Page 17 of One More Chance
I have to get to work. I am not wasting another second thinking about Angie.
I hammered through the next ten hours, the relentless grind of labor a welcome distraction from the mess I’d made of my life. The sun had started to bleed into the horizon by the time I walked through the parking lot toward my truck. I sat in it for a while, engine off, staring at the empty lot as exhaustion pressed on my shoulders.
My fingers twitched over the screen of my phone, hovering just above Sloane's name as if it might burn me. I was impatient to move back in but I knew she would still be wound tight. Despite that, I needed to call her to see how broken we truly were. I doubted she would be open to the idea and it was definitely a gamble, but I needed to try.
The longer I stared at her name, the more certain I became that she wouldn’t answer… but I called anyway. One ring. Two. Three. Then her voice, clipped and wary.
“Levi?” Her tone was ice. Despite that, the sound of her voice sparked a warmth that spread from my chest down to my core; a burning reminder of how much she affected me.
“Hey,” I said. My voice sounded small. “I didn’t want to text this.”
A pause then a quiet, “Okay.”
I could hear the faint sound of the kids in the background: Violet laughing, Liam saying something sarcastic. My throat closed for a moment. I missed that noise. I missed them. I missedher.
“Thank you for the money. It seems excessive.” Her voice was hesitant, as if she knew I was scheming something. I suppose, in a way, I was.
“Of course. Y'all should also check out that one deluxe hotel with the water park in it. I remember we had a great time at its neighbor.”
Sloane's soft laugh filtered through and I couldn't help but close my eyes as my cock swelled, her voice a drug I could never quit. It was hard not to touch myself in the truck with her voice and laugh filling me.
“Levi, that was years ago.” Her flat tone broke through the animalistic hunger I was holding back.
I took a deep breath as I adjusted myself. My voice came out hoarse when I said, “I’ve been thinking… I know I screwed everything up. I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything. But I need to know… do you want me to look for a rental? Or…”
“Orwhat?”
Yep, definitely still mad. Rightfully so.
“… Or should I come home?”
The silence on the line stretched so long I thought the call dropped. I checked the screen. Still active.
Then, Sloane exhaled, and her breath shook. “You think this is something you get to just walk back into?”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, Sloane. I don’t think that. I’m not asking to pick up where we left off. I’m asking if you even want me in the same house. Not as your husband, fuck, I know I forfeited that… but as the kids’ father. As someone who wants to earn a place again.”
She was quiet. I imagined her pacing the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself, her eyes blurry and red-rimmed.
“I could be home when you are working. Someone to stay with the kids. I know Liam is old enough but …”
I trailed off, not knowing what to say. I knew that Sloane had survived on her own in my previous life; what right did I have to impose upon her now? Would she find it presumptuous of me that she even needed my help?
“Thank you, Levi. But …” She paused for an agonizingly long time before she said, “Honestly? I don’t trust you.”
My chest caved in, my breathing ceased, and I grasped the steering wheel so hard my fingers screamed. Every muscle in my body seized.
Of course she didn't trust me. She shouldn't trust me after what I'd done. It wasn't shock or anger that triggered such a violent reaction in me, but an earthquake of conflicting emotions: revulsion with myself, reverence for her, shame of who I had been, and finally pride at who she was.
How I managed not to cry in that moment, I couldn't say. I choked out the words, “I know. And I understand.”
“You hurt me, Levi. You humiliated me. And not just with her... you were gone before she ever touched you. You checked out. Every time I asked for help, you gave me either silence or resentment.”
“I know… I was a selfish bastard and I didn’t even see it until you were already standing in the wreckage I'd created.”
Another pause. “Since when have you been so poetic?”
The truth was that I had twelve years of hindsight and regrets tempering my words. I had twelve years worth of wondering how many different ways I could forge an apology that could encapsulate my regret, my sorrow, my shame.
