Five Reasons To Go (The Risky Hearts Duet Book 2)

by Candace Knoebel

  I closed the laptop and sat back, a frown pulling at my lips. The shelter was the only one on our side of town. The women who worked and volunteered there were good friends of mine. What would they do now?

  What would the women do?

  My mouth went dry, a slight burning in my stomach.

  There had to be something I could do to help. The thought of the it closing wasn’t something I could stand by and watch happen. It was too important to so many people. Funding was low with the new laws being passed, but I hadn’t realized just how bad things were.

  Pinching my bottom lip between my fingers, I pulled up Google and began researching any and everything about shelters. Where the funding came from. Ways to gain charity. How to open and run it successfully.

  A small spark ignited in the pit of my stomach. A tiny seed planted in the back of my thoughts. I’d been running the ice cream shop for years. Although I loved what I did, it was never my dream.

  Volunteering was a choice I made for myself. It was something I called my own. A large part of who I identified as.

  What if… what if I took over the shelter? I moved to the window, staring at the street below. It was a shy thought, stumbling on its newly formed legs as it tottered toward the forefront of my mind.

  Could I do such a thing? Was I capable?

  I didn’t know the first thing about running a shelter… but that didn’t mean I couldn’t figure it out. I was a quick learner, and determination was my forte.

  I could… I could make it happen. I sat back in front of my computer, continuing my research. Scribbling notes onto a small notepad with names and numbers. Information on how to obtain a license, and the many steps I’d need to open its doors.

  I didn’t sleep that night as the idea grew wings, flapping hard, taking flight within my mind. Cup after cup of coffee filling the emptiness of my stomach.

  I was going to make this happen.

  I had to.

  Chapter 6

  Jessica

  The shrill of the phone buzzed in the hallway, bouncing off the walls.

  My eyes burned, mind struggling to operate as I worked on dinner. I passed out shortly after the kids left for school, and didn’t wake but a couple of hours ago. Within those waking hours, my idea for the shelter became something solid and tangible. Something I could pursue for myself and be proud of. Helping women like me…women who’d been cast off and discarded. Women trapped and altogether lost. Give them the chance I never had. Show them there was hope outside of heartbreak.

  The phone continued to screech, and I let out a small sigh. After setting the rolling pin down, I wiped my hands on my apron and weaved through the short hallway to get to it. The clock on the wall smiled down at me. Five forty-two. It could only be one of two people—Hank or Hank’s evil mother.

  “Hello?” I pressed the receiver against my ear with only two fingers, not wanting to get flour all over it.

  “Hello. Is Hank in?”

  My face tightened. It was his evil mother.

  “No. Can I take a message?” Artificial sweetness coated my voice. A reflection of myself mocked the saccharine tone. The pressed eyebrows. Heavy frown. Spots of flour were left on my cheek—something she’d surely comment on had she been there.

  She made a noise in her throat. “No, dear. Just tell him to phone me when he returns.” I hated the way she called me dear. There was always a sharp edge to it. The word like a knife, the tip pressed carefully against my skin, point digging into the flesh protecting my jugular.

  “I will.” I hung up before she could get another word in. Maria loved to goad me. If there was a sport for mothers-in-law who could dig a hole and dump their daughters-in-law into it, she’d surely be the victor. She hadn’t liked me from the moment we met. Relying on her son for a future she felt I didn’t deserve.

  “Garbage,” I heard her tell him one night after Ciana was born. “She’s utter garbage. Look at her. She can’t even hold the baby right.” Shortly after that comment was made, she pulled Ciana from my arms and disappeared into Hank’s room, shutting the door behind her.

  From that moment on, I swore to stay out of her line of sight.

  I headed back to the kitchen. Finished rolling the dough for the pie I was making. The apple vendor in the market was overflowing with luscious apples, and my mouth watered for pie. That was what I loved most about this time of year. The ripened fruit. The renewed smiles returning after a long winter. I hummed to myself, hips moving with the sound, dancing my way around the small space.

  The front door creaked open, the sound drifting toward me. A few seconds later, Hank appeared in the doorway.

  “Pie?”

  “Apple,” I said, still rolling. Still humming.

  Leaning back, he peered down the hallway. “Where are they?”

  “Ciana’s with Janie and Nick is with Max.” I rinsed my hands under the faucet. “We probably won’t see them until Sunday.”

  He grinned with a nod. “Nice.”

  Sitting at the kitchen table, he shucked out of his boots. His usual routine. I always had to follow behind him with a broom to clean up the dust from the concrete. I hated concrete dust. It reminded me of my father. Of a home I was no longer welcome in.

  “Got any plans?” he asked a moment later, pushing his boots aside. Later, I’d pick them up and move them by the front door.

  He was unusually chatty, and the nagging feeling deep in my lungs sputtered forward.

  Shrugging, I wiped the counter off, trying to brush it away. “Not really. You?”

  I wouldn’t tell him about my idea for the shelter. Not until I had something solid in place.

  He sat back in the chair, far enough to reach the fridge, and pulled out a beer before returning to the table. “Yeah.” He popped the lid off. “Bobby’s holding a poker game tonight. I’ll probably crash there. And tomorrow, I was thinking about taking Elise to that new movie that’s out. The scary one.”

  I raised a brow. “Elise?”

  He grinned, boasting and wide. “She’s new. Met her at the bar.”

  With a hum vibrating my lips, I layered the dough into the pie tin. Hank usually met the women in his life at the bar. Sometimes younger. Sometimes freshly divorced. I stayed out of his business as much as I could. Not because I was jealous. That ship had sailed shortly after Nic was born, when he’d left me alone on the weekends with two young children so he could barhop.

  No, I kept out because I pitied for the women.

  Hank was a serial dater. The chase was his game. As soon as he got what he wanted from them—soaked up every inch of what they gave him—he’d ghost them.

  It was guilt that kept me from prying. Shame, knowing I could warn them. Spare their hearts what mine had been through so long ago.

  “What about you, blackbird? Seeing anyone?”

  Echoes of the past battered the insides of my skull, turning my stomach sour. The last time he called me that was the night Nicolas was created. The night I’d been pliant and impulsive. Craving touch and love. Bending to his whispered words and his mindful touch.

  I never laid with him again after that night. After he received a call from another woman the following night, leaving any hope of forming a true family in the dust.

  I turned just a little to see over my shoulder. His smile was more relaxed. The lines around his eyes softer.

  “No.” I pulled the remaining dough over the top. Trying to remain neutral despite the oozing alarm spreading through my veins.

  “Good.” He took a swig of his beer, and then propped his feet up on the table. “No use starting something you can’t finish.” He chuckled. “I don’t know what it is with you women never being able to get with a man without expecting a commitment.”

  My fingers gripped the counter, knuckles paling. Teeth clenching. I turned, slowly. It was building, the resentment… the anger… a set of gray clouds hovering over me, waiting for the chance to break. I knew better than to engage with him, but damn
it, I was sick of being treated like a prisoner in my own home.

  “I can start whatever I please.” Bravery trembled in my fingertips, trying to steady itself. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start with me. Not today, Hank.”

  He laughed, trying his best to demean me. “What? I can’t ask my wife how her life is?”

  Wife. I was anything but that. I was a shell. A prop. A name on paper that kept us all under one roof.

  My forehead creased. “What is this really about?” I asked with an exhale. Wishing he would just go on about his day and leave me in peace.

  “I got a promotion.”

  I managed a smile for him. “Congratulations, Hank.”

  He soaked up the compliment. “Thank you.” He reached back again, pulling another beer out. Tossed the empty bottle into the trash.

  I turned back to the stove, bending to slide the pie into the oven.

  The smacking of his lips made me shiver. “You look good, blackbird.”

  I tensed. My mouth tasted like sawdust. The heat of his gaze was unwelcome, slithering over my backside. “Hank.” His name left my lips in warning when he came up behind me. The nearness of him plagued the air.

  Cupping my ass with his hand, he squeezed.

  “What are you doing?” I spun around, trying to move away from him. He towered over me, pinning me against the counter.

  “Touching my wife.” He dragged a finger down the center of my chest.

  My skin revolted. I pushed against his chest. Squeezed between the small gap he left open to get some space. My lungs tightened. Heart pattering off kilter.

  Not today. Please, not today.

  “I’m not your wife, Hank. Not in that way.” My words trembled, full of fear. The clouds above me shifted, darkened, almost bursted at the seams. The thought of being with him made me queasy. He was used up. Given to others.

  A black shadow filled his eyes. “What did you say?”

  He stalked toward me until I was pressed against the wall with nowhere else to go. Panic flooded my limbs. My lungs fought for a stable breath.

  I met his gaze, determined not to cower before him. He couldn’t have me. Not anymore. “Our marriage is convenience and nothing more. I’ve respected your need for freedom. Now, respect my need not to be used by you whenever you please.”

  There was a shifting pause, the air sucking in its breath as my pulse thundered in my ears.

  His temper flared around his irises, wild and angry. The same way it always did when I challenged him, but then his lips pulled at the corners, a sickening swell of laughter piercing the room. He stood back, staring for a moment before grabbing his beer. “Still have that feisty side, I see.”

  I moved to the sink, trying to steady my hands. To calm my heart that threatened to run away without me.

  He finished the beer, then dropped the bottle into the trash, glass shattering as it struck the other at the bottom. “I’m going out now.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  The front door closed behind him a moment later, and I threw the sponge after him.

  The thought of staying infuriated me. The thought of losing my children scared me. I was torn into so many jagged pieces I hardly recognized myself anymore. I rocked back and forth, shuddering between anger and sadness, humming the tune I’d created long ago to myself. The soft notes always brought a calm to my mind. Gave me something to focus on other than the prison I lived in.

  I often thought about prisoners. Bars. Small square rooms without personality. At least there, fate was known. A routine could be formed. But living like this… the rules always shifting, bending under the command of the warden… it was hell. I couldn’t escape.

  I’d tried to leave him… once.

  Years ago.

  I’d rented a motel room, then told the kids we were taking a mini-vacation while I planned my next move. I was one person. One woman with a struggling business, two small children, and a heavy past.

  It took Hank all of two hours to figure out what I’d done and find us at the motel. I’d never forget that look in his eyes. Fire and resentment. Telling me if I didn’t come home, he’d call the police and claim I’d kidnapped the children. He made it clear if I left, he’d come after me. If I broke up our children’s home, he’d make sure I paid for it.

  I was stupid. I’d believed him.

  In some ways, I still did.

  Hank wasn’t the type of man to let go of what he claimed as his. And I was bound to him until the kids were old enough to fend for themselves.

  Chapter 7

  Jack

  “The code to the front door will be emailed to you the night before your stay.”

  I stared at the rental property I bought a year ago on the screen of my computer. It was uptown and stayed booked.

  “Thank you so much.” The young woman’s voice was soft, trilling with excitement.

  I scratched the rough growth of whiskers on my chin. “It’s my pleasure. Any other questions for me?”

  “Nope. I think we’re good.”

  After we hung up, I checked the rest of the properties I’d invested in after leaving the corporate life, ensuring all the rentals and upkeep were taken care of.

  When the divorce from Corinne was finalized, I took some distance from the city to think. Hoping to find a way to put my life back together. In my line of work, our social circles were wide. It was no secret she’d left me for Cole. Whispers spread about what had happened. My reputation had taken a hard hit because of it.

  And I’d welcomed it.

  That was when the idea of investing in properties and renting them out came to mind. It was a good way to ensure financial security without having to deal with people face to face. I was good at investing. I could spot a diamond a mile away. Five houses in, and I was already on my way to kicking back easy for the rest of my life.

  Grabbing my phone, I opened Facebook. Scrolled through a few articles. There she was. Corinne. It took months of therapy to learn we were better as friends than husband and wife. Months to realize she was never truly mine.

  She was happily married to Cole. They were on vacation in Greece, sipping wine on the coast. An ocean of sapphire blue. White sands, wrapped in each other’s arms, sending well wishes to all their friends.

  She looked great. Happy. Complete.

  Introducing them was the one and only thing I ever did right in my life.

  Tossing my phone onto the couch, I unscrewed the lid to the bottle of vodka I kept nearby, and welcomed a hearty gulp of the fiery liquid. Sank into the cushions, eyes closed, the face of the blonde I’d thrown it all away for swimming to the surface.

  Jessica.

  I tried not to think about her.

  She was the beginning of my end. The drug I was still addicted to. The enigmatic woman who rearranged every piece of me.

  For her, I’d give anything and everything. I loved her mind before I loved her body. I loved her laughter before I knew her kiss.

  I loved her enough to keep my distance… if only to protect her from myself.

  Every part of my apartment reminded me of her. She swam within the walls. Her laughter hung within the air. Despite my best efforts, I kept tabs on her. I needed to know she was okay. That she was happy—although, in her situation, happiness was limited. Her ice cream shop was struggling. Hank still spent most weekends in the arms of others.

  After getting up, I walked to the window. Peered past the curtain to the small ice cream shop down the street, its pink neon light thrumming in the darkness to the rhythm of my pulse. How many nights had I stood there, staring across the way, watching her shadow pass by in the window? Driving the axe of my longing straight through my heart. Using the pain to nail my feet to the floor.

  It was well past closed, the city lights brightly humming with the night’s energy. There was only one light on in the apartment above the shop. The home where Jessica lived, and it was to her room. I wondered i
f she was awake. What she was doing if so.

  Did she miss me with the aching pain I missed her with?

  Fuck.

  Running a hand through my hair, I turned from the window, swiped my wallet off the counter, and then put on a pair of shoes. I couldn’t stand being cooped up another moment. Never could.

  There was something about being out in the late hours of the night. Like all the sins committed under the glow of the moon would remain her secrets, burned away by the rising of the morning sun.

  I passed by a homeless man in a small alcove on the side of a building, tucked away and forgotten. A bottle pressed to his lips, some of the contents spilling down the front of him. I wasn’t sure why I stopped. Maybe it was the pain. It radiated around him. Pulsed on a wavelength only the broken could feel.

  Reaching into my wallet, I pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. Placed it in his grungy hands with a sad smile, seeing a piece of myself in him. A fracture in the present, offering a glimpse of a very real future.

  “Thank you,” he managed, staring at the money as if it were an apparition. A cat meowed at his feet, circling his ankle, sniffing at the toe stuck out of his shoe.

  “Hey.” I crouched, unable to leave just yet. “Why don’t you find a place to stay tonight? Get yourself a meal and a shower?”

  My words were feeble. The broken can’t fix the broken. But weren’t we all just a bunch of scattered, one-hued puzzle pieces anyway? Making it impossible to separate one dismal gray piece from the next?

  The man muttered something incoherent, so I found my way back into the stream of club hoppers. I knew every bar in town like the back of my hand. Another block away was the one I used to take Jessica to. Where I’d met her at a few years back. Where everything had started—Risky Hearts. It had been nearly two years since I’d been there.

  Standing on the sidewalk, I stared up at the neon sign flashing the name like a beacon.