Read Online Second Chance Hero by Rebecca Sherwin - Free Book Online
Authors: Rebecca Sherwin
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leftovers.”
She composes herself, and we walk to the garden to clear up.
After we’re finished clearing up, we sit down to
watch a film. I stare through the TV, my thoughts straying to what happened
tonight. It’s what I wanted, it’s what I’ve always wanted, but I can't help but
feel like something went wrong. I feel uneasy and restless.
“I’m going up to bed, Mum. There are clean sheets on
the bed in the spare room. I’ll take you home in the morning.”
She smiles at me, a pitiful smile; I kiss her on her
forehead and go up to bed. After staring at the ceiling for what feels like
hours, I fall into a restless sleep. I dream of Jenna’s hair fanned out across
my pillow, or brushing my chest. I dream about the feel of her hands on my
body, and how she’d move with my hands on hers. I hear her whispered moans, and
can smell her subtle floral perfume as if she were lying in bed with to me. I
dream of the sound of her giggling as I stroke my fingertips down her waist,
caressing her soft curves and slender form. I wake up several times in the
night to check that she isn’t asleep curled up next to me and breathing softly.
“What have you got planned for today, Deac?” Mum
asks as I drive her back into town.
She got up this morning and made coffee in thermos
cups, and I take a sip before I answer.
“I’ve got some blue prints to finish before my
meeting tomorrow, and then I’ll go to one of the jobs and see if I’m needed.”
She nods, obviously glad I won't be spending the day
moping; my mood was anything but jovial when I got up this morning after a
sleepless night.
“And what about,” she pauses to think, “you, know.
The Jenna thing.”
“Don't pry, Mum.”
“I’m not.” She has the cheek to look shocked. As
much as I want to talk to her, I know she’ll try to work some magic. And magic
isn’t what I need, “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” I pull up outside her
house and avoid eye contact, “I don’t need anyone’s help. It’s just Jenna.”
She sighs and I can see her shaking her head, but
she climbs out of the truck and goes inside without another word said. It’s
just Jenna. I can’t believe I said that. There is no ‘just Jenna’. She’s
everything. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, and drive
off towards the yard. Some manual labour might get me out of this funk.
When I reach the site where the boys are building
the foundations for a development of contemporary but country-style houses, I
pull on my black steel-toe caps and head to the site office.
“Acton.” I call to the man in charge of the
operation. He’s been drafted over from Surrey and I think he’s sleeping in this
office, judging by the state of the place and the fact he’s asleep on the worn
brown leather sofa in the corner of the trailer.
He springs to life when I call him and jumps up to
shake my hand. I nod towards the door and we exit, walking along the dirt path
which is soon to be the entrance lane for the houses.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s going alright. The foundations are going
okay. A couple of the boys are having issues with the joists, but they’ll get
the hang of it.”
“They know the rule? Half the span plus two inches.”
“Yeah, of course. They’re getting ‘em down alright.
They just look shabby.”
“Shabby isn’t good enough, mate. How are they
supposed to support a floor with shit joists?”
“I’ll check over them, Deacon.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got some free time. I’ll go over
the fitting with them.”
We stop at the first house, where a few are working
on getting the joists down. They’re concentrating on work and don’t notice I’m
there so I watch their technique. Acton disappears further down the road to
check on the next house.
“The problem you’ve got there,” I interrupt them and
they stand to greet me like the boss. I
She composes herself, and we walk to the garden to clear up.
After we’re finished clearing up, we sit down to
watch a film. I stare through the TV, my thoughts straying to what happened
tonight. It’s what I wanted, it’s what I’ve always wanted, but I can't help but
feel like something went wrong. I feel uneasy and restless.
“I’m going up to bed, Mum. There are clean sheets on
the bed in the spare room. I’ll take you home in the morning.”
She smiles at me, a pitiful smile; I kiss her on her
forehead and go up to bed. After staring at the ceiling for what feels like
hours, I fall into a restless sleep. I dream of Jenna’s hair fanned out across
my pillow, or brushing my chest. I dream about the feel of her hands on my
body, and how she’d move with my hands on hers. I hear her whispered moans, and
can smell her subtle floral perfume as if she were lying in bed with to me. I
dream of the sound of her giggling as I stroke my fingertips down her waist,
caressing her soft curves and slender form. I wake up several times in the
night to check that she isn’t asleep curled up next to me and breathing softly.
“What have you got planned for today, Deac?” Mum
asks as I drive her back into town.
She got up this morning and made coffee in thermos
cups, and I take a sip before I answer.
“I’ve got some blue prints to finish before my
meeting tomorrow, and then I’ll go to one of the jobs and see if I’m needed.”
She nods, obviously glad I won't be spending the day
moping; my mood was anything but jovial when I got up this morning after a
sleepless night.
“And what about,” she pauses to think, “you, know.
The Jenna thing.”
“Don't pry, Mum.”
“I’m not.” She has the cheek to look shocked. As
much as I want to talk to her, I know she’ll try to work some magic. And magic
isn’t what I need, “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” I pull up outside her
house and avoid eye contact, “I don’t need anyone’s help. It’s just Jenna.”
She sighs and I can see her shaking her head, but
she climbs out of the truck and goes inside without another word said. It’s
just Jenna. I can’t believe I said that. There is no ‘just Jenna’. She’s
everything. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, and drive
off towards the yard. Some manual labour might get me out of this funk.
When I reach the site where the boys are building
the foundations for a development of contemporary but country-style houses, I
pull on my black steel-toe caps and head to the site office.
“Acton.” I call to the man in charge of the
operation. He’s been drafted over from Surrey and I think he’s sleeping in this
office, judging by the state of the place and the fact he’s asleep on the worn
brown leather sofa in the corner of the trailer.
He springs to life when I call him and jumps up to
shake my hand. I nod towards the door and we exit, walking along the dirt path
which is soon to be the entrance lane for the houses.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s going alright. The foundations are going
okay. A couple of the boys are having issues with the joists, but they’ll get
the hang of it.”
“They know the rule? Half the span plus two inches.”
“Yeah, of course. They’re getting ‘em down alright.
They just look shabby.”
“Shabby isn’t good enough, mate. How are they
supposed to support a floor with shit joists?”
“I’ll check over them, Deacon.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got some free time. I’ll go over
the fitting with them.”
We stop at the first house, where a few are working
on getting the joists down. They’re concentrating on work and don’t notice I’m
there so I watch their technique. Acton disappears further down the road to
check on the next house.
“The problem you’ve got there,” I interrupt them and
they stand to greet me like the boss. I
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