Chapter 22 – Second Chance Shif
I'm Your Possibility
Amelia
Earlier in the day, I called The Iron Pier and spoke with James Raddison, co-owner of the club with Bash and captain of the Steel Port Ice Hawks. James told me Bash would be working at the bar tonight, taking a shift because they were short-handed.
That single piece of information sat heavily in my chest all day. I went back and forth between showing up to face him and just saying, "Forget it."
I decided that before the day was out, one way or another, I'd know where Bash and I stood. Whether he was st ill available to me or had already emotionally checked out.
Either we'd walk out of that bar together and finally start something real, or I'd leave alone, knowing I'd put myself out there rather than wondering what might have been if I'd only been brave enough to try.
It's been nearly a year since I last saw him. A year since everything fell apart.
My divorce is final now.
Therapy helped me sift through the anger, the humiliation, the confusion that once lived permanently in my head.
Those feelings shouldn't have even been mine in the first place.
I've spent weeks and months learning skills to stop obsessively replaying conversations.
Discovering that moving forward isn't the same as pretending the past didn't happen.
It did happen. And it wasn't all my fault.
Knowing that changed something intrinsic in me. It helped me understand that I'm not fragile at all. I'm strong. I feel steady. My conscience is clear.
Tonight, I'm ready to face him. Ready to find out whether that spark we once had is still alive. I need to know if there's still a chance for us, if the door between us remains open, or if it quietly closed while I was rebuilding my life .
I walk into the club wearing a red tank top and black skinny jeans. The DJ is good. The music fills the room, vibrating through the floor and pulsing through me, demanding movement.
My heart speeds up when I spot him.
Bash stands behind the bar, filling glasses with beer and lining up shots of whiskey. His sleeves are pushed up, showing off those lickable arms. His hands move quickly as he mixes drinks.
Of course, a couple of girls are already perched on the barstools in front of him, leaning in close.
His dimple pops as he gives them a polite smile while mixing something in a metal shaker. He's focused, so he doesn't notice when I slide onto a stool a few seats down.
My heart races. I take a breath. Then another.
He's working seamlessly, grabbing bottles, squeezing lemon wedges, running the register. I didn't come here to panic and leave. I'm here because unfinished things have a way of haunting you.
He turns toward me.
"What can I get you?" he asks, professional and calm, sliding a coaster into place without looking up.
"Must be interesting work," I say softly. "Being a bartender, always listening to other people's troubles. "
His head snaps up.
He freezes.
The moment he recognizes me, surprise breaks across his face. Shock flickers, followed by something warmer. He smiles almost in disbelief, and relief softens his features.
"There's something about a stranger that makes people open up," he whispers, his eyes dropping to my lips. "It's probably the most important part of the job. Bartender with a side of therapist."
"With all that expertise, maybe you can help a girl out?
" I lean closer, lowering my voice. "You see, I've been hung up on this guy, and I can't seem to get him out of my head.
My life was complicated for a while. But with the help of a good therapist and an even better divorce attorney, I worked through it.
I cleared out my ex-husband and the baggage he left behind. "
I take in his familiar face.
"I think I'm ready to open myself to new possibilities. What do you think, handsome? Are there still any good ones left?"
Bash reaches across the bar and cups my hand in his, without hesitation.
"Hi," he says, his voice low and sexy. "My name's Bash, and I think I might be your new possibility. "
A laugh escapes me, soft and real.
He steps out from behind the bar, ignoring the women who immediately start calling for refills.
"Amelia," he whispers, close enough that I feel his breath on my skin.
"Hi, Pretty Boy."
For a few seconds, he just stares at me, his hands gripping my upper arms as if he's making sure it's really me.
"I didn't know you'd be here tonight," he says, eyes darting back and forth between mine.
"Me either."
He studies my face. "You look so beautiful. I'm glad you came."
"I didn't know if I'd be able to face you," I admit.
"Why?"
"I wasn't sure you'd want to see me,"
He frowns, his brows pulling together. "How could you think that?"
"It's been a while, and I had things to work through. My mind's clearer now."
Something settles in him at that. He moves carefully, like he thinks I might disappear if he moves too fast .
"Of course I want to see you," he laughs. "Are you staying?"
"If that's what you want."
That answer seems to steady him. The girls call for him again, impatience creeping into their voices. He glances briefly in their direction, then back to me.
He brushes his thumb lightly across my cheek. "Give me three minutes."
He goes back behind the bar, speaks quietly to the other bartender, and prints out a couple of receipts to finish what he was doing. Then he returns and takes my hand. "Come on."
He leads me upstairs to the VIP lounge, to the same corner where we first met. The music is a bit muted here, more vibration than sound.
We sit, and he pulls me close without hesitation.
For a moment, we just drink each other in.
Then we talk.
Leaning in, our heads nearly touching, speaking quietly, whispering our secrets, saying things we should've said months ago. Almost like no time has passed, we slip back into easy conversation with each other. It's not rushed or dramatic. Just real.
He asks how I've been and if therapy helped .
I tell him the truth. Therapy can only go so far in such a short amount of time, but it helped. It gave me clarity. I put my spine back in place.
He admits to checking my social media like a stalker until he forced himself to stop because it hurt too much to look at me.
We laugh about small things and apologize for the things that mattered.
It feels right. Like coming home.
"Firebird," Bash breathes. "I've missed you."
"Is it too late for us, Pretty Boy?"
He cups my face gently, slowly easing forward, giving me time to pull away if I want.
I don't want to pull away.
I'm free from everything that held me back before. I know it's fast, but I'm ready to take our relationship somewhere we've never let it go.
So I close the distance.
Our lips meet, soft and warm. Months of distance dissolve in a single heartbeat. My hand slides to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as my fingers tangle in his hair.
The kiss deepens. It's slow, careful, then turns hungry, filled with everything we've both been holding back for far too long .
My hand slides under the collar of his shirt, gliding happily across the front of his chest, fingers curling into the fabric.
And then I feel it.
A small, familiar shape beneath.
I stop, fingering the object through his shirt, tracing the outline.
"Bash?" I whisper against his mouth.
I feel him smile, watching me as I slip my fingers past the buttons on his shirt.
Pulling it free, the chain slides warm against my palm.
My breath catches.
The gold skating charm falls free and dangles between us, the tiny diamond catching the low light of the pendant lighting above us.
"You're wearing it?" I ask incredulously.
His arms circle tighter around me. "I've never taken it off."
Tears pluck at my eyes as the beauty of this moment steals my breath.
"Why?"
"Because I wasn't done loving you."
The world around us fades until there's only him and me and that symbol of love between us. My fingers close around the necklace resting against his chest. The same one he gave me at Christmas that once rested against my skin. The one I chucked at the house in my anger that day he tossed me out.
He kept it.
Wore it.
Carried it.
I've been with him all along.
My lips crush his with such reckless abandonment that I feel it to my toes. It's as if that kiss says it all. The hope, the love, the desire. Everything I've felt for him all this time.
Finally free to breathe.
Finally free to live.
Finally free.
When we pull back, I'm still holding the charm between my fingers, caressing the diamond with the pad of my thumb.
I swallow.
I have to ask it. To be sure. "Is there anyone else? I don't want to disrupt your life if you're dating someone."
His face shifts immediately, serious and steady .
"I told you that I'd wait for you as long as you needed," he says. "I'm no liar. I waited because you are my only one."
Those three words echo in my mind.
My only one.
At first, those words ache painfully, nearly ripping a jagged cry from me. But then, my chest loosens as if something suffocating gives way. And the words settle deep, striking my heart with a beautiful jolt.
My only one.
I've never been someone's only one.
"You waited for me? Really waited for me."
"I'm not interested in anyone else," he says simply, knowing what those words will mean to me.
I rest my forehead against his chest.
"I didn't want to come back and wreck it if you had built something."
"Not possible," he says with a pop of that dimple showing. "You're the only one I want to build anything with."
A soft sigh escapes as I lean in and brush a kiss to his dimple, making my way along his jawline and up to his mouth. Not urgent this time. Just gentle, confident, certain .
The music shifts into something sultry and slower.
"Dance with me?" he says, brushing the back of his hand along my jaw.
"Here? Now?"
"Yeah."
He doesn't wait for my answer. He just pulls me gently to my feet and crushes me into his body. One hand lands low on my waist, while the other laces through my fingers. We sway in the dim corner of the VIP lounge, slow and sensuous.
My cheek rests against his chest, the lump of the pendant beneath me.
"I can't believe you found and kept this."
"I needed something to give me hope, Amelia," he says quietly. "Something that reminded me of you. That we were real."
I tilt my head back to look into his ice blue eyes. "We were real. We are."
I smile, and for the first time in a long time, the future feels limitless.
We move as one. Not merely reunited, but moving forward. This last year was a pause, nothing more. A chance to catch my breath. Not an ending. Never .
After a few minutes, he rests his chin on my head.
"Stay with me tonight," he says.
I pull back slightly. "Bash… "
"I don't expect anything," he says quickly. "I just want to go to sleep with you in my arms, to wake up with you there. I want all your tomorrows from now on. I don't want to wake up without you anymore."
There's no pressure from him, just an honest, raw aching.
"You're sure about that?" I hesitate. "Sure that you want me?"
"I've been sure about you… about us, for a long time."
I look at the necklace, lying warm beneath my palm, then back up at the face I adore.
"I'm tired of being invisible."
"I've always seen you, Amelia."
My breath hitches at his words.
"Stay with me," he whispers.
"M-kay," I answer shyly. "I'll stay."
Happiness flashes across his face, open and unrestrained.
He leans down and kisses me again, running his hands through my hair. My hand presses over his heart, near the necklace he never took off .
For the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm standing on thin ice. I feel like I'm stepping into something that's been waiting for me all along.