Capturing Hearts: Hearts Series Book 4

by Hopkins, Faleena

  Brendan calls from the bedroom in his sleepy voice, “Freckles?” and I nearly jump out of my skin.

  Pulling out my phone, I text Bobby: Home. Thank you! as I call back, “I’m here, babe! I’ll be right there.”

  Bobby texts back within seconds: Good. Was about to come knocking.

  I shoot him back a smiley face before quickly shoving my phone into my purse and leaving it on the table by the door. I hang my coat on the rack next to my husband’s black pea coat. Giving his a light touch as I pass, I walk to the bedroom, forcing a smile.

  Brendan’s head is lifted off his pillow as I walk in, the city backdrop skirted in fog. “How was work?”

  Sitting on the edge of my side of the bed, I pull off my black pregnancy jeans with effort. “We did better than last night even.”

  His eyebrows raise up and he plops his handsome head on the white pillowcase. “Yeah? That’s great. Come here.”

  “I’m trying. This takes time. My shoes are giving me trouble with these exploded ankles of mine.”

  He smiles with his eyes closed and I can tell he’s beginning to drift off. How men can fall asleep so fast is a mystery I will never solve.

  Pulling off my black t-shirt, I toss it on the ground and look at his face, the chiseled stretch of his jaw, his dark wavy hair, the long eyelashes that make his blue eyes so striking. And inside is a man who treats me so well and who always lets me know I’m loved. But maybe it’s just because we’ve only been married a few months, and the honeymoon-stage is still in full swing? I smile at the jaded thought sneaking in to ruin a moment… but my smile fades away as I stare at him.

  How did I ever get so lucky as to marry the love of my life?

  Climbing in, I snuggle up to his warm body. He moves his arm so I can burrow into his chest, putting it around my shoulders. In the silence, I lay my hand on his heart and wait until I can feel its steady beat. Glancing up to his face, I catch him sleeping with the corners of his mouth turned up.

  That smile is what I wanted. Wiping it away can wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tommy

  Nerves: Shot. Me: Stuck. Car: Blue 1983 Dodge Colt.

  “C’mon, Bruce, you couldn’t have gotten me a nicer car?” I grumble, yanking the stick shift into neutral after the damned thing’s conked out on me again. I grab a curly fry from the fast food bag beside me and chew as I give the car some gas. This time it starts up and I pull away from the parking lot across from Location Times Three at a casual, restrained speed. The hoodie Bruce left me is pulled up around my head shielding me from view, but there’s no one here anyway. From my years working at the ad agency, I knew it’d be closed on Christmas Eve, so I came to take one last look around. I thought I needed closure to my old life, but it just made me feel like crap.

  I should escape to Canada, and I should do it now. That would be the smart thing to do. But I can’t. I’ve got to stay here and finish what I started.

  My burner phone rings and I pull it out of my pocket to see a number I don’t recognize. But there’s only one person who’d be calling: Bruce.

  “It’s about time,” I tell him, hitting speaker and laying the phone in my lap. “Couldn’t you get me a better car? And these jeans are way too loose. What, dya think I’m a fatty?”

  He’s nervous and it shows in his voice. “The beater was the safest thing I could find. It’s small and unintimidating. And I had to guess on the pants. You’re welcome,” he adds with dripping sarcasm.

  I chuckle, looking to my right so I can change lanes. “Thank you. And I appreciate the cash, too.” I grab another fry and start crunching.

  He pauses and doesn’t join me in the smile. “Tommy, you’re on the news.”

  I swallow the fry before it’s ready, and mumble, “I’m not surprised. Guess I won’t be buying things again until I’m out of here.”

  “What’d you buy?”

  “Just some food. You don’t know how long I’ve been craving a burger.”

  “Did you see her last night? Did you take care of it?”

  I stop at a red light and wait. “I saw her. But she heard me coming and then Bobby showed up to rescue her. I had to hide before he recognized me.”

  “Fuck!” Bruce yells, then asks in a lower voice, “Where are you?”

  “You don’t wanna know.”

  He’s silent for a second. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Tommy. You want me to do it?”

  “No. This is all me. You know that. You just take care of your part.”

  “Okay, but throw this phone away and use the one I put in the trunk with the blanket and stuff. Oh, and there’s some food, too, so you’re good for a little while. I’m throwing this burner I’m using, away, too, just in case. I’ve got another one. I programmed that number into your other burner so you can call me. Or I can call you. Got it?”

  “Got it. Hey, Bruce. Are you near a computer?”

  “Why?”

  Turning the car right toward Golden Gate Park, I pull up behind a cop car who’s just pulled out from a parking spot. My heart stops. “Bruce.”

  “What?” he asks, picking up on my fear.

  I hiss quietly, “I’m behind a cop car.”

  “Shit! Get out of there!”

  All the muscles are tight in my body and my jaw is clenched. “That could draw attention. I’m going to turn when I can, like nothing is wrong. Stay here with me.”

  “Okay.” We’re both silent as I follow the cop for another block.

  At the next street, I tell my cousin, “I’m turning right. Cross your fingers he didn’t spot me, that he doesn’t turn on those lights and whip around.” As this clunker makes its way into the right-hand lane of the new street, I flick my eyes several times to the rearview, my chest pulsing hard.

  “Is he coming?”

  I watch in silence for the length of seven Victorian homes, then, “Nah. He’s gone.” Exhaling, I give my shoulders a little shake. “That was too close.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the city.”

  “What?!”

  “She’s in the city, dipshit. Where am I supposed to be?”

  “You’re supposed to be out of there in daylight! That’s where!”

  Knowing he’s right, I growl, “Look, do you have a computer or not?”

  “Yeah, I do. Why?”

  “Find Rebecca Wells. Google her and ‘charities.’ She’s gotta be listed with a contact number.” While I wait for him, I flip the radio on to calm me down. Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas comes on and I change the channel to Classic Rock. The opening guitar riff of Led Zeppelin’s Over The Hills and Far Away sounds through the speakers and I put my hand on my thigh, tapping out the chords as I drive. “You got it?”

  “Yeah. She’s gorgeous. Who is this? Is she going to help you?”

  “Ha,” I say, dryly. “That’s a laugh. No. But I want to talk to her.”

  “Tommy–”

  “Bruce! Give me the damn number!” I bellow, my patience shot. He does, but he can’t stop himself from muttering that I have a death wish.

  Dialing Rebecca’s number, I wonder if she’ll answer an unknown caller. She just might since she gets calls all the time from people she doesn’t know, working with all those organizations.

  After three rings, I hear her smooth voice. “Hello?”

  With Zeppelin playing softly in the background, I drive along, imagining her soft, dark hair pulled back over her ear with the phone pressed against it. Her long legs crossed in an elegant pencil skirt. Her supple lips pursed as she waits for me to talk, those almond-shaped, soft brown eyes of hers concentrating underneath a small frown.

  “Hello?” she asks again, this time with a tinge of urgency. “Tommy?”

  I hang up.

  I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before I called. I’m on the news. She’s probably seen my escape. The last guy to escape San Quentin was Eduardo Mariscal in September of 2000, a l
egend on the inside. I’m sure my escape is broadcasted across the nation now.

  Rolling down the passenger window by hand, I toss the phone onto the road and drive off.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Annie

  Baby: kicking my insides. Husband: laughing at me.

  “It’s not funny, Brendan!” I cry out from the couch where I sit tucked under a fuzzy, white throw blanket, my feet up on the leather ottoman. With my hands pressed lightly against my belly, I tell our unborn child, “Jacob honey, I love you. But you have to stop kicking my bladder or I just might kick you back. It’ll be self-defense. Many mothers will back me up on this.”

  Brendan’s gray sweater stretches taut across his broad shoulders as he reaches to hang a Statue of Liberty ornament, compliments of Mark and Nicole, on a high branch of our beautiful tree. He slips the string over the bright green bristles and turns to feign shock at what I just said, an amused gleam in his eyes as he heads for the coffee table. “He knows Krav, too. He was in those classes with you.”

  “Puhlease,” I groan, sacrificing the pillow that’s supporting my back. He catches it easily before it hits him square between the eyes. “I almost got you that time.”

  Ignoring my bold statement, Brendan continues on topic while casually tossing the pillow in the air as he speaks. “You know how some mothers hold up headphones to their stomachs to teach their babies languages or music in the womb? Well, you taught our son to kick ass.” He’s referring to Krav Maga, the martial arts self-defense class I was taking until I ballooned into the shape of Montana.

  I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and smile at him, thoroughly unconvinced but loving the possibility. “No way! I only trained a couple months after I knew that Mr. Man here was conceived, so he couldn’t have soaked in that much. He was only the size of peanut!” Dryly, I add, “He doesn’t know squat. I could take him. Now give me that back.” Brendan pretends to throw the pillow, but then doesn’t. “What, am I a dog or something? Give it!” He grins and lightly tosses it to my outstretched, bloated hands. I wedge it behind me good and tight while I watch him reach into the box of ornaments, digging through empty containers for what might be left. I have a thing for men’s shoulders and with him bent over like that, rifling through the plastic and paper wrappings, I’m just staring at those shoulders of his. He rises up and pushes down his sweater over the top of his jeans, unaware that I’m lusting after his body as he walks to hang a gold orb on a middle branch.

  I wish he were lusting after my body. I will lose this baby weight. I will lose this baby weight. Mantra or no mantra, today I feel like a cow. Feeling this uncomfortable sure does nothing for a woman’s self-confidence. I know I’m pregnant and that it’s not like I got this way because I couldn’t put down the donuts, but still when I see a skinny woman lately, I kinda want to punch her.

  There are four different stages to pregnancy.

  Glee.

  Puking.

  Excitement.

  Over it.

  “You know, a girl last night said that Jacob is timing his arrival. Like he’s got it planned. Do you think that’s possible?”

  Brendan shrugs and walks to the box my mom sent. He roots around the now mostly empty wrappers a minute to produce a tiny, blue and white sweater ornament so small it’d be tight on a mouse’s chest. He smiles at it, and turns back to the tree.

  My eyes are on the backside of his well-fitting jeans. “Taryn said that we make a contract before we’re born, deciding who we want for our parents, kinda like soul mates. We do it to ensure we learn what we’re meant to, or what we choose to.” He shoots me a look over his shoulder that shows exactly what he thinks of that idea. “Yeah, I know. But it could be.”

  “I strongly doubt it.”

  “Me too, but how can we know for sure?”

  Shaking his head no, he bends at the knees to hang the tiny sweater on a low branch in front.

  I look to my tummy. “Did you choose me and Brendan, li’l guy? And while you’re answering questions, what are you doin’ in there? Smoking a cigar and having a good laugh at your momma?”

  “He’s enjoying a Scotch and plotting out how to become President, that’s what he’s doing.” Brendan chuckles and gives the tiny sweater a flick with his index finger, watching it sway on the slender, silver hook. “This looks old. Did your parents buy this one, or was it given to them?”

  Racking my brain, I come up empty. “I have no idea where it came from. Probably my Aunt Marge? She liked to knit? I don’t remember. It does look old, doesn’t it? I’ll have to ask my mother. Oh, I love this song!” Closing my eyes to enjoy the deep, crooning of Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, I say on a happy sigh, “Wouldn’t it be great if it snowed?”

  Brendan stands back to admire the tree. “It would be. All done, babe. What do you think?”

  I peek out over my nose, taking in the tree as a complete work of art for the first time. Lifting my head, I can’t help but say with awe, “Wow! Look at what you did!”

  Silver tinsel shimmers all around ornaments big and small, from expensive to homemade, each spread out abundantly. The tiny, white lights cast the most magical, soft glow around my husband as he walks to me.

  “You like it? Aren’t you glad I closed the curtains so you could get the full effect?”

  I nod. “It’s really beautiful, Brendan. I’m sorry I pooped out halfway through. It’s just I’ve been –” Stopping myself, I change direction. “It’s really beautiful.”

  Stopping in front of the ottoman, his smile is intimate. “You’re beautiful.

  I snort, “I look like a blanketed whale!”

  “Prettiest whale I ever saw.” Then he adds with a smirk, “And our son is like his daddy. He likes to make you wait.”

  My jaw drops and I cry out at his impudence, “Rude! That was a hard time for me.” He grins, and I lose the fake-shock to ask coyly, “Sexy husband?”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Laughing, I shake my head a little as I struggle to achieve the out-of-character tone again. Clearing my throat and batting my eyelashes, I very softly ask, “Would you pretty-please rub my feet? After all, you did do this to me.”

  “Oh ho! I knew it! Put the blame on the man when the woman was the one who refused to use a condom.” He laughs and bends to lift up my legs by my calves, sitting down on the ottoman and putting my sore feet onto his lap. He grabs my ankles and tickles the sensitive bottoms of my feet as I cry out in laughter. “Who refused? I’m sorry, what? You did!”

  “Stop it! Stop it! I didn’t, and you know it!”

  He stops tickling me and argues, “We only talked about it once, and you weren’t into it…and then we never talked about it again.”

  The words take an enormous bite into my insecurities and my face falls as he looks down to rub my toes. Brendan and I didn’t fall in love at first sight, to say the least. He was my crush long before he ever knew I existed and some things happened that I’d rather forget, during that time. It was years before he noticed me and then, when he did, the road was insanely rocky.

  So now, when I’m a whole week past my due date, he’s going to bring up for the first time our neglect of condoms? I’m silent for as long as I can hold it in, but then I have to ask, my voice barely above a whisper, “Are you saying you didn’t want this?”

  His eyes flash up and his smile vanishes instantly. “No! Annie, that’s not what I meant.” He leans toward me, holding my eyes. “Annie.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He clasps both my feet tightly in his hands. “Stop it. You don’t have to apologize. I shouldn’t have joked about it. You know how happy I am with you. Can’t you tell? You two are my whole life.”

  An ache pulls at my heart at the words. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling emotional lately. It’s that music! Damn you, Bing Crosby!” I laugh, tears gathering in my eyes.

  Brendan smiles and gets up to kiss me. I return the kiss with my hand on his cheek. He looks into my eyes and ki
sses my nose before returning to the ottoman. I point my toes and touch the zipper of his dark blue jeans.

  “What have you got in here?”

  Deftly grabbing my toe, he chides me, “Now, now. You want your feet rubbed, or something else?”

  Ooooo. Tough call. “Feet first, please.”

  He grins, digging his thumbs firmly into my arches until I groan and close my eyes, dropping my head back on the couch again. “Sooooo gooooooood.”

  “Freckles?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I love you.”

  The second he says it, I don’t know why, but I realize what I’ve not remembered to tell him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Annie

  I really don’t want to talk about this.

  Brendan and I have spent a wonderful morning together. We woke up and had pepper-bacon and scrambled eggs with basil. We took a shower together that was fairly chaste, I put on this blue sweater and long, flowing elastic-waisted peasant-style skirt, asking him to wear the gray sweater I love so much and his favorite jeans since it was a special day, and then we came out here to the living room and closed the curtains to block out the sun. Brendan hung the lights on our tree, while I stocked a playlist with new downloads of Christmas songs, since neither of us owned any. I helped him hang the tinsel as we talked about the traditions our families had when we were kids. He told me his family always opened one present on Christmas Eve, and that reminded me of Manny’s mom and her disapproval of Mercedes. So as we began to hang the ornaments, I told him that story. That topic drifted naturally into my not being a fan of this holiday when I was a teenager because I thought that religion caused more harm than good, but that as an adult, I’d gotten caught up in the spirit despite myself because there was a lot of good that came of it, too. People were nicer to each other over all. They smile more. I love gift giving. And who doesn’t enjoy pumpkin bread? And after I became aware that I had a long night ahead of me, I sat and watched him finish the tree.