Fate's Chances

Fate’s Chances

By R.D. Power

Copyright © 2014 by R.D. Power

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Written 2013

Edited by Anna Genoese

Cover designed by Derek Murphy of Creativindie Covers

ISBN 978-0-9917983-7-7

The author is not a representative of nor endorsed by any of the trademarks used or discussed in this book, which is a work of fiction and not meant to imply or represent reality.

Also by R.D. Power

2020

For Power or Love

For Power or Love 2

Forbidden

Taylor Made Owens

Thank Sophia for Sam

Dedicated to:

Marguerite and Henry Power — Mom and Dad

Table of Contents

Play

First Chance

Second Chance

Last Chance

About the Author

PLAY

Fate can be a cruel son of a bitch. Keira Allen discovered this early in life as she stood in the hall outside her parents’ bedroom. Her mother was crying. Frightened, the thirteen year old entered the room. Her father was packing a suitcase.

Mom?

"Your father’s . . . leaving me; leaving us. She hugged her daughter, who had joined in the weeping, and said, He just told me he doesn’t love me anymore; he’s moving out to live with a . . . an . . . another woman." The weeping escalated.

"Daddy, please. Please don’t leave us," said Keira.

I’m sorry, honey, this is something I need to do—for myself. But I’ll see you every second weekend.

They continued crying as he finished packing. He kissed his daughter on top of her head and left.

Over the next few months, as Keira’s shock receded, her anger grew. Her mother was devastated; she’d loved her husband profoundly, yet he’d simply thrown her away. Keira resented her father to such an extent that the weekend visits never eventuated, and soon she would have nothing to do with him. He didn’t seem to care much.

She made a solemn vow to herself: No man will ever do this to me! I won’t give any man the chance.

This turned out to be an unfortunate vow, for if she didn’t find and win a certain man, neither she nor he would live to see middle age. And a noteworthy side effect: neither would well over a billion other people on the planet.

She, of course, had no idea of this. Fate doesn’t alert us to its upcoming cruelty until it’s too late. Maybe, in a way, that was good, though. She might have felt a bit of pressure if she knew.

With so much on the line, fate decided to temper its ruthlessness a tad. She would have three chances to get it right.

FAST FORWARD

Nine Years Later

October 18, 2013

Keira stood in line waiting to get into the Wahoo pub. Her mission: pick out the nicest-looking man in the place, go home with him, and jump his bones.

She was dressed for the kill: black miniskirt, tight grey shirt, and black wedge sandals. She carried her purse and a sweater for later on.

Despite the bottle of wine she’d split with her companion, she was nervous. Never before had she had a one-night stand—which was ironic, since she had long ago foresworn anything permanent with a man. The thought of making it so easy for some man to have her, then having that man look down on her for being too easy was so galling, it had been enough to discourage this kind of behavior.

But her life was to change radically for the worse next week, she’d convinced herself, and she wanted just once to let go and be really naughty—conscience, society, and men’s double standard be damned. Her MRI and blood test results were due the coming Monday to confirm that she’d inherited her mother’s condition. Her mother’s recurring and progressively worse symptoms had prompted her father to discard her mother, Keira figured. The other reason was that he was a man.

She blinked rapidly to try to damp down the double-vision problem that had been plaguing her for two weeks. That and the tingling in her fingers were what had finally convinced her to get tested. She’d been fearing the knowing so much, she’d put up with the worrying for several months.

Keira and her companion, Laura Spivac, whom she’d met on the first day of class, were next in line. She didn’t much care for Laura, who was rather gruff, but as a newcomer to England, she knew no one else here. Having confided in Laura her purpose for the evening, Keira was second-guessing her decision. Laura wasn’t exactly pretty, but she was very well-endowed and had dressed to emphasize that; long blonde hair, albeit dyed, added to her allure. She could present unwelcome competition.

The two ladies were waved inside. Keira looked around the pub. It was crowded, with patrons standing around the bar and seated at small wooden tables of four. There were four small flat-screen TVs above the bar; three were showing football matches, and the other was apparently on the blink. Seeing nowhere to sit, they went upstairs. There, dozens of people were dancing to loud music or milling about—and, again, no seats.

Back downstairs, they bought cocktails and stood near the bar waiting for a place to sit. Two men hit on them, but they were rejected. A moment later, two more met the same fate. The ambiance was redolent of testosterone, or as Laura put it, Jackpot. A hundred horny guys.

Horny guys is a tautology, pointed out Keira.

A man passing by in a tattered shirt emblazoned with Oxford Brookes University said, Whereas horny women is an oxymoron.

Where you’re concerned anyway, she said to the budinsky. This guy was cute, she noted, but tonight she wanted a gorgeous guy. Gorgeous guys were useful for one-night stands; they could never be trusted for anything longer. Cute guys were preferable for longer relationships; they couldn’t be trusted either, but they’d have much less female temptation.

Oh, I do all right, the man replied with a coy smile. Keira cast the coldest leer she could muster. He faked a shiver, chortled and went on his way.

Keira scanned the joint once more, commenting to her friend as she glossed over the men, Ugly, hideous, fat, gay, scary, repulsive, creepy, taken, nerdy . . . whoa. Look at that black Adonis!

Laura looked over and saw a handsome black man sitting at a table with two other people. Those two got up and went upstairs to the dance floor, leaving him alone. Keira and Laura headed there.

Is anyone sitting here? Keira asked.

The man smiled, shook his head and pushed the chairs out to his left and right. The ladies sat and introduced themselves. He said, I’m Carter Smyth.

Very nice to meet you, said Laura with a bright smile. Are you a student here?

I go to Oxford Brookes, he answered as he gazed at Laura’s breasts.

Shit! thought Keira. I can’t compete with those.

A woman came to their table and made off with the fourth chair without saying a word.

Keira posted her own vivid smile and asked Carter, What are you taking? but before he could respond, the cute guy she’d sparred with appeared with two pint glasses of draught beer.

He stood looking at Keira and Laura for a moment then said, I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to see you again—because I don’t like lying.

Ha ha, said Laura.

Looking at Keira, he said, I’m Bret.

She responded, I’m not interested.

Hey, what a coincidence. You’re the third woman I’ve met tonight with the exact same name.

You’re not welcome here, said Laura.

You’re sitting in my chair, so take a hike—both of you, he replied.

Carter spoke up. Find another chair or you can take a hike. I like you, but I like them better.

Makes sense, he said, as he inspected Laura’s breasts. He put the beer on the table and slid one to Carter. Looking at Laura, he said, Give me my jacket. Laura reached back, clutched it with two fingers and tossed it at him. Where did the other chair go?

Pointing to the culprit, Carter said, She took it without even asking.

Bret looked over to a table of five women and proceeded there; he said something to the woman. Keira heard her say, Piss off. Keira’s jaw dropped when Bret simply pulled the chair from underneath the woman, who fell to the floor. With all five women blasting him verbally, he calmly walked back to the table, put the chair down, and sat on it.

Nice move, Bret, said Carter. You’ll get us kicked out.

So what? There’s no service anyway. They’re too cheap to hire enough waitresses. The lineup at the bar must’ve been at least five minutes.

Then how are you back so soon? asked Carter.

A bouncer came over to the table, stood threateningly over Bret, and said, You knocked this lady down and took her chair, did you?

The woman who’d been floored stood by smirking.

No, you got that backwards. I took the chair and she fell down. The man put a large hand around Bret’s arm, but Bret said, Wait! Hear me out. She came to our table and, without even asking, took my chair while I was getting drinks. I went over and politely asked for it back, but she told me to piss off. So I took it.

That true? the bouncer asked the woman.

It’s obviously true, said Bret before she could answer. There were five chairs at that table and three here. It didn’t walk itself over there. She took it. I merely reclaimed it.

To defuse the situation, the bouncer found another chair for the lady, who continued to glare at Bret.

You’re lucky he didn’t flatten you, said Carter. Oh, this is Laura and this is Kara.

Keira, she corrected.

He nodded and said, Bret Larson. Turning to Carter, he said, You should’ve seen what some bugger did at that table of women yonder. He just walked up, snatched two beers off the table and walked away. They were too astonished even to scold him. Unbelievable the nerve of some people.

He probably knew them, Laura opined.

Nope.

How do you know?

An irritated young woman stomped over and said, We thought surely you were having fun and were going to come back to introduce yourself, but you just sat at a table with other women. Did you take a sip yet, you son of a bitch?

Bret took a sip and said, Yup.

You owe me seven pounds, asshole.

He pulled a ten-pound note out of his pocket and said, Keep the change.

You’re damn right I will, she said as she marched away.

You’re just aching to get us ejected, aren’t you? said Carter.

Bret laughed and took a second sip.

You sound and act like a Yank, said Laura.

I’m a Canuck.

Me, too, said Keira. Where you from?

Medicine Hat.

Oakville, said Keira. She turned her attention back to Carter. Are you from here?

Yup. Born a few miles away from here.

So, do you live with your parents? said Laura.

Never knew my dad. My mom lives in Abingdon. I wanted to be closer to campus, so I took a flat here. I needed a roommate to afford it, so I’m stuck with that wanker there.

My parents are split, too, said Laura.

Keira said, I get a kick out of this happily-ever-after nonsense. There might be a brief honeymoon period when the couple is happy together, but then one tires of the other and that’s that. Wife and kids be damned. Or she gets sick and he, having blithely taken the better, will have nothing to do with the worse and leaves her alone to deal with it. I’m never getting married.

Bret said, Crap! I was just about to ask. I take it your father ran out on you and your sick mother?

You’re not really ignorant enough to be asking whether my father abandoned me, are you?

"Absolutely not; I had excellent breeding. I just want to know why he abandoned you. Keira’s eyes went north. He continued, Just don’t tell my parents how hopeless it all is. They’ve been happily married for thirty-three years. I wouldn’t want them to think they got it all wrong."

Two men walked by holding hands and headed upstairs to the dance floor. Bret smiled at Carter and said, You want to dance, arse bandit? Carter shook his head. He seemed dull to Keira.

Keira regarded Bret out of the corner of her eye. This guy was intriguing, but he wasn’t what she needed tonight. She needed an empty-headed hunk; she needed Carter, and she needed to focus on him before Laura could get him. Bret was an unwelcome distraction. Maybe she could make that clear to him.

Keira said, You make fun of gay people. What a shock. Shouldn’t they be free to love each other?

They should be free to do whatever they please—except, you know, put their dick in my bum.

You know, said Laura, there’s one really handsome guy at this table and one really offensive one. Do you know which you are?

Yes, but I don’t want Carter to feel bad, so I won’t answer. Now I have one for you. At this table is an attractive woman and a succubus. Laura’s eyes rolled. Just joshing you—you’re both succubuses . . . succubi?

Asshole, said Laura.

Keira gave him another frigid glare.

Grinning at Keira, Bret said, You’re really good at that. It makes you seem so cold, my balls just packed their bag and headed inside to warm up. She fought back an impulse to laugh. He went on, Do you know how much I’d have to drink to make you pretty? He took a sip, paused a minute, then said, One sip, apparently.

She wanted to laugh at that, too, but managed to hold back. He’s offensively charming, she thought, but I need Carter tonight. Ignore Bret!

She turned back to Carter and said, What are you taking at Oxford Brookes?

Biotechnology, he answered.

That sounds interesting. Tell me about it.

Carter spoke about his program for a few minutes with both women gazing at him.

When he finished, Laura gave them an excuse to continue staring. I don’t know much about your university. Can you tell me about it?

It’s a good school, he said, but it gets lost in the shadow of Oxford. Then he said a few words about his school.

Bret, who’d been ignored for several minutes by then, said, Oxford Brookes isn’t mired in the past; it’s state of the art—modern. They actually teach us instead of expecting us to, I don’t know, absorb the greatness of the past just by walking around campus. We go to classes and actually learn stuff.

Keira tried to tune him out.

I really think it’s a much better university than Oxford, held Bret.

Again, she didn’t respond, but kept her focus on Carter and asked what year he was in.

Third year.

And what are you taking at your old-fashioned school? said Bret.

Creative writing, answered Keira without looking at Bret.

Oh, I’m in film studies. Maybe I’ll make a movie of something you write. Want to partner? I need a project.

No.

You in yesterday’s school, too? he said to Laura.

Yesterday’s school? Are you kidding me? You have the effrontery to look down on me? I’m a grad student at one of the very best universities on the planet. And Keira’s a Rhodes Scholar.

Bret turned to look at Keira. She glanced at him. He seemed impressed.

Laura continued, You’re what, an undergraduate at a school no one outside of Oxfordshire’s ever heard of?

As Laura berated him, Carter said, He’s bullshitting you. He goes to Oxford.

Keira started at this. She realized she had felt superior to both men merely on the basis of the university they attended; she didn’t like that about herself. Regardless, Bret seemed even more interesting now. She said, So, why bother lying about it?

To see how stuck up you were.

She sat looking at him for a moment, then said, And what did you conclude?

You hide your superiority complex well. And I wanted to see whether you’d figure out I was full of crap.

I figured that out the minute I set eyes on you. I never suspected a lie, because I didn’t think anyone was juvenile enough to lie about something like that.

He is really juvenile, isn’t he? said Laura.

Am not, poopy-face, he replied.

Your Brookes University T-shirt also threw me off, said Keira.

It’s his, he said gesturing with his head to Carter.

Oh? You wear each other’s clothes?

Yup. He’s wearing my underpants right now. He blew a kiss at Carter.

He’s joking, said Carter.

The bastard tore my shirt right off my body when we were playing rugby just before we came here. He had this one in his car.

Forcing herself to attend to Carter, Keira said, I don’t know anything about rugby. Tell me about it.

Carter gave her a three-minute disquisition on the sport as Keira and Laura again stared into his eyes.

You into sports? said Carter to Laura.

Not really, no, answered Laura.

I’m a triathlete, said Keira.

Before Carter could react, Laura jumped in with, I’m more the artsy type. I’m very interested in drama. Our college puts on plays every year that the students act in. I’m going to audition for the leading role, and I’ve convinced Keira to go after a small part.

Hey, Carter has one of those, said Bret.

You call ten inches small? said Carter.

Wow, thought Keira. Both she and Laura smiled at Carter. Perfect for a one-night stand!

A waitress came by and asked if they wanted anything. You off your two-hour break? said Bret. Bring four more beers.

I don’t like beer, said Keira.

Me neither, said Laura.

So? The beers are for Carter and me. You’re on your own. Or he can buy you something if he wants, since you’re both drooling over him.

Ah, don’t feel bad, said Keira. It’s just because he’s so much better than you.

While Laura and Carter chuckled, the waitress left and Bret grabbed his jacket. Keira had spoken tongue-in-cheek, but her putdown apparently displeased him. That his displeasure distressed her was even more surprising. Maybe she didn’t want him to leave. She was conflicted about whether or not to apologize.

You’re leaving? said Laura hopefully. What’s the matter? You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.

As a hypocrite, that offends me, he said as he put on his jacket.

A faded blue denim jacket, said Laura, snickering. That from Calvin Klein’s Nineties Douchebag collection? She waited for a reaction but got none, so she continued, I haven’t seen them since I was a little girl; I wasn’t sure they still existed.

He looked down at her feet and said, They do.

This time Keira didn’t constrain her laughter. She wanted to communicate Stay! without saying it. It seemed to work. Bret made no move to depart.

Why are you laughing? asked Laura. I don’t get it.

He was implying you’re, uh, blessed in the chest department, explained Keira.

And that’s supposed to be funny?

Bret said, You’re anatomically incorrect. You literally can’t miss them. If someone was giving directions and you were a mile down the road, he’d say, take a left turn just past those great big tits there. He glanced at Keira’s chest, but said nothing.

No insulting comment? said Keira.

As far as your chest goes, I absolutely adore your eyes.

She cast him a sarcastic look.

Carter interjected, I think Laura looks like a young Pamela Anderson.

With Laura smiling, Keira thought, Dammit!

Laura said, That’s nice of you to say, Carter. I’ve never been told that. I have been mistaken for—

The twin peaks? said Bret.

You know, you have a really big mouth, said Laura.

Yet not big enough for those, Bret retorted.

You’re an ignorant pervert, she returned, getting irate. And stop staring at them.

Two things: first, they take up maybe half the volume of space in front of me, so it’s difficult not to look at them, even if I’d rather not; second, you’ve obviously set them up to be stared at with your low-neck tight shirt, which is a good decision given what they’re underneath.

What does that even mean?

I mean, if you polled every man in this place—which wouldn’t surprise me—every last one of them would agree you chose that shirt precisely to draw attention to them.

I can dress however I want.

True, and I can look wherever I want. I guess if I were you—well, I’d kill myself—but short of that, I’d use them to draw notice away from all my other qualities.

Keira, who was miffed at Carter and Laura and felt a range of emotions concerning Bret, had come to the consequential decision: redouble her pursuit of Carter by getting rid of Bret and focusing all her wiles on Carter; forget Carter and focus on a man who seemed to have enormous potential; or quit the field altogether and leave.

First Chance

Play

Keira turned to Bret and said, Tell me, are you always Mr. Repartee?

No. Uh, three special conditions have to be met. One, it has to be a proper occasion; you know, sitting at a pub, watching the game with the boys—anything with people, except maybe a funeral. Two, there has to be someone I want to impress, he said, looking at Keira, or someone I want to taunt, he added, looking at Laura. Switching his gaze back to Keira, he finished with, And, three, I have to be on. It’s not something I can force; it’s either there or it isn’t.

Yet here you sit, forcing one after the other. You’re so keen to get something witty out, you speak before your sense of decorum, assuming you have one, has a chance to rein in your loose tongue. Yes, you’re occasionally funny, but you’re also very mean. Never has wit been less attractive to me.

He had no comeback to that and sat suitably chastised for a few moments until Laura said, Well, he finally shut up. Thank you, Keira.

Bret said to Keira, Where’s your lecture for her? Every time she’s opened her mouth, something insulting has popped out. In fact, you’re a fountain of insults yourself. If you knew anything about me, which you don’t, you’d know that I never attack anyone until they’ve attacked me. Then I do go overboard sometimes. Looking at Laura, he said, I’m sorry for implying you’re ugly; you’re not.

I honestly don’t care what you think of me, said Laura.

Well, then—

Don’t, said Keira.

More orders? You think your looks and brains give you license to criticize at will, but only as long the victim is male? You have a problem with men, don’t you?

You’ve known me for twenty-five minutes and you’re trying to psychoanalyze me?

I couldn’t help but notice the massive chip on your shoulder. It casts a long shadow.

Get lost!

Never has a bitter woman been less attractive to me—and I hate bitter women. Well, a foursome’s a crowd, said Bret as he stood. So long, Carter. He left the table.

Good riddance! shouted Laura.

God, Laura, give it a rest, will you? said Keira. If you’re not careful, some big lug is going to hurt you.

So, what—now you’re going to start criticizing me? She turned to Carter and said, Want to dance?

He nodded, smiled, and the two walked upstairs.

Keira grabbed her purse and sweater and went to the ladies room. An Asian woman with her back to Keira stood next to a sink. Glancing in the mirror, Keira saw she was typing into her phone.

Keira entered a stall and sat. She heard the woman step toward the door. The washroom door opened, and the woman said to the person who’d just entered, Watch where you’re going! as her phone came skipping into the stall where Keira sat. The woman said, Slide it out!

Demanding bitch! mused Keira. To irritate the woman, she picked it up and held onto it for a moment. She peeped at the screen and something caught her eye: Larson. She glossed over the text exchange.