Last Chance Read online

  Last Chance

  Kyleigh Castronaro

  Contents

  Also by Kyleigh Castronaro

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Ode to the Queen

  Desecrated Beauty

  Last Chance

  Copyright © 2019 by Kyleigh Castronaro.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact:

  http://www.kyleighcastronaro.site

  Book and Cover design by Kyleigh Castronaro

  Stock Images provided by http://depositphotos.com

  ISBN: 978-1-988662-10-7

  Also by Kyleigh Castronaro

  Grace of Gods Series

  Ode to the Queen (Book 1)

  Gods Save the Princess (Book 2)

  Tyranny of a Prince (Book 3)

  All Hail the King (Book 4)

  Twisted Fairy Tales Series

  A Little Scratch

  From Ashes

  Desecrated Beauty

  Chances Series

  Last Chance

  Chapter 1

  1989

  Her name was Honey Halliwell, and Shep hoped he would never see her again.

  The first time he saw her was across the balcony, leaning against the railing and holding a glass of wine between pink painted nails. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Golden hair hung in curls over her shoulders, collecting the soft colors of the party lights strung up along the roof. She was wearing a simple denim dress, but what made his breath stop was how her face lit up when she laughed. He could watch her smile for the rest of his life and die a happy man. When she brought the wine glass to her lips, he wanted to be that glass if only to see if her lips were as velvety as they looked.

  Never in his life had he been as mesmerized watching a throat work liquid down, and yet it had to be the most beautiful, natural thing he had seen in the world. He decided, right then and there, that he needed to meet her. He needed to know her name if he could know nothing else about her.

  It was the summer Shep turned twenty-three, he had just gotten out of the army and was due to start work trading for a firm in the city come September. But he had nothing lined up for the summer, so he used an agency who set him up with a labor job in Pleasant Lake for a few months.

  Rufus and Mabel Grant had a son and a farm. At eighteen, their son had gone off to college and studied business. When he came home at the end of his degree, he had begun implementing changes on the farm that would take his parents income from mediocre to moderate. As business demands rose, so did labor demands, and they started recruiting students in the summer to do manual labor, all the while providing board at their big farmhouse.

  Shep Wheeler had been raised to work hard for his money. If someone was willing to pay him for his efforts, he was going to give it 110% with no room for accusations that he was a lazy good-for-nothing. Working in Pleasant Lake was doubly a good idea because he knew the area was known for being a summer party spot. He was looking forward to the different girls who would be in the area, clad in their bikinis enjoying drinks and looking for fun.

  The first night he arrived at Pleasant Lake he got the low-down on the farm, was assigned his room for the summer and had the night to go and check out the town. Sunday nights, for whatever reason, were known as Boom-Boom nights at the Kee where everyone went out to get one last party night in before the work days started again.

  The building was throbbing as the pounding bass expanded the wood when Shep walked up. There was a line leading up to the building as people waited to get in, talking to themselves and drinking from cans they'd brought from home. It was a strange site, in the city no one would've gotten away with drinking their own liquor outside the club, but the bouncers at the door seemed unconcerned if they even noticed what their lineup was getting up to.

  Shep knew how to work the system as he walked up to the bouncers, holding out a twenty from his pocket. The bouncer glanced at his partner before taking the twenty and nodding him in. He smiled to himself, glad the guy hadn’t asked for more. From inside the building, the people were stacked, and the floor felt uneven.

  He hadn't pre-drank before coming out tonight, and yet how the floor was laid made him feel like he was drunk. Ducking under a high beam, that wasn't all that high, he slipped toward the bar and glanced over the menu. They were serving local wines, local beer and not much else.

  “I’ll, uh, take whatever that is,” he said as he eyed a large mason jar being passed over the bar top to a redhead in a yellow crop top.

  "Ten bucks," the bartender shouted over the rise of the crescendo, and he arched an eyebrow as he dug through his pocket looking for the right bill.

  "Hope it's worth it." He grumbled to himself as he took back his change and the mason jar in a different hand. He swerved through the bodies that were flocking to the bar for more drinks as he took in the chaos of the rest of the place.

  At the front, there was a raised stage where a local band was playing, and people were dancing along. Though for the most part, the bodies seemed to be teeming toward the stairs that led up to a second-floor balcony where no doubt they could escape the hot building.

  Shep took his time working his way to the stairs, his eyes dragging along the various feminine bodies as they passed him and offering the girls, who he liked the look of, a grin. At the top, it was overloaded with people all busy enjoying themselves. Shep stood back watching for a moment as his eyes scanned the crowd.

  That was the first moment he saw her. His breath stolen and mind captivated with the single thought of having her, Shep readied himself for an introduction.

  “Hi,” a raven-haired woman set her hand on Shep’s arm, drawing his attention away from the blonde. “You’re new here, I’m Sophie.” Her hand slid along his arm until she grasped his palm in an awkward half-shake. He barely returned it before she stopped shaking, leaving her fingers curled into his palm.

  “Shep, nice to meet you.”

  “What brings you to the Kee tonight?”

  "New to the area thought I'd get out and be social. See if I could meet anyone."

  “And you met me, how wonderful.” She smiled and probably thought it was charming, but Shep found himself homing in on the four overlapping teeth that made up her bottom row and, in disgust, he swallowed hard.

  “Oh, there he is.” He said absently, pulling away from Sophie and beginning to move through the crowd again. He acted as though he had seen hi
s long-lost friend as he swerved through the bodies and made his way up to a group of guys gathering against the rail where they had set up some kind of mock basketball game using a mason jar and a ping-pong ball.

  "I've been looking for you," he clapped the nearest guy on the back and out of the corner of his mouth he muttered, "play along, I'm trying to lose this chick." The other guy laughed and nodded his head, returning the familiar back slap before nodding at the mason jar.

  “You gonna join the bet? Highest shooter wins the pot.”

  "What's the buy-in?" he asked, digging into his pockets for his bills once more. Shep's weakness came in the form of games and bets. There was rarely a game he didn't bet on as he enjoyed the thrill of winning, which he did most of the time.

  His old squadron buddies teased him for being competitive and, truthfully, he didn't like to lose, so he did what it took to win.

  “Most of the guys threw in a ten.” And with that Shep pulled out a twenty, offering the other lads a challenging grin.

  “I’m Shep Wheeler,” he said slapping the bill down on the railing before holding his hand out to the other man.

  "Jeremy Fisher," they shook, and Jeremy introduced him to all the other guys there. They were locals, Jeremy explained, all except himself. He used to live locally but went away to college in the South and was back for the summer.

  "Alright lads, gonna match Shep's bet?" Jeremy collected the rest of the pot before stepping away from the railing to clear a patch for them to stand and play. Making a semi-circle in an already packed area seemed to draw more attention to them with Sophie at the forefront. She hovered at the edge of the crowd, with a grin on her face like a cat that got the cream as she watched Shep.

  The first guy stepped up and threw the ball, nailing it right over the railing and into the water below. The second hit off the rim, but they were able to at least save the ball before it was lost. One after another they went and Shep was the only one to hit the jar. When he did, the crowd went wild, and the energy made his chest puff out in pride.

  It wasn’t long before their antics attracted the attention of the blonde Shep first noticed. He nudged his elbow into Jeremy’s and nodded in her direction, “who’s the blonde?”

  “That’s Honey Halliwell, she’s a local too. You said you’re working for the Grants? She lives down the road from them, they’re her Grandparents.” Jeremy took his shot and for the first time landed it, making the crowd howl as the ante was upped.

  Honey Halliwell, a sweet name for such a sweet looking girl. Her bright blue eyes flicked up and made eye contact with him, so he smirked, watching a blush paint itself on her features before he tossed the ping-pong ball with ease and landed it in the jar as well.

  People in the crowd joined the bet and handed them drinks, watching as the players got tipsier which only added to the fun. They made their way through a number of shots before it was determined Shep had won in a landslide. He chuckled with pleasure to himself as he collected his winnings, crossing over to Honey and stopped right in front of her. He was unable to believe how beautiful she was up-close. A literal goddess in the flesh.

  Chapter 2

  2019

  Pleasant Lake. The photo on the screen looked so familiar, close enough that it had pulled a memory he hadn’t thought about in a very long time to the surface. Shep leaned back in his computer chair, pulling his glasses off as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. The memories of Honey and that summer were dusty. But they still managed to cause a tightness in his chest that was linked to deep regret.

  He had made a lot of mistakes when he was younger, telling himself that was the nature of youth. At fifty-three he could look back at the young man he had been and see the cause of his troubles had been, mostly, self-inflicted. If he could go back and change everything, he knew he would. And change everything it would.

  His eyes drifted to the photo beside the computer screen. It was old, faded in the corners, but the people inside the white border were what mattered. She looked so happy.

  Carefree. He corrected himself mentally.

  And she was, he had always assured that her every whim and worry was catered to. She was spoiled like royalty although she had come from a modest background. That had never mattered to him. He had a humble upbringing himself, and his wealth was self-made. He was damn proud of how his life had turned out.

  But was he happy?

  That was always the question. He had yet to determine the answer. Sure, she made him happy, in her own particular way. But it wasn’t the kind of happiness you were supposed to have with a partner of almost thirty years. She would have never made him happy.

  Because she hadn’t been the one.

  The thought punctured him. Like a right hook to the stomach. He scowled at his reflection; as if the veteran in it had caused the double-timing thought to manifest. Truthfully, he had always known. On his wedding day, in that photo and every memory they had made together. She loved him, but he couldn’t fully love her. Not in the way she deserved to be loved.

  For that, his heart always had, and would still, belong to another.

  With a heavy sigh, he replaced his glasses and returned to the website, clicking on the Contact Us link and typing in the details. His daughter was getting married in a few months, and he had offered to procure the wine for the backyard soiree.

  The winery most local blogs pointed to was Greenville Road Winery, an award-winning winery. That’s when he had ended up on this website whose photographs sent him spiralling down a tunnel of memories that he had thought he had locked away, never to relive them again.

  Now his mind was plagued by thoughts of a summer spent under the warm country sun with the most beautiful girl he’d ever known tucked in his arms.

  He finished the email and closed the browser, pushing himself back from the desk as he rose. He needed to busy himself, he didn’t do well with idle time and - now especially – he needed the distraction. Like someone was watching him, the phone rang and grateful for the disturbance, he found the receiver and grunted a hello.

  “Cheers to you too, father.”

  “Adam.”

  “I’m on my way over, stopping for a coffee on the way – want one?”

  “Why bother? I’ll put a pot on.” Shep preferred instant coffee over any of that fancy crap. One thing he had never developed was a rich palate for coffee. Mostly because he couldn't justify spending nine bucks on a latta-frappa-mocha-locha-chino with three pumps of pure sugar and half a hit of cocaine and no whip on top. Or something like that.

  He had dined on expensive caviar before, but give him cheap, instant coffee any day.

  “You’re probably the last living human being who likes that cheap, flavorless stuff.”

  "Am I? Then why do they still sell it?" His son laughed, and he knew he was still going to come through his front door and desecrate his home with one of those fancy lattes. "I'll have a scone." He mumbled reluctantly, making Adam laugh harder.

  “No can do, pops. You know you gotta stay fit for Holly’s wedding.”

  “First of all,” he began.

  “Let me stop you there.”

  “Really, please don’t.” He considered himself old. He had two strokes under his belt thanks to his smoking and grown children. If not for his hair, he didn’t look that old, he heard his daughter Holly saying over and over again.

  He was grateful for his slim, muscular shape. Years of youthful narcissism giving him the upper hand as he got older. He could let himself go a lot slower than most of his golfing friends. A beer a day still didn't show on his gut, but he was counting down the days until they did. Until then, Holly maintained, he was "hot."

  Despite that though, with his youngest’s wedding looming ever nearer both Holly and Adam had been on his case to be healthier. As if he might drop dead between now and July. He knew they meant well but worrying about his health had never been a high priority for him.

  "Fine, one scone." Adam conceded, and he heard some wo
man in the distance reply with a simple ‘anything else.' The kid was sitting in the drive-thru talking to him instead of placing his order!

  “Focus on what you’re doing, see you soon.”

  “Yeah, okay, bye.”

  He shook his head in disbelief and walked out of the office toward the back door. His mind, no longer focused on conversation, drifted back to sun-kissed skin and the smell of lavender. It was as if by peeking behind that closed door, he had allowed his mind to open it, assaulting every sense he had with the ghost of Honey Halliwell.

  A smoke was in order, he decided. Especially if he was going to think about her. He unlocked the door, sliding it open and stepped out into the brisk spring air. Though his kids were sneaky, he knew they had to be on to him, he hadn’t kicked the habit like they asked him to. He never made it through any these health kicks they put him on. Unless you counted the stints in the hospital after each stroke and that was only because of regulations.

  He fished the small sack of tobacco out of the tin container he kept by the door and a pack of papers. Sitting down at his patio table he painstakingly poured out a line before rolling the cigarette up with a filter. When it was done, he sealed it with a flick of his tongue, admiring his handiwork before rising and lighting up.

  The first hit was bliss. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the dizzying burn before exhaling reluctantly. He could still remember the first cigarette he had ever made, sitting at the kitchen table while his stepfather taught him the perfect roll. He'd spent hours upon hours every day of his summer holidays making his way through entire packs of paper and bags of tobacco to create hundreds of cigs that his father went and sold at the yard.