It gave him too much time to replay Taylor’s words, trying to find anything that could hint at things not yet being too late for them. He stared at the faded photo in his hand; Taylor was no older than sixteen, blowing hair, eyes closed. Seth, a long-time colleague, joined him. “God, that woman <i>again</i>?” He groaned, and Mason put the photo back in his wallet. “She’s back and … my daughter adores her, my mother hopes for her, and each time I see her, it’s wedding bells for me. It looked promising, too, and then, last night, she said she used to be in love with me. What if there aren’t second chances in life? I keep messin’ up with her, we end up fightin’, and she cries herself to sleep. I don’t think there is a chance at anythin’ for us,” he whispered. Before Seth even managed to comment, Mason’s cell went off. “Stiles?” “Your daughter never made it to school this morning,” a woman stated drily, skipping introductions and greetings. “What?”
