Wild Hearts. Book Number 2. Reignite
Author
Marie Scully
Reads
17.1K
Chapters
38
Megan returns home with her heart already pulled thin, hoping she can slip in, catch her breath, and slip out again before old wounds wake up. But home has its own ideas—starting with Ben, who keeps showing up at the exact moment she swears she’s over him. He looks different, acts different, and somehow makes the past feel both softer and sharper at the same time. She tells herself it’s only temporary, that leaving is the safest plan. Yet every shared glance stirs something she thought she buried, and every near-miss brushes them closer. Staying out of each other’s way? Not a chance.
Chapter 1: The Long Goodbye
MEGAN
The closer we get to the airport, the quieter the car becomes. Ben’s eyes stay firmly on the road. I was surprised when he pulled up this morning to take me to the airport. I was just about to order an Uber when he arrived.
I was expecting him to try to convince me to stay during the ride, but there had been only small talk.
Nerves run all through my body, causing me to pick at my nails. I could always find something to talk with Ben about in the past; it seems we’ve both run out of topics. It’s breaking my heart.
“Ben.”
He takes his eyes off the road to glance at me. “What?” he asks, his voice gruff with emotion.
“Nothing,” I say.
I really don’t know what I was going to say anyway. We go back to silence. Maybe that’s safer. Ten more minutes pass with neither of us saying anything. The exit to the airport is up ahead.
If there is anything to say, I need to say it soon, or I’ll never say it. I know once I leave, everything will change. Everything I want to say runs through my mind, but nothing makes sense.
He pulls the truck into the parking spot nearest the airline’s check-in counter, then hops out and grabs my bag from the truck bed. I sit in the car for a minute longer before joining him. He rolls the bag to me.
“You sure you want to do this, Megan?” he asks.
A lone tear escapes my eye. “You sure you don’t want to come? You might like New York.”
He swallows before answering. “You know I can’t. I need to stay here. This place was never enough for you. I knew that the first day I met you. You were always made for bigger and brighter things, though I did hope that I’d be enough for you, even if this place wasn’t.”
I nod. “You were enough for me for a long time, Ben. You know that. You’re the reason I stayed as long as I did. I guess we both hoped the other would change, and maybe we have changed a little, but not enough.”
We stare at each other for what feels like hours. I know that if he says anything else, I’ll change my mind and stay. And if I do that, I’ll never leave. But leaving is something I’m doing for myself. I need this.
Pulling up the handle of the suitcase is my final acknowledgment to both of us that I’m leaving, but he doesn’t say anything as I lean forward and brush my lips against his cheek for our goodbye.
I turn my back on Ben and roll the large suitcase toward the airport doors without another word. I don’t glance back. I feel his searing gaze on me, daring me to look back. Daring me to change my mind. But I don’t.
The automatic doors open, and the sound of the busy airport greets me. It’ll be good for both of us. We’ll both grow as individuals and maybe one day we might be together again, though if nothing else, we’ll always be friends.
We’ll both see that this is the best decision for each of us. It’ll just take time. That’s all.
MEGAN
FOUR YEARS LATER
I’m sitting in my stiff office chair, staring at my phone. The alert of the intentionally missed call and unread voicemail taunts me. I debate throwing the phone into my purse, but that would be avoiding the inevitable.
I hoped when I ignored Danny’s call, she wouldn’t leave a voicemail. I should have known better.
Sliding open the voicemail, I wait for the sound of her voice. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it. For a while, I tried to stay connected to her, to all of them. I would have a missed call here and there, and I always planned to call them back.
But things came up. Weeks turned into months, and months blended into years. Then they just stopped calling altogether. Seconds tick by before Danny starts, as if she’s debating whether to leave a message.
“Honestly, I don’t know why I bothered calling. Liam said to leave it alone, but I just can’t. In case you weren’t aware, I’ve been the one defending you for years since you dropped off the face of the earth. I have no excuse for this one.
“He died, Megan, and you couldn’t bother to show up. What the hell have you become? Ben’s dad died and you…you do nothing. No wait, I’m sorry; you sent flowers. Forgive me, I forgot about that.” The sarcasm in her voice does not go unnoticed.
“Your life is so hectic that you couldn’t come back for the funeral. I know you and Ben haven’t talked in a while and had a falling out, but that is no reason for you not to show up!” I can hear Liam trying to calm her down in the background. “Enjoy your life.”
The voicemail ends. I pull the phone from my ear and place it facedown on my cherrywood desk, no longer wanting the reminder of what I’d just heard. Taking a calming breath as Becky always tells me to do does nothing to help my emotions.
I knew I’d get that call from someone. If I were to be honest, I figured it would be Danny. The others had gone silent years ago.
The large office feels constricting, the white walls closing in, the piles of vanilla and red files laughing at me. Still, I try to breathe. The panic attacks have been a recent development. I had them as a child, but they went away for a while.
They returned a few weeks ago when I lost a case. There was nothing unusual about that case to cause such a strong reaction. As soon as the verdict was read, I felt like everyone in the room was staring, judging my mistakes.
I rushed out of the courtroom as if the cops were coming to arrest me, not my client. I hid in the handicap stall, sat on the cold tile floor, and rocked back and forth for what felt like hours till I finally got a hold of myself. Since then, it’s been happening more often.
“Megan, your ten o’clock is here.” Hearing Kathy, my assistant’s voice, does not help. I can’t answer her right now. I need a second, only a second. “Megan?” The concerned question bounces off the walls, demanding a response.
Taking another breath, I push the words from my voice. “Yes. Yes, of course. I need one minute, then bring him in.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I do not need her to question me. I do not need anyone to question me. I need to regain control. I stand, shaky knees thankfully hidden behind the large oak desk. Weakness only breeds weakness. I push strength into my voice. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Kathy moves to close the door, but before she does, I say, “Kathy.” She turns back around. “Don’t question me again.”
Kathy leaves the room, her eyes downcast, only to reappear with my newest soon-to-be client, Victor Bull, the CEO of Bull Enterprises, or rather, the second-largest marketing firm in New York.
Moving around my desk, I walk toward him and shake hands a reasonable distance away. Victor is in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, graying at the temples. For an older man, he still seems to take care of himself by keeping in shape.
His beady brown eyes meet my own. He demanded a meeting with me the previous week. I told him I had no openings, and it would have to be the following. Unbeknownst to him, I did have an opening last week, but I do not do well with demands.
Victor gives me a sly smile and moves to the leather seat across from my desk.
“How can I help you, Mr. Bull? From your phone call last week, it seemed urgent.” Sitting down in my chair, I move forward, clasping my hands on the desk.
He clears his throat before responding. “I am not here for myself, of course.” They never are. “I am here about my son.” I nod. “He was arrested on fraud charges last week.”
“Did he do it?” I inquire, not genuinely caring about the answer but curious about his response. I can tell a lot about a person if they lie to me within the first five minutes.
“Does it matter?” he asks, as if he’s never known a consequence.
“Of course not. Just wondering what I’m working with.” I answer truthfully. Most of my clients are guilty, and as long as they can pay, it does not concern me. Thankfully, it is not illegal to represent the guilty.
“I need the best lawyer there is. Which, from what I hear, happens to be you. Money is no issue.” He says this in a tone that says, Let’s get on with this.
Money for my clients never is. “Tell me more about your son and what you know about the evidence they may or may not have on him.”
ONE YEAR LATER
The nightmare was the same as it had been for the last four months. Never changing, no matter how much I wished the ending would be different. I craved reality to be different.
Rushing into the hospital with my pajamas on, I run toward their room, hoping that the worst would not come to pass by some act of God. Each time I get there, the doctor leaves the room, stopping me before I can go in.
Holding me back for what feels like an eternity. That’s when I know it’s over. Not when I got the call; there was still hope then; not when I rushed to the hospital; still a sliver of hope.
It’s all dashed by the look on the doctor’s face. Pushing him out of the way, I rush to her bed, knowing but still hoping that it isn’t true, hoping that the sound from the heartbeat monitor would fill the room.
Her face is almost unrecognizable from the car crash. Holding her hand, I still hope that she’ll come to and open her eyes. Covered in black and blue bruises, Becky dies fifteen minutes after arriving at the hospital.
The worst part is that the dream never ends there. I have to relive going to their home, telling the babysitter to leave, and waking the children to tell them what happened.
Ava, the oldest, knew just as I knew looking at the doctor’s face that they were gone. The dream finally puts me out of my misery at the gravesite, where all hope dies in the ground.
It’s incredible what a single moment in one’s life can change. Since their deaths, I have felt like a fish out of water, unable to breathe and reacting without thought.
My parents moved to Europe three years earlier and were enjoying their retirement lifestyle when they got the call. They came home for the funerals, but then we needed to decide what to do with the children.
Paul’s parents died years ago, and since he was an only child, that left me. My parents offered, but that’s not a life for children who need to be in school, and that would be even more change in their lives.
I didn’t know how much more they could handle. That left one option: they’d have to move in with me.
Becky was always the motherly type. I, on the other hand, never wanted the responsibility. At twenty-eight, I was not expecting to be where I am now, left with a sixteen-year-old going on twelve, a twelve-year-old going on eighteen, and an eight-year-old who has said maybe ten words since his parents died.
My hope that Ava would be helpful was dashed when I had to go to a party at some random boy’s house and pull her out drunk. Becky and Paul would be so proud of all of us.
“Fuck this,” I mumble and shove my covers from my body. I’ll go to the study. If I’m going to be up, I might as well work.
I pass Sam and Maddie’s room and check to see how they are. Sound asleep, hopefully dreaming of butterflies or whatever children dream about.
Continuing down the hall, I stop at Ava’s room and open that door as well. I find a shocked teenager heading back inside through the window. Her shoes are in her hands, makeup everywhere, and her blonde, shoulder-length hair a mess. Her surprised gaze meets mine.
“Aunt Megan, I can explain…,” she begins to stumble out.
Holding up my hand, I cut her off. “Nice night?” She opens her mouth to respond, but I cut her off again. “This can’t keep happening. Get to sleep. This will not happen again.” With that warning, I close the door sharply.
I shake my head as I finally make it to my study. Sitting down, the first picture I see is Becky, Paul, and me at their wedding. I trace their faces with the pad of my thumb.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the ghosts in the room.
