A Second Chance at Us

chapter seven

A Second Chance at Us

Chapter Seven — The Things We Don't Say

Penny

The storm arrived just after midnight.

Rain hammered against the windows, and thunder rolled across Willowbrook every few minutes. I had been awake for almost an hour, staring at the ceiling and trying to convince myself to sleep.

It wasn't working.

I glanced at the clock.

12:53 a.m.

With a sigh, I pushed the covers away.

I needed water.

I slipped out of my room and walked quietly down the hallway. The house was different at night. During the day, it was warm and familiar, filled with Mum's voice and the ticking of the old grandfather clock.

At night, it seemed to hold its breath.

I reached the kitchen and opened the cupboard.

“Can't sleep?”

I nearly screamed.

“William!”

He stood in the doorway, holding his phone.

“Sorry.”

“You scared me.”

“I didn't mean to.”

I pressed a hand against my chest.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He smiled.

“You're exaggerating.”

“You always say that.”

“Because you always do.”

I filled my glass and took a sip.

When I turned around, he was still watching me.

He looked tired. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and his hair was slightly messy.

It reminded me how much he had changed.

When I was twelve, William had been twenty-two and seemed invincible. He had taught me how to ride a bicycle, helped me with schoolwork, and spent an entire weekend building the treehouse I'd begged for.

Back then, I had thought he could fix anything.

Now I knew better.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You're staring.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were.”

“I was thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That sounded convincing.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You're annoying.”

“And you're avoiding the question.”

I put my glass down.

“Maybe I can't sleep.”

“Because of the storm?”

“Maybe.”

Thunder cracked overhead.

I jumped.

William smiled.

“You still hate storms.”

“I don't hate them.”

Another crash sounded.

I sighed.

“Fine. I hate them a little.”

He laughed.

The sound surprised me.

It was the first genuine laugh I'd heard from him since he'd returned.

“Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

“Living room.”

“Why?”

“Because standing in a dark kitchen at one in the morning is depressing.”

I followed him.

We had barely reached the living room when the electricity flickered and disappeared.

“Oh, great.”

“Stay there.”

“I can see.”

“You're about to walk into the table.”

“I am not.”

Two seconds later, my knee hit the coffee table.

“Ow!”

William laughed.

“Don't laugh.”

“I didn't.”

“You definitely did.”

He found two candles and lit them.

The room filled with a warm golden glow.

I sat at one end of the sofa.

He sat at the other.

For a while, we listened to the rain.

Then I said, “You've changed.”

He looked at me.

“So have you.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“You're different.”

His expression became serious.

“I know.”

“What happened to you?”

The question escaped before I could stop it.

His gaze dropped.

“After Ava died…”

He stopped.

I waited.

“Everyone kept telling me I was strong,” he continued.

“I hated hearing that.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn't feel strong.”

His voice was quiet.

“I felt like I was barely functioning. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat properly. Couldn't work. Some mornings, I couldn't even decide what shirt to wear.”

My heart tightened.

“So I left.”

“Because you couldn't cope?”

“Partly.”

He looked toward the window.

“Everywhere reminded me of her.”

“I understand.”

“You don't have to.”

“I know.”

He looked at me.

“Just listen.”

So I did.

“I loved her.”

“I know.”

“I still love her.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes I feel guilty when I laugh.”

“Why?”

“Because she's not here to laugh with me.”

I looked at the candle.

“That isn't something you should feel guilty about.”

He was quiet.

“Ava wouldn't want you to stop living.”

His jaw tightened.

“You don't know that.”

“I knew her.”

“So did I.”

“I know.”

He looked at me.

“I don't know if I'll ever feel that way again.”

“You don't have to know.”

He frowned.

“You don't have to decide what the rest of your life looks like right now.”

A faint smile appeared.

“You've become wise.”

“I've always been wise.”

“No.”

He laughed softly.

“You were a menace.”

“I was adorable.”

“You broke my watch.”

“You left it where I could reach it.”

“You threw it into the garden.”

“You told me it was waterproof.”

“I said the box was waterproof.”

I laughed.

He did too.

For a moment, the sadness disappeared.

Then I became aware of how close we were sitting.

I looked away.

“Penny?”

“Hmm?”

“You've been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“You have.”

“I've been busy.”

“You've been home for days.”

“I have a life.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you interrogating me?”

“Because you're acting strange.”

I stared at him.

“So are you.”

He smiled.

“Fair.”

I looked toward the window.

“I think everything feels strange.”

“What does?”

“Being back.”

He nodded.

“I understand.”

“I left Willowbrook years ago. I thought I'd moved on.”

“You did.”

“Then why does it feel like I'm walking through my childhood?”

“Because you are.”

I smiled sadly.

“And you're here.”

“Yes.”

“That's part of it.”

He studied me.

“Does that bother you?”

I hesitated.

“No.”

“Good.”

That single word lingered.

He looked at me.

“You really have changed.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it's true.”

“How?”

“You're more confident.”

“I don't feel confident.”

“You are.”

“What else?”

He thought for a moment.

“You don't need anyone telling you what to do anymore.”

“That sounds like a compliment.”

“It is.”

He looked at me for another moment.

“You're also…”

He stopped.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Finish.”

He shook his head.

“Forget it.”

“William.”

He smiled.

“You're stubborn.”

“You knew that already.”

“I did.”

I waited.

He said nothing.

Finally, the electricity returned.

The lights flickered on.

William laughed.

“There goes the atmosphere.”

I smiled.

“Probably for the best.”

He stood.

“I should let you sleep.”

“Probably.”

He walked toward the hallway, then stopped.

“Penny?”

“Yeah?”

“You don't have to be uncomfortable around me.”

I stared at him.

“I wasn't.”

“You were.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Why?”

I looked at him.

Because I didn't understand what was happening.

Because he wasn't the person I remembered.

Because I wasn't the girl he remembered.

Instead, I said, “I don't know.”

He nodded.

“You don't have to know.”

Then he walked upstairs.

I remained on the sofa.

The rain had begun to soften.

I thought about the years we'd spent apart.

Our families had been close since I was a baby. His parents had been there for me during difficult times, and my adoptive parents had always welcomed William into our home.

But William wasn't my brother.

He never had been.

He was simply William.

The boy who had grown up beside me.

The young man who had always protected me.

And now, somehow, he was becoming a man I didn't quite know how to look at anymore.

I remembered being seventeen and telling him I wanted to leave Willowbrook.

I'd been angry about school.

Angry about being adopted.

Angry about not knowing where I came from.

I'd asked him whether he thought my biological mother ever thought about me.

He'd looked at me for a long moment.

“I don't know.”

I'd been disappointed.

Then he'd said, “But I know the people who raised you chose you. And I know they love you.”

I'd cried.

He hadn't tried to stop me.

He'd simply stayed.

That was William.

He didn't always have the right answers.

But he stayed.

Maybe that's why his return felt so complicated.

He wasn't just someone from my past.

He was part of it.

And now I was beginning to wonder if he might somehow become part of my future.

I stood and turned off the candles.

As I climbed the stairs, I passed William's room.

His door was slightly open.

I could hear him moving inside.

I kept walking.

When I reached my bedroom, I closed the door and leaned against it.

My heart was beating too quickly.

“This is ridiculous,” I whispered.

William was grieving.

He needed time to heal.

He needed stability.

He needed to rebuild his life.

And I wasn't going to become another complication.

Whatever strange feeling had settled between us, I would ignore it.

At least for now.

I climbed into bed.

But sleep still wouldn't come.

Because one thought kept returning.

When William looked at me tonight, something in his expression had changed.

I couldn't decide whether I'd imagined it.

Or whether he'd noticed the same thing I had.

We weren't children anymore.

And perhaps that was the one thing neither of us was ready to say out loud.