttered. “Not funny.”
Roxanne moved slowly, putting the car in park and opening her door. The guy, grabbed the handle, widening the door. Roxanne climbed out, surveying her surroundings and gathering herself.
“I’m so sorry, I just … I don’t know, I looked down for a second,” he stammered, his tone slightly panicked. He glanced at his phone in his hand, and she followed his gaze. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was obviously playing on his phone, most likely texting when he hit her.
She clenched her teeth, yanking her door from his hold and slamming it shut. Accidents happened. However, this one could’ve been avoided. She sent him a scathing glare before heading toward the back of her car to assess the damage. Roxanne stopped mid-step and gasped.
Both brake lights were completely shattered and her trunk caved in.
This was not a simple fender-bender. Nor was it an easy fix.
It was probably thousands of dollars in repairs, not to mention being without her car for several days.
In her line of work, that wasn’t an option. I’ll have to rent a car.
“Dammit!” she groaned, thinking of the massive and costly inconvenience this would be.
“I’ll pay for the damages.”
She slowly craned her neck. He was standing about two feet away.
“Uh yeah, of course, you will.”
Dumbass. She ran her hand through her hair, flipping it over her shoulder. “I did not need this today.”
He snorted. “Yeah, accidents suck, I know.”
For some reason his tone, as if they were in the same boat sharing a moment, struck a nerve. She spun around and stepped forward. He had about six inches on her, but he still heeded her warning and moved back. Smart move.
“Yes, accidents happen, and they do suck. But this?” She pointed to her bumper. “This could’ve been avoided had you put your goddamn phone down,” she shouted the last few words and immediately regretted it when his face paled.
Calm down, Rox.
She grabbed her hips, dropping her chin to her chest and inhaling a breath.
Yes, this sucked. Yes, he was at fault. And yes, he apologized.
Letting her anger and frustration get the best of her wasn’t in either of their best interests.
And it wouldn’t solve anything. She could spend the next thirty minutes ripping this guy a new asshole, but where would that get them?
They’d be in the same position. Her car would still be wrecked, and she’d probably wind up feeling guilty for laying into him. It was an accident, plain and simple.
She rolled her shoulders, glancing at him. At least he had the decency to show some semblance of remorse.
It happened, it sucks, move on.
“Alright, well, let’s figure this out.”
“I’m Cord, by the way.” He smiled, seeming much more relaxed. “I didn’t get your name.”
You didn’t get my name because this isn’t a blind date, Cord. You crashed into my fucking car.
Roxanne clamped her lips, squeezed her fists and gave herself yet another pep talk. Anger wouldn’t solve anything.
“Roxanne.” She passed him, headed toward her driver’s side door. “Let’s exchange information.”
There was a long stretch of silence, and when she glanced over her shoulder, he had his hands tucked in his pockets, nervously looking around the lot. He cleared his throat, offering a shaky smile.
“Uh, so listen …”
No, no, no! Again, as if things couldn’t get any worse, they just did.
“Oh my God, you’re not insured, are you?” That would’ve been the motherfucking cherry on this disastrous day.
He shook his head and held up his hands. “No, I am, I swear. It’s just …” He paused, licking his lips. “So, this isn’t my first accident.”
She folded her arms and arched her brow, allowing her sarcasm to take the reins. “Shocker.”
He laughed nervously. “Yeah, so if we report it, my insurance company is gonna drop me, no doubt.” His jaw tightened, and he subtly shook his head. It was barely audible, but she heard him murmur, “He’s gonna be so pissed.”
She waited a second. She wasn’t sure if the last part was meant for her ears.
He had to be about twenty-one and, from what she gathered, he answered to someone.
It wasn’t so long ago that Roxanne was his age.
She could remember doing stupid shit and having to answer to her dad.
Or worse, her brothers. His nervousness and concern were relatable.
“Your dad?”
Cord jerked his gaze and flinched. It was an odd response.
“Uh …” he cleared his throat. “No, my dad …” His voice trailed off, and he turned his head toward the road. “He died.”
Now who’s the asshole?
Obviously, she had no way of knowing, but it didn’t resolve her guilt.
Again, relatable. Her heart sank to her stomach watching Cord shift on his feet and refuse to make eye contact.
She knew all too well his feelings and emotions.
They were now on common ground. By the time she was his age; she’d lost her mom.
It still hurt in ways that seemed abnormal.
She should be past it, but she wasn’t. Eight years later, the grief should’ve eased, but it was still there. Haunting and painful.
“I’m sorry.”