Chapter 28His Second Chance – Vic
Chapter 28
His Second Chance – Vic
N ew York has always been home, but it no longer feels like mine.
The city has changed.
I have changed.
But walking these streets with Kerry, showing her the places that made me, feels like I’m reclaiming pieces of myself I thought were lost.
New York is loud and chaotic, a city that never stops moving, but with Kerry beside me, everything slows down.
I take her through the tourist traps first, watching her eyes light up as she sees Times Square for the first time.
I pretend to be impressed by the Empire State Building, I even let her drag me through Central Park for a carriage ride that I swear I hate, though the look of wonder on her face does make it worth it.
Then, I show her the real New York.
I take her to Sybil’s in Queens for the best bake and shark she’s ever had and Lloyd’s Carrot Cake in the Bronx, where she moans like she’s never tasted something so good.
Finally, I fill her up at Jerk Hut in Brooklyn for the best pineapple jerk wings in the state.
After we eat in and around the city, I take her to the courts where Hudson and I used to hustle dudes, betting on games we had no business playing.
We were cocky as hell, playing against grown men, stacking cash off their egos, then getting into fights when they realized two rich kids from Sugar Hill had just taken their money.
Kerry listens, laughing when I tell her about the time Hudson took a swing at a dude twice his size, only for me to have to drag his ass off the court before we both got jumped .
“You two were trouble,” she muses, shaking her head.
“Still are.” I smirk.
I park in front of a two-story brick building, where the streetlights cast a golden glow against the historical plaque bolted to the front.
Kerry steps out of the car, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
She looks up at the sign, her brows furrowing before she reads the words out loud.
Anne Baptiste—Trinidadian Culinary Genius & Joseph Grimes—Southern Chef Extraordinaire.
I shove my hands in my pockets, my chest tightening as memories flood my mind.
“This is where it all started,” I say.
“My grandparents opened this place during the Harlem Renaissance. It was a staple for artists, musicians, poets—Black excellence at its finest. When my dad took over, he expanded it. Built Grimes Hospitality Group from the ground up.”
Kerry reaches for my hand.
“They’d be so proud of you.”
I huff out a small laugh, shaking my head.
“Even though I lost my way? I’ve been out of touch with my roots for a long time.”
She frowns, squeezing my hand.
“You didn’t lose your way, Vic. You just needed to take a different path to find yourself again. And you did.” Her eyes search mine, unwavering.
“You’re honoring them every time you cook, every time you step into a kitchen, every time you teach Syd and Ari a new recipe. You’re carrying their legacy forward. And,” she adds, smiling, “I have a feeling your new restaurant would’ve been their favorite.”
“Yeah?”
“Without a doubt.”
For a long moment, I just stare at her—this woman who always knows what to say, always knows how to pull me back from the rabbit hole of my thoughts.
“Let’s go. There’s one more place I need to take you.”
The drive is silent, but Kerry keeps her hand in mine.
She doesn’t ask questions and doesn’t press for answers.
She just gives me space.
Before we get to our destination, we make a quick stop at a small flower shop.
I walk in and pick out a bouquet of deep red roses and white lilies.
At a red light, I glance over at her.
She’s tapping her finger lightly against her thigh—energy nervous but steady .
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, eyes flickering toward the bouquet of red roses and white lilies resting in my lap.
She stares at them for a long moment before turning back to me.
“Are you okay, Vic?” she asks softly.
Kerry’s fidgety, stealing glances at me like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle I won’t let her see yet.
But the truth is, I’m just as nervous.
I grip the steering wheel, inhaling deeply before I hum, “Yeah.”
She doesn’t say anything else.
She just reaches over and slides her fingers between mine, holding my hand.
I squeeze back and turn into the familiar iron gates, staring ahead.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” I assure her, keeping my eyes forward.
She tightens her grip.
“I want to. I’m here for you just as you’ve been here for me.”
Kerry’s unwavering support further validates why we’re here.
It confirms my choice to move forward.
To open my life completely to someone who wasn’t a part of my past but is the foundation of my future.
My choice to give my all to a woman who’s brought me peace after years of turmoil, who sees me, and loves me in a way that feels like home.
Kerry’s a part of the life I never thought I’d have again, the life I never thought I’d want again.
The life I’m thankful to have a second chance to experience again.
So, with my hand wrapped tightly around hers, I lead her to the cemetery.
Row by row, step by step, we reach them.
Two tombstones, side by side.
I swallow past the ache in my chest as I kneel down, setting the flowers between them.
Kerry stands beside me, reading the names.
Tiara Grimes — Extraordinary Woman, Loving Wife, Nurturing Mother.
Jeremiah Grimes — Prolific Man, Honorable Husband, Proud Father.
And then, she gasps.
Her voice drops to a whisper.
“Vic… their tombstones both say March 12th?”
I sit on their memorial bench, elbows on my knees, staring at the names, the lives that were taken too soon until Kerry eases down beside me, settling her hand on my thigh.
“What happened, Vic? ”
With my eyes fixed on the names etched in stone, I take a deep breath and nod.
I’d like to think I was born blessed—a great life, happy childhood, loving parents, a brother who is my best friend, successful restaurants, a devoted wife, and two baby girls who are my world.
But life doesn’t stay perfect.
It shifts, tilts, tests your faith, shakes your reasoning, and even makes you question God.
That day I questioned everything.
I questioned what I did wrong.
What I could have done to prevent it.
But the answer was simple: Never take my blessings for granted ever again.
I glance at Kerry, who tightens her hand around mine, reassuring me it’s okay to continue to bear my soul to her.
I exhale slowly.
“I worked too much. I focus too hard and can get lost in my ambitions. You know that, of course.” A sad smile tugs at my lips.
“But since you’ve been in my life, I’ve been able to reset, find balance. Prioritize what matters.”
Kerry gently squeezes my hand, her touch warm and encouraging.
“But I wasn’t always able to do that,” I continue, my voice lower now, rougher.
“I assumed that while I was out pursuing my dreams, everyone I loved would automatically reap the benefits. That my success meant their happiness. But on the morning of March 12th, it was the exact opposite.”
I pause, staring at the headstones, remembering the day that changed everything.
.
“The morning started like any other. Tiara was home—taking care of one-year-old Syd, keeping four-year-old Ari entertained, managing my impossible schedule, answering emails I should’ve been handling myself. She was always doing everything because I was always too busy. She needed me that morning. Just like she’d been needing me for months. Just like she’d been trying to tell me. But I wasn’t listening. She was fed up with sending me pictures and videos of our daughters growing up without me. She asked me to come home that day.”
My voice cracks, just slightly.
“I told her I couldn’t.”
Kerry’s hand on my thigh stills.
She knows where this is going.
She knows what’s coming.
But she doesn’t rush me.
She lets me get there on my own.
I drag a hand down my face, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
“So, she decided to surprise me instead. She wanted to bring my world to me.” I shake my head, gripping the back of my neck.
“She loaded up the car, packed up the girls, and called my dad to drive because she hated the winding mountain roads. ”
I exhale, my breath shaky.
“The last thing she said to me that morning was, ‘Please try to be more present for me and the girls. We need you home. We need your love.’” I let out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it.
“And I told her I’d call her back after a business call.”
I stop talking because the next part is the hardest.
Kerry must feel the shift because suddenly, she’s closer, her knee brushing mine.
A silent reminder that I’m not alone.
That I’m not lost in this moment.
“I got the call two hours later.” I clench my jaw.
Kerry breathes in deep, but I don’t look at her.
I can’t.
Instead, I stare at my father’s tombstone, at the name Jeremiah Grimes, and force myself to relive the moment that shattered me.
“I was plating a dish. Smiling, laughing, feeling on top of the fucking world when my phone rang. Hudson’s name flashed across the screen.” I swallow hard.
“I almost ignored it. But something told me to pick up.”
I blink, and suddenly I’m back there.
Back in that kitchen.
Back in that moment.
Back in my own body, watching as the world as I knew it slipped through my fingers.
“Vic… it’s bad. You need to get here.” Hudson said, panicking over the phone.
The terror in my brother’s voice punched me straight in the gut, and my mother’s cries in the background, screaming out my dad’s name, nearly shook me to my core.
“What’s going on?” My voice is sharp, clipped, and frantic.
“Why’s Mom crying? Where’s Dad? Is he okay?”
Hudson’s breath stutters.
Pauses.
Then he said the words that rip my fucking soul in half.
“He’s gone, Vic. Dad is gone.”
Gone?
No.
My stomach plummets, and the floor beneath me vanishes.
“What?” My voice cracks.
“Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that. How? Where are you?”
“Hurry, Vic.” Hudson’s voice is suddenly more urgent, pleading.
“Tiara and the girls still have a chance, but they’re—”
A violent chill shoots through my body.
The girls?
Tiara?
My mind trips.
My lungs seizes.
My throat tightens.
“What do you mean, the girls? My girls?” I rasp, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“What does Tiara have to do with this? Hud, where’s my wife? Where are my daughters? ” My fingers dig into the phone.
“Hudson,” I growl, my voice splintering.
“Tell me what’s going on!”
“They were all in the car, Vic.” His voice breaks, but not before sending a knife to my chest.
“Vic…” Hudson exhales, voice trembling.
“Just get here. Tiara’s still fighting but…” His voice drops to a whisper.
“It’s bad. Just get here. We need you. They need you.”
I don’t remember the drive.
All I remember are the sirens, flashing lights, and smoke curling in the night air.
I slam the car into park and jump out, my body moving on autopilot, but when I see the body bag and my mom crying out, I freeze.
My black SUV sits crumpled, twisted like scrap metal, with glass littering the pavement.
Hudson sprints toward me with red eyes and a tear-streaked face.
“Vic—”
But I shove past him.
I need to see them.
Firefighters surround the wreckage using the Jaws of Life to pry the car open to no avail.
All I hear are screams—piercing, terrified wails.
I hear Ari sobbing for me and her mom, but Syd’s little screams are weaker, more pained.
Ari’s tiny body is twisted in the backseat, her leg crushed under debris.
I can’t do anything as she reaches out to me with her arms, screaming, “Daddy! Mommy!”
Syd’s arm is pinned beneath jagged metal.
Her face is pale, her body shaking.
Her lips are dry, and her voice is hoarse from screaming.
And then I hear Tiara’s weak, struggling, but angelic voice.
“Well, it’s ‘bout time, Chef Grimes.”
“Tee!” My focus darts back and forth between the three loves of my life.
“Look at me, Vic. Don’t look at them. Just look at me.” I turn, my entire soul shattering as I see her trapped, her body crushed inside the mangled car.
Tiara’s crushed in the passenger’s seat, pinned, her body trapped in mangled steel with blood dripping from her temple. Yet, her lips are curved into a small, exhausted smirk. I ache to touch her. To hold her, to press my forehead to hers, to kiss her but I can’t.
I press my forehead against the cold metal, the closest I can get to her.
“I’m here, baby,” I whisper, choking on sobs.
“I’m here, Tee.”
Her fingers twitch, barely reaching.
“I love you, Vic. I’m so sorry. This is all —” She whispers, her breath shaky, fragile .
“Stop talking like that. We can talk later over a glass of wine because you’re gonna be okay.”
Then, suddenly, I turn, watching as firefighters finally pry Syd free.
She screams in agony.
Ari is next.
I sob in relief.
“They’re okay?” She asks, barely above a whisper.
“Are our babies okay?”
I turned back to her, my heart shattering all over again.
I nod quickly, swallowing down the terror in my throat.
“They’re okay, baby. And you’re next. As soon as you’re out, I’m gonna take you home,” I promise, my voice breaking apart.
“I’ll wait on you hand and foot. I swear, I’ll never leave your side. I’ll be with you every second of every day until you beg me to go back to work.”
Tiara’s lips barely move, but she still manages a ghost of a smile.
“Good,” she strains.
“Because the girls will need you. Be present for them, Vic.”
I grip the edge of the wreckage, my entire body trembling.
“I’ll be present for all of you. I love you with everything, Tee. You’re my everything.”
Her lashes flutter, her breath hitching.
And with a faint, strained smile.
she whispers her last words.
“That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”
She inhales a sharp, jagged, desperate pull at life.
Then, she exhales a slow, soft, final breath.
“Tee?” My voice barely makes a sound, like I lost the air in my lungs along with her.
I watch, waiting for her chest to rise, waiting for her to take it back, to breathe again, to stay.
But there’s nothing.
“Tee, please.” My voice cracks, splintering under the weight of my desperation.
My fingers dig into the twisted wreckage, as if holding on to the shattered car could somehow hold on to her.
“Please, don’t go. Just hang on a little longer, please. I need you. I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
My words dissolve into sobs ripping from my chest like something is being clawed out of me.
I beg God to rewind the moment.
I beg for a miracle.
For forgiveness.
For mercy.
For a redo.
For something other than this.
But no matter how hard I plead, she doesn’t open her eyes.
My love is gone.
My world is no longer the same .
The next few hours passed in a blur of chaos, every single second etched into my bones, burned into my soul.
“My daughters were airlifted to the nearest hospital—one to have her leg amputated, the other to undergo three surgeries for a half-functioning arm. And my dad…My dad. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. He was just trying to help. Just trying to be there for his son’s wife and his granddaughters. Just trying to help a son too busy chasing ambition to realize that he already achieved the ultimate goal.”
I feel Kerry’s tears as her lips press against my skin, temporarily bringing me back to reality while I bury my face in my hands.
I suck in a trembling breath, that barely fills my lungs.
“I did this. I’m the reason for it all, Kerry.” My voice isn’t even mine anymore.
“The deaths. My daughters’ trauma. My mom and Hudson’s loss. It’s all because of me.”
I find myself suffocating from my guilt all over again, but Kerry doesn’t let me drown.
She doesn’t let me go.
Instead, she moves closer, peeling my hands from my face, intertwining our fingers before gently guiding my arms around her waist.
Then, she pulls me into her, and holds me against the softness of her body, pressing my head to her chest.
And I let her hold me together because I don’t have the strength to do it myself.
I just wait.
I wait for her to tell me I’m right, that my grief is justified and so is my guilt.
But she doesn’t.
Kerry whispers, “Guilt is a tricky thing, Vic.” Her voice is steady and certain.
“It convinces you that punishing yourself is the only way to atone. It feeds you the lie that suffering is the price of love. But love, real love, the love from your father, from Tiara, never demanded that.”
Her words sink deep into the parts of me that I’ve tried to bury.
Into the wounds I swore I’d never let heal.
She cradles my head, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“They wouldn’t want your life buried beside them. They lived. They loved. And they were loved.” She pauses.
“You were a part of that love, Vic. That’s something to hold onto. Not just the loss. You can grieve them. You should. But you have to forgive yourself too. You have to stop blaming yourself. You still have a life to live and a family to love. And you still have so much love left to give. ”
I feel Kerry’s strength, compassion, and love envelop me, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel alone in my grief.
Kerry’s warmth seeps into the cracks I thought would never close.
I feel held—not just physically but in the deepest, most fractured parts of me—the parts I thought were beyond saving, the parts that have lived in darkness for so long that I forgot what the light felt like.
I finally understand something I never let myself believe—I’m allowed to move forward.
I don’t have to carry my love with the weight of guilt.
I can honor it without being crushed beneath it.
I need to cherish what I still have, not let it slip through my fingers.
I want to be the father my daughters deserve, the man I was meant to be.
I don’t want to keep punishing myself for a tragedy I can never undo.
I want to show up, especially for the ones who are still here.
For my mother, who never once blamed me, who still looks at me like I’m one of her greatest accomplishments.
And my brother, who carried his own grief but never let it turn into resentment against me.
And Tiara.
My wife.
My first love.
The woman who spent her last breath asking me for one thing—to be present.
And that’s my solemn swear to her, to our daughters, and Kerry.
To be here.
Fully.
For the love that still surrounds me.
For the future waiting to be built.
For the life I refuse to let slip through my fingers again.