8. Second Chances

SECOND CHANCES

A fter leaving Sarah's Diner, I decided to explore the town a bit. Anything to avoid checking my messages or dealing with the shitstorm waiting back in the real world. The morning air felt clean here, carrying the scent of fresh-cut grass and someone's garden roses instead of exhaust and paparazzi desperation.

Then I saw him.

Riley fucking Stanton, emerging from a coffee shop with his usual notebook tucked under his arm. Of all the people to run into in this supposedly quiet town, it had to be the reporter who'd made my last three races a living hell with his "inside sources" and speculation about my marriage.

"Elliot Blue." He approached slowly, like someone trying not to spook a wild animal. "Of all the small towns in all the world..."

"If you're looking for a story, Riley, I'm not interested." My hands clenched in my pockets. "Had enough of your 'exclusive insights' to last a lifetime."

"Not everything's about getting a story." He sipped his coffee, looking annoyingly calm. "Sometimes a guy getting coffee is just a guy getting coffee."

"Right. Like that time you were 'just getting coffee' outside Tommy's school?"

"Fair point." He had the grace to look slightly ashamed. "But that was work-Riley. This is home-Riley. Different guy entirely."

I snorted. "Split personality? That's your defense?"

"More like... different priorities." He gestured to a nearby bench. "Look, can we talk? Off the record, no notebook, no bullshit. Just two guys in a small town."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because unlike the city, where I have to fight every other vulture for scraps of news, here I actually give a damn about the people I write about." He set his coffee down and held up his hands. "No recorder, no phone, no hidden agenda. Just conversation."

Against my better judgment, I sat. "Start talking."

"First off, I'm sorry about the school thing. That was low, even for circuit press."

The apology caught me off guard. "Since when does Riley Stanton apologize?"

"Since always, when I'm home." He ran a hand through his hair, looking more human than I'd ever seen him. "Look, the racing circuit? That's my job. But this town? This is my life. Here, I write about local festivals and high school football games. Real news about real people."

"And what am I? Just another headline?"

"Right now? You're a guy who looks like he needs a break from headlines." He met my eyes directly. "I saw Vanessa's interview."

My jaw clenched. "Here we go."

"No, listen. I saw it, and I saw what she was doing. That calculated timing, the perfect sound bites - she played it like a pro." He shook his head. "And I'm guessing that's why you ended up here, right? Running from the fallout?"

"You don't know anything about it."

"I know she waited until right before or after the custody hearing. Know she timed it to make you look unstable." His voice stayed level. "And I know because I've seen her do it before, to other people. She's good at what she does."

The accuracy of his assessment hit like a punch to the gut. "So what's your angle here, Riley? Going to write about the fallen champion hiding in small-town America?"

"My angle is this, Oakwood Grove saved me once. Back when I was young and stupid and thought burning bridges was a sport." He picked up his coffee again. "This town has a way of giving people what they need, even if they don't know they need it."

"And what do you think I need?"

"Time. Space. Maybe a reminder that not everyone's out to get a piece of you." He stood up, brushing off his pants. "So here's the deal, as far as the Oakwood Grove Gazette is concerned, you're just another visitor passing through. Your business is your business."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." He pulled out a business card - not his usual glossy racing press one, but a simple local paper card. "But if you ever want to tell your side of the story, not for headlines but for truth? You know where to find me."

I stared at the card, trying to reconcile this version of Riley with the shark I'd known on the circuit. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because contrary to what you might think, I'm actually a pretty decent journalist. I just play an asshole on TV." His smile turned wry. "Besides, anyone Jake Thompson decides to help instead of ticket? They're probably worth giving a chance."

"News really does travel fast here."

"So does coffee," Riley said, gesturing toward the small coffee shop he'd just exited - The Daily Grind, according to its weathered sign. "Want to grab a cup?"

I eyed him skeptically. Last time Riley Stanton had offered "just conversation," it had ended up splashed across three different racing magazines. "And why would I do that?"

“Consider it penance for that piece I wrote about your 'erratic behavior' last month."

Something in his tone caught me off guard - an honesty I wasn't used to hearing from him. The Daily Grind looked nothing like the sleek cafés where reporters usually tried to ambush me. It was small, cozy even, with mismatched chairs and hand-painted local art on the walls.

"Fine," I found myself saying. "But the minute you pull out a phone or notebook, I'm gone."

"Deal." He held the door, triggering a small bell overhead. "Beth, another coffee please. And whatever my friend here wants."

The barista - Beth apparently - looked up from wiping down the counter. Her eyes widened slightly at seeing me, but she just nodded. "The usual spot, Riley?"

"If it's free." He led the way to a corner table partially hidden by an overgrown potted plant. "Best seat in the house. Good sight lines, easy exit, nobody can sneak up behind you."

I raised an eyebrow as we sat. "You sound like you're planning an escape route."

"More like remembering when I needed one." He settled into his chair, something shifting in his expression. "That's why I picked this place when I moved back. Reminds me why I left the circuit."

"Moved back?" The coffee arrived - strong and actually good, nothing like the overpriced stuff at press events. "What happened to your fancy office in Charlotte?"

Riley's mouth twisted. "Traded it for a desk at the Oakwood Grove Gazette. Better coffee, worse pay, but at least I can look at myself in the mirror now."

"The mighty Riley Stanton, giving up the racing circuit for small-town news?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice. "What's the real story?"

"The real story?" He stared into his cup. "The real story is that I got tired of being part of the problem. Got tired of turning people's lives into clickbait. Got tired of..." He gestured vaguely. "All of it."

"Just like that?"

"Not exactly." He met my eyes. "Remember that piece I did on Tommy's school? The one where I quoted his teacher about his 'troubled behavior'?"

My hands clenched around my cup. "Hard to forget."

"Yeah, well. What I didn't put in that story was how scared he looked. Just a kid trying to get to his classroom, surrounded by vultures with cameras. Vultures like me." He shook his head. "Went home that night and couldn't sleep. Kept seeing his face, thinking about what the hell I'd become."

The raw honesty in his voice made me uncomfortable. This wasn't the Riley I knew.

"Came home," he corrected. "Different thing entirely. Started writing about stuff that actually matters. School board meetings, local fundraisers, old Mrs. Henderson's prize-winning tomatoes."

"Sounds riveting."

"More than you'd think." He leaned forward. "You know what I wrote about last week? The high school drama club putting on West Side Story. Interviewed every kid in the cast, wrote up their bios, made them feel like stars. Those kids' parents bought out every copy of the paper."

"And that's enough for you? After the racing circuit?"

"It's real." His voice carried conviction I'd never heard from him before. "Those kids, their families, this town - it's all real. Not manufactured drama or clickbait headlines. Just people living their lives, trying their best."

I studied him, trying to reconcile this version of Riley with the man who'd made my life hell. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I recognize that look you've got. Same one I had when I first came back - like you're running from something but don't know where you're going." He leaned back, gesturing at the town beyond the windows. "Oakwood Grove has a way of helping people find their way back to themselves."

"I'm not lost," I protested automatically.

"No?" His eyebrow raised. "Then why are you hiding in a small town instead of facing whatever sent you running?"

The question hit too close to home. "Careful, Riley. Your reporter is showing."

"Just an observation from someone who's been there. Look, I know you've got no reason to trust me. But whatever brought you here? Maybe it's worth exploring why you stayed."

"I haven't decided if I'm staying."

"Yet here you are, having coffee with the enemy." He stood up, straightening his jacket. "For what it's worth, I think Vanessa's interview was a hit job. And if you ever want to tell your side of the story - not for headlines, but for truth - you know where to find me."

I watched him head for the door, questions burning in my throat. "Riley?"

He turned back.

"Why'd you really come back to Oakwood Grove?"

A soft smile crossed his face. "Same reason you might end up staying. Sometimes you need to go back to go forward." He nodded at my phone, which hadn't stopped buzzing. "Think about it."

I watched Riley gather his things, trying to reconcile this version of him with the shark I'd known on the circuit. The guy who'd hounded me through three states for a quote about my marriage was sitting here talking about small-town newspapers and redemption like some kind of reformed preacher.

"Wait," I heard myself say before he could leave. "That story about Tommy. The school one."

He paused, shoulders tensing. "Yeah?"

"You really lost sleep over it?"

"Hell yeah, I did." He sank back into his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Know what Tommy said to me that day? Before his teacher pulled him inside?"

My throat tightened. "What?"

"He asked why the grown-ups wouldn't let his dad be happy anymore." Riley's voice carried raw honesty that hit me in the gut. "Kid was protecting you, even then. And there I was, making it worse for a fucking headline."

Jesus. I remembered that day - Tommy coming home quiet, refusing to talk about school. Now I knew why.

"You know what's funny?" I found myself saying, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Everyone thinks the pressure comes from racing. The speed, the risk, all that shit. But it's not. It's this." I gestured at my still-buzzing phone. "The constant performance. The perfect sound bites. Being whatever everyone needs you to be until you forget who you actually are."

Riley nodded slowly. "Like wearing a mask so long you can't remember your real face."

"Exactly." The accuracy of his words startled me. "How'd you-"

"Because I wore one too. Different mask, same shit." He smiled wryly. "The ruthless reporter who'd do anything for a story. The guy who didn't care who he hurt as long as he got the scoop. After a while, you start believing your own press."

That hit close to home. How many times had I played the confident champion, the devoted husband, the perfect father - all while feeling like I was drowning?

"You know what scared me most about coming back here?" Riley continued, his voice quieter. "Facing people who knew me before the mask. People who remembered who I used to be and could call bullshit on who I'd become."

I thought about Tommy's face when I told him I was quitting racing. The pure belief in his eyes, untainted by press releases or public images. "Yeah," I managed. "I get that."

"But here's the thing about small towns," Riley said, gesturing around us. "They've got long memories, sure, but they've also got big hearts. People here? They don't care about headlines or reputations. They care about who you are right now, who you're trying to become."

"Is that why you stayed?" I asked. "To become someone different?"

"No." Riley's answer came quickly. "To become myself again.” He paused, studying me. "Sound familiar?"

Too familiar.

"Look," Riley said, standing again. "I'm not saying Oakwood Grove is some magical fix-it place. But it's quiet here. Real. Maybe that's what we both needed - a place where we could drop the act and remember who we are under all the bullshit."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The morning sun slanted through the coffee shop windows, painting everything in honest light that felt both exposing and somehow comforting.

"And Elliot?" Riley's voice had lost all its old sharp edges. "For what it's worth, I think you're already braver than I was. You took a sacrifice while you’re at the top of your game to be there for your kid. That's not the act of a man who's lost himself completely."

I stared into my coffee, the words hitting harder than I expected. "Thanks, Riley, but-"

"Look," he cut in, his tone firm but gentle. "Before I go, I need you to know something. Your being here? It stays between us."

My head snapped up. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." He pulled out his wallet, dropping a few bills on the table. "I meant what I said about leaving that life behind. Besides," a wry smile crossed his face, "pretty sure Sheriff Thompson would run me out of town if I broke that trust."

The mention of Jake made something warm stir in my chest, but I pushed that thought aside. "The Riley Stanton I knew would've killed for this story. Famous driver hiding out in small town after public meltdown? That's gold."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. "The Riley Stanton you knew was an asshole who forgot why he started writing in the first place. This Riley? He just wants to tell stories that matter."

"And my story doesn't matter?"

"Your story matters too much to turn it into tabloid fodder." He met my eyes steadily. "When you're ready to tell it - really tell it, not just defend against Vanessa's version - I'll be here. But that's your choice, not my scoop."

Something tight in my chest loosened. I stood, extending my hand. "I appreciate that."

He shook it, his grip firm and honest. "Welcome to Oakwood Grove, Elliot. Give it a chance. This place has a way of healing what you didn't even know was broken."

I watched him leave, then stepped out into the morning sun myself. The street looked different somehow, as if Riley's words had shifted something in my perception. The hardware store owner still swept his sidewalk, but now I noticed how he greeted every passerby by name. Sarah's Diner buzzed with breakfast crowd noise that sounded more like family gathering than customer service.

My feet carried me down Main Street, past Nina's bar with its fairy lights still twinkling, past the post office where an elderly couple held hands while checking their mail. Every corner of this town seemed to breathe authenticity - no pretense, no performance, just life happening in real time.

A patrol car cruised by slowly, Jake at the wheel. He nodded as he passed, that same steady gaze from last night making my pulse jump. But there was no judgment in his eyes, no questions about why I was here or what I was running from. Just quiet acceptance, like everyone else in this town seemed to offer.

Maybe Riley was right. Maybe I needed to stop running from my old life and start building something new. Something real, like the way Tommy's face lit up when we worked on that go-kart together. Like the honest connection I'd just shared with someone I'd once considered an enemy.

A fresh start. A real life. A chance to be just Elliot, not Elliot Blue the Racing champion or Elliot Blue the tabloid target.

For the first time since Vanessa's interview, since the custody battle began, since everything started falling apart, I felt something like hope stir in my chest. Not the manufactured optimism I put on for cameras, but genuine belief that maybe, just maybe, I could find my way back to myself.