Second Chance: A Military Football Romance

"That's it, I'm leaving!" Trent said. He flounced to the hallway door. "Thanks, Mr. Thomas. We're heading out to Vegas!"

Nicky patted my hand again and got up to follow Trent. I poured the rest of his wine into my glass and sat back to take a long drink.

#

Mr. Thomas came back to the dining room first. "They left?"

"Yes," I said. "I guess Nicky was anxious to hit the dance clubs. I told him they were open all night."

"Well, I guess a quick farewell is better than sticking around after the party is over," Mr. Thomas said.

"Need a hand in the kitchen?" I asked. I stood up and stacked the dishes closest to me. Before he could make up an excuse, I moved past him and into the kitchen.

Quinn was at the sink, rinsing the dishes. The recycling was bulging with the takeout containers. She saw me notice and she smiled.

"I sure do miss my mother's home-cooked meals," she said.

"Your mother isn't well," Mr. Thomas snapped from the doorway.

Quinn looked at me and bit her lip. Mrs. Thomas's wild mood swings had always been cause for concern, but her husband was still pretending everything was normal. Even after Sienna, whose personality could be the perfect mirror image of her mother's, had suffered for it.

"I'll just grab the last of it," I said. I headed back to the dining room and considered going right out the front door.

"You're right, Father, she isn’t well. Don't you think she might want to see a doctor?" I heard Quinn ask.

"That's not what I meant. She's just sick of seeing you so far off-track," Mr. Thomas responded. "If you could pull yourself back together, your mother wouldn’t have to be so stressed and worried."

I gripped a fork hard enough to leave an imprint on my palm. I knew Mr. Thomas tried to find excuses for his wife's erratic behavior. But this was the first time I had ever heard him place the weight of it squarely on Quinn's shoulders.

"I'm worried about her, too. Don't you think after what happened to Sienna, we should ask her to see someone?" Quinn asked. Her voice was faint but I could hear the resolve in it.

"What you should be worried about is ridiculous scenes like that dinner. Do you see now what a mess you're making of everything?"

I strode back into the kitchen and forced myself to place the dishes lightly on the counter. The saucers still rattled harshly and Quinn jumped. The look in her eyes begged me not to say anything.

I pointed downstairs and then turned to Mr. Thomas. "Thank you very much for dinner, sir. Do you need a hand with drying or should I say goodnight?"

"Goodnight," Mr. Thomas said.

I left the kitchen and went down the hallway past the guest bathroom. The next door led to the basement, and I slipped down it. Mr. Thomas generally retreated to his office after dinner and would not notice my car still parked out front.

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and heard the blood pounding in my ears. I was angry. Angry that a father could ignore the problems of his family and pretend everything was perfect. Angry that people really expected life to be perfect and they fell to pieces when it wasn't. I could not watch Quinn give in to that way of thinking. It would destroy her, and the thought made me see red.

"I think you should go home," Quinn said. She jogged down the stairs. "It’s been a pretty rough night. I can't believe you stayed."

"I was going to tell you the same thing," I said. I caught her hands and held them tight.

"It’s okay, really," Quinn said, but she would not meet my eyes.

"Fine, we won't talk about it," I said. "Maybe we do better when we don't talk." I kissed her, hard.

When our lips met again, I realized why I had felt so restless. I felt as if I had been taking on water, sinking lower and lower. All it took was Quinn's kiss to buoy me back up. I hoped it did the same for her.

It was impossible to read her chocolate brown eyes. She pushed against my chest, broke the kiss, and looked up at me for a long time.

"I'm worried, Quinn," I said. "I don't think this is you. You are the woman I saw in Vegas. Confident, inspired, and open."

"You mean carefree and fun," Quinn said. She turned away. "Sorry, Owen. This is my real life."