Free Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1) by Michael Ross

years I have seen about every facet of your character. You are a strong woman. You’re a role model for people like me. You’re like a lioness when you are protecting your own. You make decisions that most others would shy away from. I’ve grown to love you as a person. I would go to war for you. But do you know what I’ve never seen? You really happy or you really vulnerable. There is this thick veneer that even I cannot penetrate. Sometimes I just want to hold you and say let it all out.”
    A group of clerical staff chatter their way into the canteen and both women drop their heads. Gemma is terrified that this time she has broken some unwritten code and is about to suggest they head back to work when JB breaks the silence.
    “Thomas, my husband, took his own life. He got on a motorbike and deliberately drove into a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour. The coroner’s verdict was an accident so everyone was happy with that lie, but he was screwed up in the head. When we married he was this real fun guy who was up for anything. By the time he died, he was a pain in the ass to be with. That’s why you have never seen me date or flirt or anything like that. Especially after that fiasco with Paul Clement. I just cannot face going through all that shit again.”
    Gemma is aware of the mounting buzz in the canteen as it fills up, which perversely seems to make this moment of frankness so very special.
    “Danny Pearson is not like that. He will not turn out like that.”
    “I don’t think so either. But what if he does? I would rather not go down that road just to have my world torn to pieces all over again.”
    “However, you have agreed to see him on Saturday.”
    “I’m sacking you if you ever listen in on my conversations again.”
    “No, you’re not.” They both laugh, and JB looks thoughtfully at Gemma.
    “Gemma, in future, call me Jess.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter
    Twenty-Four
     
     
    Mrs Miller and I are now bosom pals and she has established that I have at least twelve holiday days due to me, so I arrange to have Friday off to collect the new car and go home, searching in a ten-mile radius from the new unit. I have lists from every agent in the area and have marked off five places of specific interest. My entire life has been spent in either high-rise blocks or bulk-standard boxes on new housing estates. I fancy some old-world charm, a cottage or something with character. Prices are dearer than where I live now, but I’m looking to rent and there seem to be some great options available.
    Not working the whole day on Monday and Tuesday afternoon means that if I want to take Friday and Saturday off, I need to put in twelve-hour shifts to keep up with all my administration and paperwork duties, so by Thursday night I’m feeling shattered but also fairly excited. First thing Friday, I ring my friend Mr. Elworthy to confirm that my new car is ready for collection. Then I ring two estate agents to see if I can view four properties that interest me. Unfortunately, only one property is actually vacant and the other three are only for weekend viewing, but I decide it will give me a good chance to get to know the area, and an outside viewing of the other three will decide if I want to take a closer look. My office is only around the corner from the train station, so I park up my van and take the train to Bristol, where British Car Leasing have their pitch. It’s a two-mile walk across the city but it is a lovely day, I am in no hurry, and the taxi company’s ten pounds is better in my pocket.
    “Good morning, Mr. Pearson.”
    I shake Mr. Elworthy’s hand and try and hide my surprise that he is confined to a wheelchair. I say “confined,” but he fairly nips along to the yard, where my new car is waiting. Dark, miserable blue? No, it is not. I am not a car freak, as you would already have gathered, but my girl is a real looker, a bright, light-blue metallic. I go weak at the knees at the