10. A Second Chance?
10
A SECOND CHANCE?
RICHARD
Hospital accommodations stood far from the five-star stays my black card usually afforded. To make matters worse, I spent half the night awake in a back-breaking chair, filled with thoughts of Vivian enjoying the suite and Paris confined to a hospital bed, one question rolling around in my head: Why had these two suddenly upended my life?
With no answers by dawn, the morning found me teetering on a child-sized pink chair while I sipped strong hospital coffee, silently praying the furniture would hold up under my manly frame.
To amuse Paris, I arranged a little breakfast for two in our room, sourcing the pink chairs and petite table from the common area. I replaced the cafeteria tray with real china and invited her to join me for my version of “Breakfast at the Plaza Hotel.”
“Mm. Yummy tea,” Paris commented, sipping from a delicate teacup and even extending her pinky.
A soft chuckle from the doorway startled us—Vivian had arrived. My pulse jetted off; I swept her from head to toe and back again, and I could tell by her refreshed smile the night at the suite did her good. Dressed in the clothes I’d picked out for her, a surge of satisfaction powered through my veins, knowing I was making a difference in her mental and physical state.
Had it been anyone else, I’d likely have thrown money at their problems, wished them well, and moved on. But this was different. Vivian and I shared an intimate past, and Paris was an adorable child. Their sudden arrival had thrown my life into a tailspin—I couldn’t walk away.
“Mommy!” Paris exclaimed, arms stretched wide as soon as she saw her.
Vivian knelt and embraced her daughter tightly, inhaling her scent. “I missed you, baby. I wanted to be here before you woke up. Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay. We saved you some blueberry muffins and fruit.” Paris gestured around the table.
“Here, take my seat. There’s even coffee.” I stood, pulling my chair out for her and leaning in to whisper, “I hope your time in the suite was exactly what you needed.”
“It was,” she replied with a grateful smile. “And now it’s your turn.”
“Mommy, look—I have coffee, too,” Paris said, proudly holding up her teacup before taking a sip.
“It’s mostly milk.” I winked, assuringly.
Vivian glanced around the room while reaching for a muffin, raising her brows at the new additions taped to the wall, a variety of maps and photos. “Where did all of this come from?”
“Guilty. My assistant couriered everything over early this morning,” I admitted.
“Oh? You have an assistant? Now I know the secret behind all of these surprises. I suppose one call from you and they do your bidding?” She cast a sly grin at me.
“Actually I have several people in my employ, and yes, when I say ‘jump’, they don’t hesitate.” I grinned at her with all the bravado of my CEO status.
“We’re planning a trip around the world, Mommy,” Paris declared excitedly.
“A trip? Wow. That—that’s amazing,” Vivian said, her grin dropping, eyeing me with a hint of suspicion.
I shrugged. “I get a kick out of her penchant for adventure. It doesn’t hurt to imagine, to have something fun to look forward to, right? When this is all over, I’d be happy to take you both on a trip.”
“And look at all my new friends.” She pointed toward a cluster of oversized stuffed wild animals in the corner, with the faces of lions, tigers, and bears peeking out over our breakfast. “And here—my own la tour Eiffel. Richard said that’s where you two met, and that it’s special. Have I ever been there?” She jumped up and stood beside the statue, nearly her same height.
Vivian swallowed a bite of her muffin before replying, “Yes, last year. Remember, we went right to the top with your father?”
“Oh. Him.” The child’s smile faded, and my own turned down too, as if Vivian had suddenly killed our happy morning vibe.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I have some calls to make. I’ll head back to the suite to clean up and rest a bit. The doctor wants me here after lunch for more tests.” I sighed and tugged on my wool coat. “Bye, Paris. I’ll be back later.”
“Promise you’ll come back?” she pleaded, arms outstretched for a hug.
I crouched down for a quick embrace and murmured, “Promise, sweetheart.”
Vivian trailed me to the door, her forehead furrowed with concern. “A trip, Richard? Seriously? You’re spoiling her,” she chided, cocking her head.
“And I’ll spoil you, too, if you let me.”
She chuckled. “You already have, between the things you’ve done here and with all the items in the suite. Just you being here for us is enough. We’re not used to nice things?—”
“Maybe it’s time to let someone in who will truly treat you properly?” I interjected. My hand settled on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze, and I gazed at her with an intense plea. Every single second with these two awakened that dream for a family inside of me more and more.
“Someone like you?” She licked her lips, her gaze dropping to my mouth. How long had it been since a man made her feel truly cherished? And she should know firsthand how good I treat a woman, assuming I gave her the full Richard Buchanan experience our first time in Paris.
I could be everything Vivian needed right now. Forget my vow to steer clear of commitments. Forget my reluctance to get involved with a single mother—I was here and present, every minute yearning to be both the man Paris could call her father, and to be the man whose name Vivian moaned every night in my bed.
Years ago, she’d been foolish to return to Adrien—the mistake of a younger woman. Or perhaps I was the fool for not going after her the morning I woke up to an empty bed.
How different might things have been for us? I could have stayed in Paris a while longer, gotten to know her, fallen for her. Maybe even her child could have been mine. We would’ve married then. She wouldn’t have suffered with Adrien… and never espoused his last name.
Vivian would have been the perfect Buchanan wife—far better than my ex. Over the past few years, I used to look into the future and get pissed at how Janet had ruined my life. But this week, since being around Paris and Vivian, all I saw was them.
Admittedly, I was ready to move on. Rex and Miriam would rejoice at hearing it.
“Yes, someone like me,” I said. “Perhaps you’d give me a second chance…?”
When she looked down and away, I knew I’d pressed too soon. My heart dropped, along with my hand from her shoulder, spying the worry creeping back into her face. I was here, but she wasn’t able to meet me yet. Whatever it took, no matter how long, I’d help her get there. “Can I get you anything else you need before I head back?”
“No, but thanks again. Everything in the suite was incredible, by the way. This sweater... just everything. I’ll pay you back for?—”
“Shhh,” I interrupted gently, fingering one of her curls back off her face. “I see it in your eyes. That’s all the thanks I need. I’ll be back later.”
Taking a chance, I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Her breath hitched—the subtle sign from her I needed to keep trying.
Until a week ago, I’d had almost no hope anyone would want me for more than my money. Now, spending time with Vivian was slowly turning me from a man who soured at the word “commitment”—one whose ex had shattered his heart—back into a man who wanted it all.
Vivian wasn’t like Janet. She wasn’t demanding or asking for handouts. She appreciated whatever I gave her, and I’d gladly give her the world wrapped in a pretty bow because of it.
I sensed she hadn’t completely let her guard down, yet. Given her past with Adrien, her walls might be too high for even me with all my Buchanan resources to break through.
After lunch, it was time for Paris’ chest X-ray, part of her pre-op checkup to ensure she was fit for anesthesia. Mine, too. The doctors were testing us simultaneously at my insistence—me to ensure my kidney would be the perfect match for her, and her to ensure she was ready for surgery as soon as I was identified as a match.
And my instinct told me I would be. No matter how much Vivian chose denial and, irritatingly, kept trying to reach Adrien.
Meanwhile, every needle prick and test required a boost of courage from us to help Paris deal with it all. Vivian and I made a great team, with her warm, maternal tone, while I rallied us together.
Paris’s voice trembled when she asked, “Will it hurt?”
“No, ma chérie. It won’t hurt one bit. No needles this time. Just taking a photo of your heart. And I’ll be there to hold your hand every second,” Vivian assured her, gently dabbing away her little girl tears.
“Listen, kiddo,” I added with a playful smile, “these new pajamas aren’t just super comfortable—they actually make you braver. Look at all those tigers on them. There’s no way these fierce creatures will let anything bad happen to you.”
I puffed up with pride over having ordered ultra-soft cotton pajamas for Paris. I even made sure the other patients on the floor got pairs of pajamas. With prints ranging from cupcakes to ponies to wild animals and more, the printed PJs were a hit. Paris adored them, and I promised to buy her even more— whatever she needed, despite Vivian’s cautionary glance about spoiling her.
“And you have a pair, too, Mommy. Put them on!” she announced, pointing at the silk pajama set I had laid out for Vivian that morning—a little nudge for her to join us in our pajama day. I was already dressed in mine.
“Yeah, Mommy. You don’t want to miss out on all the fun today," I teased.
She cocked her head at me. "All right then, here I go."
While she slipped away into the bathroom to change, I turned to Paris and offered gentle reassurance.
“Don’t be scared, sweetheart. Everything the doctors and nurses are doing for you is to help you feel better,” I explained.
“But I feel good today. When can I go home?” She whined.
I had worked to make every moment seem like fun here, help her dwell little on all the confusing hospital things around her and big discussions we had with her doctors. Help Vivian, too. I thought it had worked, considering how rarely Paris asked about going home.
“Very soon. I promise,” I assured her, ready to do anything to keep that promise.
Then, out of the blue, she asked, "Richard? Am I going to… Heaven?"
Her question stopped me and stole my breath; she was a child fearing her mortality, confronting a big, scary idea. My eyes flickered toward the bathroom door as I hesitated, unsure if I should answer while holding back a stray tear.
At least Paris now carried my Buchanan blood—we were fighters, and that thought helped keep me grounded.
Fortunately, quick thinking was one of my best skills, honed in business, and it would serve me well in comforting a sick kid. "Not until you’re a hundred years old, at least. Just imagine yourself: old, with gray hair, wrinkled skin, even walking around with a cane. Like this."
I bent over dramatically, mimicking an old man shuffling across the room, which made her giggle.
Then, settling back into my chair, I said, "I know being here in the hospital hasn’t been easy, but you are the bravest little girl I’ve ever met. Just hang in there a little longer, okay? Can you do that for me?"
"And you have to be brave, too," Paris declared, pointing at me with all the seriousness in her watery eyes.
“Oh, I’m very brave. But just in case, these tigers will protect me,” I joked, glancing down at my burgundy silk pajamas adorned with tiger heads, and letting out a snarly roar. Paris burst into laughter. “Come on, let me hear how your tigers roar.”
Soon, Vivian emerged from the bathroom, finding us both roaring away.
“Wow! Look at your mommy in her matching set of pajamas. Doesn’t she look pretty?” I regarded her striking modeling poses with all the affection in my heart.
“Yeah, but you have to roar with us,” Paris shouted.
To her credit, Vivian joined in with a sparkle in her eye and the loudest roar of all. That playful moment quickly turned into a tickle fight between mother and daughter while I stood back, marveling at the bond they shared.
A surge of envy flickered within me that someone like Adrien Bardeaux ever had any place in their lives.
Meanwhile, here I was, nearly a guaranteed match, ready to give my kidney, my money—my heart and soul?—while she still clung to the hope that Adrien would step up and donate.
Dr. Ferguson promised the tests were being expedited and that we’d have an answer soon. I didn’t doubt I’d be the match—or maybe that was just my hopeful ego talking. If I was, Vivian would have to choose then who would be best for her daughter: Adrien or me?
I predicted the asshole would let her down. But shouldn’t she know the type of man he was by now? The very thought of his kidney becoming a part of Paris made me ill. If he came anywhere near us, I’d need several men to hold me back from tearing him apart.
As the nurses wheeled Paris out of the room, Vivian and I locked eyes, her fear as clear as day.
I gave her my usual reassuring wink—the same signal I always offered whenever the nurses took Paris away for testing, promising that everything would be okay. This time, I reached out and let my knuckles gently brush down along her arm.
A shiver ran through her soft skin as goosebumps formed, and an electric spark passed between us—more intense than anything I’d ever felt with another woman. And this time, she didn’t look away.
“I heard every word in the bathroom, Richard,” she whispered.
“Oh, um…” Shit. Was she mad how I handled Paris’ question about Heaven?
“You’re so good with her. You were wonderful. Thank you for answering her. I don’t know what I would have said?—”
“You’re her mother and you would have said the perfect thing. She’ll be fine. And so will you,” I murmured as I lingered to capture her new scent of the designer perfume and shampoo I’d bought for her to use in the suite, although I missed her usual vanilla. “I have a little more fun in store for us when Paris gets back.”
“Richard, what have you done now?” she teased, her lips curving into a smile as she studied me.
“Wait and see. It’s a surprise that Paris will love. I guarantee it.”
“She’s loved them all. You and your surprises. Don’t you know how having you here with us is enough?” Then, she balanced on her toes and planted a soft kiss on my cheek before leaving the room. I stood there, awed by her affection. It was a crack in her wall, finally giving way.
I paced the room, running a hand through my hair in frustration as I waited for the nurses to get me for my Xray. Emotions bubbled up, admitting what I desired now: a family. The kid. The mother. Forever.
What was happening to me?
As a distraction, I studied the lineup of maps Paris had helped me tape to the wall—her “travel schedule.” It outlined an extravagant trip, and I longed to whisk them both away to show them the wonders of the world. According to Paris, we’d start at the North Pole to see polar bears, then head to Egypt to gaze at the pyramids and ride camels in the desert, then visit the rainforest, and?—
Before I could finish, an unfamiliar man stepped into the room. I sized him up in a flash; we were nearly the same height and build. He wore an olive cable-knit wool sweater, a puffer vest, and a black trucker cap on his head. Rugged but refined, and a little familiar.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“I was told this is Paris Bardeaux’s room,” he remarked. His eyes darted around from my silk pajamas to the stuffed animals and vibrant maps that gave the room more character than a typical sterile hospital setup.
“It is. And who might you be?” I inquired, my fists tensing, ready to protect if needed.
“Should I ask you the same?” He cautiously extended his hand. “I’m Keaton Kingston.”
“Ah, Vivian’s brother. I’m Richard Buchanan. You own Holly Creek Hops Brewery, right? Nice establishment.” Relieved, I shook his hand firmly, our grips equal in strength.
“That’s me. I’m afraid she hasn’t mentioned you at all,” he noted.
“I’m a… a friend,” I explained, yet hating the word because I wanted to be more.
He folded his arms, studying me with skeptical eyes. “Last I heard, Vivian didn’t have any friends.”
“Well, I’m also Rex’s brother, Chelsea’s husband.”
“I didn’t make their wedding. Spent the holidays out in Denver skiing with some friends. But I rushed back from my trip expecting to find Viv alone, dealing with all of this. Definitely not expecting to find you here. Guess I’m glad you were.” He squinted at the nearest wall where there was a drawing Paris had made of herself with Vivian and me.
“Has she filled you in on what’s going on with Paris?”
“Yep. We’ve had a stream of constant texts flowing.”
But no mention of me? Interesting. How should I take that? I assumed she’d never told her brother about our one night together long ago, either.
“So, have you ever considered bottling your brews? I know the owners of the country's largest bottling plant, and they've been partnering with micro-breweries over the past year. I could introduce you when you're ready," I suggested, steering the conversation to familiar business territory.
His eyebrows rose as he turned away from the wall maps. "Really? That would be incredible. I picked up some new flavor ideas while in Denver and I’m planning to expand our reach this summer regionally. Next step would be bottling." He warmed up to me, which was crucial since I hoped to be part of his sister and niece’s lives for a long time, if things went my way.
Just then, the nurse dropped by and signaled that it was time for my chest X-ray. “My blood is a match for Paris. And I’m undergoing further evaluation to see if I can donate my kidney.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought I’d do the same.”
“Okay. The more people tested, the faster we’ll get someone to match. Then we can proceed with the transplant. I’ll inform the staff and they’ll start testing you immediately. Paris and Vivian should be back soon. Please, make yourself comfortable. We’ll talk more later.” I gestured as if inviting him into our little family circle.
If I approached Vivian like a business deal, I’d evaluate where I stood. Having Paris and Keaton on my side was a definite advantage. But she wasn’t a transaction; she was a woman full of passion and spirit. I wouldn’t give up trying to win her yet. And since when did a Buchanan ever give up on what they wanted?