SECOND SHOT

  SECOND CHANCE SCHOOL #2

  CON RILEY

  Title: Second Shot (Second Chance School #2)

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used, including for AI training purposes, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

  Second Shot © 2024 Con Riley

  Cover artist: Natasha Snow

  Editor: Sandy Bennett

  C/W

  Mentioned in non-graphic detail and within a healing context: Bereavement, infertility, fostering and adoption, neurodivergence, illness and injury, warfare, refugee journeys, violent crime, bullying, school exclusion, racism, homophobic language, and drug use.

  ALSO BY CON RILEY

  Christmas Collection

  His Last Christmas in London

  We Only Kiss at Christmas

  His Until Christmas

  His Series

  His Horizon

  His Compass

  His Haven

  Learning to Love

  Charles

  Sol

  Luke

  Austin

  Heppel Ever After

  Second Chance School

  Second Song

  Second Shot

  Second Story

  Shared-World Novels

  Finding Mr. Fabulous

  A Wedding in a Week

  True Brit

  Be My Best Man

  *****

  Older Titles Set in the US

  Seattle Stories

  After Ben

  Saving Sean

  Aiden’s Luck

  Must Like Spinach

  Salvage Series

  Salvage

  Recovery

  Thank you so much for your translation help, Anka. It was much appreciated!

  CONTENTS

  A Note From the author

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Con Riley

  About the Author

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  I am a British author. Many of my readers come from elsewhere in the world. For complete clarity, all mentions of ‘football’ or ‘footy’ in this book relate to the beautiful game also known as soccer.

  This story is set in a small, British boarding school specialising in trauma-informed teaching. Any traumatic events are mentioned in non-graphic detail and in a healing context.

  A full list can be found on the copyright page.

  1

  HAYDEN

  I’m not cut out to be a heartbreaker.

  Plenty of soccer coaches told me the same after I got scouted. I was big for my age—intimidating. I should use that physical presence, not waste it, because nice guys got benched instead of selected. A goalkeeper with potential wouldn’t risk his one shot by worrying about other people. He’d make saves and he wouldn’t think twice about doing that with bone-breaking slide tackles against opponents. He wouldn’t care about his own fractures or dislocations, either. Not as long as they led to trophies.

  I played through my own pain plenty.

  But be the cause of someone else’s?

  Ten years later, I still have the same too-soft flaw of hesitating before hurting people, and yet that’s what I do on my last day of work at Glynn Harber school.

  I break a heart and leave it shattered.

  Not during a game of footy—I’m not a coach or teacher in this school’s sports department. I haven’t played a match in a decade and I have no intention of ever touching another football. These days, my skills involve working on farms or wielding chainsaws rather than defending goalmouths. I manage wild landscapes, like my dad did, or I drive tractors—all short-term gigs—but today I open my arms to someone who mistook me for a long-term proposition.

  This was never meant to last beyond the summer.

  It’s still hard to sound anything other than gruff about our time almost being over.

  “Listen, mate.” I clear my throat while he burrows against me, clinging. “I wasn’t ever going to be at Glynn Harber for long.” I rub his back with one hand, using the other to point a shaking finger at where he found me working this morning. “I was only ever here to clear all the school pathways.” That task, along with removing storm-damaged branches before the new school year started, is all the headmaster included in our contract. “I’ve already been here longer than planned.” And I’ve done more in this woodland than my contract stated.

  Much more.

  Evidence is all around us. What used to be a huge and tangled patch of brambles is now a clearing full of natural potential that I’m gutted to leave before I get to see the seasons change it.

  I got carried away—learned to love these woods the same way it seems that someone else got carried away with learning to love me. Now he buries his face against my chest as I tell him the truth about being no one’s long-term prospect.

  “I never stay in one place because I have to go where the work is. It’s nothing personal. It’s seasonal, that’s all.”

  I’m only being honest. Harvest waits for no man, and I’ve already accepted more work than usual from farmers across the county. There’s only one footpath left to clear here, and one tree with storm damage to cut down. It’s a day’s work at the most. I can’t stretch it out any longer, so I keep this simple.

  “You see, I need to help my friends on their farm next week.” Nothing would make Marc and Stefan happier than me putting down roots, but if they were here, they’d understand why I keep breaking a heart by saying, “And the headmaster is still hiring. A new teacher will need to move into my rooms in the school stables.” I point next at the tool I’ve used here the most often. “And my chainsaw is so noisy. It would disturb lessons if I stayed for longer. The sound really travels.”

  That’s what I learned from sharing rooms with a housemate who is a noisy fucker. Not that I mind Rowan’s perpetual happy humming or his nonstop tapping. Even his singing in the shower is hard to hate when he has the voice of an actual angel. But when he goes all out on his drum kit, showing off for his boyfriend? I’m pretty sure all of Cornwall hears Glynn Harber’s trainee music teacher.

  “Sound echoes in this valley. That’s why I’m here on a Saturday, working while no one else is around. To get finished without interrupting any learning.” I wince before adding, “Then I’ll leave. I’m sorry you didn’t understand that, Adam.”

  And I am sorry when I get to see his baby-blue eyes welling.

  Shit. He really is upset.

  So am I, if I’m honest. It doesn’t matter that I’ve brought a gift to soften the blow of us parting ways before he’s ready. Adam realises I’m offering him a leaving present, and those tears spill over.

  Fuck.

  I’m so out of practice at wrangling toddlers.

  Thank fuck his dad isn’t.

  He springs into action, abandoning a pram holding sleeping babies, and strides across the clearing, a man on a mission the moment I call out a strangled, “Charles?”

  “I’ve got this, Hayden.”

  He has, thank fuck. Charles prises his son from me, gets down on Adam’s level, and puts a positive spin on a final playdate that I’m not happy about either.

  “I know you adore Hayden, sweetheart.” His cut-glass accent is gentle. “You’ve been his little shadow all summer long while he’s tidied our school grounds. He’s shown you so many hidden treasures, and taught you the names of all the trees in English and in Polish, but look what he’s brought you!”

  Adam doesn’t want the miniature version of my workman’s tool belt that I kneel to give him.

  Thank fuck the axe hanging from it isn’t a real one like mine. He throws it straight at his dad’s head before collapsing onto the floor of this woodland clearing—a clearing that I can’t help thinking is my best work, chock full of chances for little kids to learn about my true love.

  Not soccer.

  I loved nature before I ever saved my first goal, and making this space with Adam toddling beside me all summer has been a good reminder. It has also been proof that I haven’t been part of a real team in forever. And that I missed it. Half of the chances I’ll leave behind here for kids to learn from are better after suggestions from Charles—no surprise when he’s a preschool teacher—but I have been surprised at how well we’ve worked together. Almost as surprised as how much I haven�
��t hated sharing the stables with a musician almost as noisy as Adam.

  Who isn’t done yet with his meltdown.

  He kicks and screams like I put that toy axe through his heart, and I don’t know why his dad smiles at that, but like all of Glynn Harber’s teachers, Charles is a professional at helping kids through trauma.

  As for me?

  I’m not an actual heartbreaker, but I do have three little sisters of my own who have me wrapped around their fingers, so Adam’s tears stab me straight through the chest, and Charles must notice.

  “Honestly, you don’t need to worry,” he murmurs. “This is marvellous, Hayden.” He addresses Adam next, who shows no sign of stopping his kicking or screaming, and again, Charles is delighted. “Oh, you really are letting yourself feel everything.”

  He meets my eyes, and yeah, he’s truly happy about his son pitching a fit. He even copies it by flopping to the ground and doing some kicking and screaming all of his own.

  “I don’t want Hayden to leave either!”

  That rings out through the clearing, clear and strident.

  What follows is even louder.

  “Not after he made such a beautiful Forest School classroom for us.” He bangs curled fists on the ground, disturbing leaf matter that I’ve spread to soften Adam’s frequent trips and stumbles. Now Charles bellows, “He should stay here forever to run all of our nature sessions for us.”

  Man, that doesn’t only echo. It lands like a punch, but here’s the real kicker—there is no way this school’s headmaster would create that job role for me.

  Not with my track record.

  Nope.

  I’ve already scored one too many own goals. Besides, I’ve got plenty of work to keep me busy through the end of this summer and well into autumn, even if none of those harvesting jobs will ever make the fortune my first career was meant to net me.

  I don’t get to tell Charles any of that.

  He hasn’t finished yelling.

  “And I don’t only want Hayden to stay at Glynn Harber with us. I want Adam to tell me why he’s really screaming, only he can’t, can he?”

  He glances his son’s way. Adam’s chest hitches but he’s definitely quieter, and so is the next question Charles asks him.

  “You don’t have the vocabulary for how you’re feeling yet, do you, darling? The words. That’s why you’re so upset. Not with your lovely friend, Hayden. I wonder if all of this upset is about people leaving you. Because it started when the new foster babies arrived, didn’t it?”

  Adam’s glance to the pram at the edge of the clearing is as good as a confession. So is his lower lip trembling as much as my hands do all too often lately, which I guess means yes. I can blame my trembles on chainsaw vibration. Charles guesses Adam’s reason, then mirrors an array of strong and painful feelings.

  “You’re sad, and angry, and frustrated, but most of all, you’re frightened. I’m not surprised. Those pesky babies turned up with no warning and now both of your daddies have their hands full. That must feel like losing us, and you’ve lost people before, sweetheart, haven’t you? I bet losing Hayden too is a reminder. Right up here.” He taps his temple. “You missed people before who didn’t come back. You don’t want to miss him too, like you already miss having your daddies all to yourself. And missing people is⁠—”

  “Really hard.”

  “Yes,” Charles says gently. To me, the muppet who just sighed out that gusty confession. “Missing people is hard, Hayden. It gets easier if you share those feelings.” He watches Adam while speaking. “And that takes practice, which is why I was delighted when he attached so strongly to you. You’re such a good role model.”

  I don’t know about that, but Charles isn’t done yet.

  “A man who is physical and gentle? Who works hard and finds time to share his vocation? I knew you’d be kind about saying goodbye. You didn’t just disappear. You explained and helped him through it. Showed him that he was worth taking care of. He’ll tuck that memory away forever. Maybe model it one day himself. What a gift.”

  Adam gets up from the leaf-strewn floor but stumbles, and maybe my first career wasn’t wasted. Even while kneeling, I’ve still got a goalkeeper’s long reach and quick-fire instincts. I catch him before he can fall, and Adam’s narrow chest still hitches against mine, but now he strokes my beard for comfort, like my sisters used to, and fuck my life, I could have a little weep myself instead of drying his tears with my shirtsleeve.

  I get my shit together while Charles lowers his voice. “Adam, not wanting to share or lose people is natural. I promise sharing will get easier, and you aren’t losing anything by the twins being here. Your father and I have more than enough love for all three of you. It will be fun!” He meets my eye and winks. “And I know that is possible because before I met your father, I was often a third and I always had a great time.” He refocuses on Adam’s issue. “But it’s also wonderful that you’re letting out all of those big feelings. That’s so much better than keeping them locked inside.”

  He looks over to that pram, his smile slipping.

  “Those babies won’t be with us forever. Just while their mummy is poorly.” He swallows, his voice thicker, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t him playacting. “I might cry like you just did when the twins do go home. That’s what I did each time I had to give you back before we got to keep you forever. I let my sad feelings out to leave space for how much I love you. For how much I still love you even when you’re a maggot.”

  Adam lets go of my beard then and staggers to his daddy, who hugs him, and that stabs me right in the chest too. I’ll miss this father and son—who might not be blood relations but who couldn’t be any closer than they are now.

  Charles gets up to show Adam my real leaving present. “Look at this lovely storytelling chair Hayden has made for us out of logs. It’s as big as a throne! Big enough for me, and for you, and for both of the babies.” He taps his lips as if thinking. “Shall we try sharing it with them tomorrow?” He casts a quieter comment my way. “If you had some time to add a circle of tree stumps or logs, even more children could sit and listen to whoever ends up running the nature sessions here.”

  I nod. “I’ll chainsaw some stumps for you before I finish.”

  Someone else speaks, sounding clipped and in a hurry.

  “Leave that until Monday, will you, Hayden?”

  The school headmaster has joined us, and I can’t lie, Luke Lawson is a man of many frown lines, which I guess is what happens when you try to renovate a whole boarding school in a summer. Today, those lines are deeper than ever, another sign he must be under pressure if he’s forgotten it’s my last day here. He’s particularly harried, and he isn’t alone.

  The man with him is cheerier, and familiar, although I can’t quite place him.

  “What’s all this?” he booms.

  I do place him after he booms again.

  “Come and see this, Justin.”

  A frailer man shuffles out from behind him, and of course I know him—he came to every match I played before I was scouted. Now he looks up at this big guy, who tells him, “Look at all these amazing changes, Justin. Handrails,” he says under his breath, “right into the wilder areas. Brilliant.” Our eyes meet, and he continues. “Makes the woods so much more accessible for shaky people. Happens a lot after brain injuries like Justin’s. Any chance you can add some higher rails for adults?” He points in the direction of the care home on the other side of these woods. “I usually run nature sessions for my residents. I’d love to bring them down here if you don’t mind sharing.”

  This isn’t my classroom to share with him. I look to Luke Lawson, who says, “Sorry, I don’t have time to discuss it right now. I’m needed at the chapel. Got to meet some guests, but I’m sure that would be fine.”

  Charles nods like he agrees, so I say, “Sure. I’ll add higher handrails after chainsawing some stumps. I do need to take down some branches first, then I’ll get right on it.”

  Luke pays more attention. “Don’t do that today.”

  I know weekend work wasn’t in our contract, but at some point this summer, doing this has felt more like a gift than a chore. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.”