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

by Candace Knoebel

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing there, leaning against a metal pole, watching the ebb and flow of people moving in and out. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I glanced down. It was Finley, asking if I was coming by his bar tonight. I typed a quick yes. He was the only one left from my past.

  With a small sigh, I passed through the front door. Life vibrated within the walls crammed with bodies. I headed straight for the bar, then ordered a vodka on the rocks. With drink in hand, I headed to the back, in the corner where Jess and I used to hang out. There were plush green velvet couches that sat catty-cornered to one another with a glass table in between. The entire place was dimly lit. Twinkling lights hung from the ceilings and wrapped around the room.

  I plopped onto the couch, smiling at two women across from me who sipped on martinis.

  “Hi,” I said, raising one of the glasses.

  They grimaced before standing, disappearing into the crowd holding hands.

  Whoops.

  I worked my way through the vodka, watching everyone mingle. Keeping tabs on the game playing off the TVs. Ordered another vodka when the waitress came by, grinning as the room sort of blurred in front of me.

  And then I heard my name. The magical lilt of her voice that always chipped at my heart, forcing it to thaw.

  “Jack?” Jessica called, the question heavy and somewhat guarded.

  I tensed. Sweat broke out across my forehead and inside my palms. My heart thundered against my chest like a stampede of hooves.

  Fuck. I shouldn’t have come.

  “Is that you?” she continued, her voice moving closer. Her curious stare rose heat to my face. I was sure it was a shock to see my cheeks covered in wiry whiskers. To see the length of hair that touched the tips of my ears, curling in wisps at the ends.

  Slowly, I raised my head.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Jessica was dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans with a sheer white blouse that had ravens scattered across the breast. She was in love with ravens. Believed if she were ever reincarnated, she would become one. She wore a black bra underneath. My mouth watered. Her hair, the color of wheat glistening in the sun, was pulled back into a high ponytail. I used to love unraveling it on the nights she’d come to me, the smell of vanilla and cream nestled within the silken locks. She was a delicacy. A sweet treat after a long day.

  The corner of my mouth twisted as my shoulders lifted with nerves. “Hey, Jess.”

  I wasn’t prepared for the shock to my system just from being in her presence. Like stepping into water while holding a live wire. It had been so long. Nearly two years, yet it was as if we had only just parted ways. She was achingly beautiful. The way sadness seemed to deepen the roundness of her eyes.

  I stood. “You… you want a drink?” I asked, hopeful.

  Her forehead creased. Indecision orbited her gaze before she finally said, “Sure.”

  When the waitress returned with my drink I asked, “Can you bring a bourbon on the rocks, too, please?”

  Jess came around the table. Sat on the other end of the couch, the distance between us speaking volumes. “It’s been what… two years now?”

  My chin lowered to my chest.

  She chewed on her cheek for a moment. Smoothed a hand down the front of her jeans. “How… how are you?”

  The air swelled with anticipation. A soft, thrumming energy that always looped around us when we were in each other’s presence.

  “Divorced. You?” I said with a weak chuckle.

  She twisted a little more toward me, eyes still guarded. “I heard. I saw her in the paper with Cole. Are you… okay?”

  “I’m breathing. How about you?”

  Her gaze cut to mine. She knew I was asking about Hank.

  Her shoulders lifted, the movement weighted and rocky. “It’s the same.”

  Heat branded against the back of my skull. “He hasn’t…”

  “Hit me?” she finished for me, her voice textured with torment. Her head bent forward. “No. Not since the last time.”

  My fists clenched at the memory. Fire licked through my veins. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  More silence rose between us, music filling the empty pockets. This awkwardness was new. Tender and raw, an open wound I’d left uncared for. I needed to leave. If I continued drinking, I’d lose control over my tongue and beg for her forgiveness. Beg her to come home with me.

  She didn’t deserve that.

  “You didn’t… you didn’t reach out.” The hurt in her tone was like quicksand. Pulling me under.

  Regret slugged through my heart, oozing down my spine. “I didn’t know how, Jess…”

  Her nose wrinkled, eyebrows pressed together. “You pick up a phone, Jack. That’s how.”

  I winced.

  When the waitress returned with her drink, she downed half before setting it on the table. The room was sort of spinning. I’d already had two vodka doubles.

  Seconds slipped by, anxious and stirring. A couple had taken over the couch across from us, legs tangled as their mouths danced.

  Heat flooded my veins.

  “You should have called.”

  I didn’t have to look at her to hear the tears in her voice. What was left of my heart fucking ripped open. I didn’t want to be responsible for her pain. I only wanted her happiness.

  “I waited, you know,” she continued, the heat from her gaze pressing against my cheek. “After I knew… I waited, so sure you would call.” She shook her head. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Was it all a lie?”

  “You know it wasn’t.”

  “Then why didn’t you come back to me?” Her eyes pleaded with me, begged me to fill the gap between us. To take her lips against mine and confess how much I missed her.

  God, I wanted to. I needed her.

  My hand reached for her, an effortless move. “Jess, I—”

  She jerked back. “Don’t. You don’t get to do that anymore. You chose, Jack. You left, and then you didn’t come back.”

  My throat burned. Ached. “I was ashamed, Jess. I didn’t…”

  “You should go.” Her arms folded over her chest, a shield I couldn’t penetrate. The words were lost in the mix of music and voices.

  My heart threw itself against my ribs, imploring me to stay. To pull her into my arms and erase the two years I’d spent away from her. “Why?”

  “Because this hurts too much.”

  Her pain spilled into my hands, piling up. Grew heavier with every exhale. I would shoulder it if it meant that harrowing expression on her face went away. I would keep my distance if it made her happier.

  “I’m sorry,” I said with a slow, relenting nod. “I’ll go.”

  Rain broke from the clouds the moment I stepped outside, pouring fat droplets that fell heavily from the sky. Sloshed up from the sidewalk, soaking through my pants.

  Of course, even Mother Nature was pissed at me.

  I headed in the direction of my apartment. Hands tucked into my pockets. Chin hung in defeat. A taxi whizzed by, kicking up a puddle that doused me entirely. Muddy water coated my skin.

  “What the fuck!” Throwing my hands up, I tilted my head back. Water pelted my face as I closed my eyes. As the evening and all that went wrong washed over me in a maddening wave.

  “Come at me!” I yelled to no one in particular. To anyone who’d listen. “Give me all you got!”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket a second later.

  I pulled it out, licking the rain on my lips.

  It was Finley.

  I see you, crazy ass. You’re going to be admitted if you keep shouting at the sky.

  I spun around. He stood under the canopy outside his bar, tugging on a cigarette.

  “Don’t judge,” I said as I held my hand out for one.

  “One of those nights?”

  A telling grunt cruised past my mouth. I lit the end of the cigarette, ready to sear away the evening.

  He chuckled. “Hey�
�look at it this way, at least you got somewhat of a shower. Heaven knows your ass stinks.”

  “Why you sniffing my ass?”

  He shoved me. “Come on. I’ll pour you one. Anything to keep you from being admitted to the looney bin.”

  I followed him into the bar, leaving what was left of my heart somewhere out there on the sidewalk.

  Chapter 8

  Jessica

  I always dreaded Sundays.

  Most people welcomed the day to relax with their loved ones, maybe curl up with a good book. The sun felt softer. Lazier. The air held a low-charged buzz. It was a day for breakfast in bed. Dinner with a large family.

  For me, Sundays were purgatory. Not every Sunday, but nearly.

  I stood over the stove, trying to perfect the risotto recipe I’d decided to pair with the veal I’d picked up earlier in the market. Being with Hank meant dealing with his mother, and dealing with his mother meant I had to know how to cook every Italian dish known to man to perfection. She expected nothing less.

  Though, no matter how hard I tried, I never cooked them well enough for her taste.

  Soft, uplifting notes of music circulated throughout the apartment. A stark contrast to the tense chords of my thoughts playing inside my mind. I spent all day yesterday deep cleaning in preparation for today. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be found. Flowers had been put out. Candles lit.

  Everything was ready for tornado Maria.

  “It smells amazing, Momma.” Nicolas’ words trickled around the room, his attention focused on the materials in his hands. He was working on a school project, trying to make the planets from Styrofoam. Tubes of paint and glue littered the small table. The screen on his iPad lit with pictures of the planets. He was one of those rare kids who loved doing projects for school. He loved making As and being the first to turn things in.

  If only he could rub some of that off onto his sister.

  “Thanks, honey.” A dull ache burned in my fingers clenched tight around the wooden spoon. The key to a good risotto was in the stirring. Creamy. Thick.

  When a knock pounded at the front door, a tingling sensation built beneath my skin. The show would begin. The insults. The jabs. The fake smile I was expected to wear.

  Nicolas bolted down the hallway when Hank’s parents came through, loud as usual. There were laughter and hugs. Kisses and questions. I inhaled slowly, counting to ten. Then back down to one. Enjoying my last moments of silence.

  The veal rested in the oven, braised in a tomato and basil sauce. Fresh greens were cleaned and put into a wooden bowl, waiting to be tossed with the citrus vinaigrette I’d made earlier. Everything was ready. My line of thinking was the quicker they were fed, the quicker they would leave.

  “Jessi, can you bring out the wine?” Hank called as they passed by the kitchen, heading into the living room.

  Sure. Let me just grow another pair of arms.

  Nicolas was on his grandpa’s back, riding and laughing. Ciana was already in the living room, her nose pressed into her phone. I caught the tail end of Maria’s probing gaze, her nose lifted in the air, testing out the scents before she disappeared around the corner.

  God, it was hard not to roll my eyes into the back of my head. Not to mouth crude words in her direction.

  Turning back to the risotto, I continued stirring. It was minutes away from being finished. I couldn’t risk burning it.

  I leaned back a little. “Ciana.”

  She appeared in the doorway a moment later, a headphone in one ear and a frown on her lips.

  “Could you stir this for me so I can grab the wine?”

  She trudged over to the stove, dragging her feet, shoulders slumped as she took the wooden spoon and began stirring. “Why didn’t you ask Nicolas to do this? He’s the one who loves to cook.”

  I stood in front of the cabinet, trying to remember what I needed to grab. “Because you’re the oldest, and it won’t kill you to help me out.” I’d already filled a decanter earlier with a nice burgundy, letting the wine breathe before they showed up.

  Glasses. I need glasses.

  Grabbing four, I set them on the small cart I used for serving and wheeled the anti-pasta and wine out to them. Maria wore a frown while Joe, her husband, stood, opening his arms to me.

  He was the better half.

  He was a wide man with large hands and an even bigger smile. Eyes that never held a sharp angle to them. A voice deeper than the ocean. When he was around, the air felt less stifling.

  “Ah, Jessica. How are ya?” I loved how thick his Boston accent was.

  “I’m good.” A warm flush spread over my cheeks. It always amazed me how kind Joe was compared to Hank and his mother. How had he survived living with them all those years?

  His chuckle was warm and rich. “Good. My boy takin’ care o’ ya?”

  I quickly glanced at Hank, forcing a tight smile. “Of course.”

  It was a cheap lie. One I was good at telling.

  “Hank works hard for his family.” Maria’s chin rose pompously. Her hands folded neatly across her lap. “Jessica, on the other hand, could learn a thing or two about hard work. Running a silly little ice cream shop isn’t my idea of success.”

  I jerked in response, a little of the wine sloshing over the edge of the decanter onto the cart.

  Maria didn’t miss a beat. “Shaky, dear? Something on your mind?”

  I grimaced, muscles stiffening. Numbers ticked off in order, counting down to a calm I wasn’t sure I could reach.

  “Oh, Maria. Lay off it.” Joe waved her off before taking a hearty gulp of wine. He swallowed, then put his hand over mine, stilling it. “You do a good job, kiddo. You’re a good motha’. A good wife.” He gave my hand a small squeeze before letting it go.

  I didn’t dare peek in Maria’s direction. Joe’s kindness toward me only fueled her distaste.

  Good.

  Nicolas leaned forward on the couch. “I got an A on my math test.”

  Maria turned her attention to him. “You did?”

  It was shameful, but I was grateful for my kids when she was around. They were like a shield. I was supposed to be the one protecting them, but when it came to her, they protected me. They lessened each blow.

  I set the anti-pasta platter on the coffee table, then headed back into the kitchen, trying to steady my breathing.

  “Geez, Mom. I’ve been standing here for like forever.” Ciana’s frown deepened.

  Taking the spoon from her, I bumped her out of the way. “You’re free, princess.” I turned the stove off, then added the parmesan and parsley to the risotto. Everything was done. I just needed to transfer the food to the serving dishes, and the hell could commence.

  An hour later, I was at the sink, washing the dishes. Most nights, I’d try to get Ciana to help. It was good for her. Even princesses needed to step off their throne from time to time.

  Tonight, however, I wanted the kitchen to myself. It was less time I had to spend around Maria. A plausible excuse. Putting my favorite radio station on, I zoned out. The window was open, the city sounds mixing in. The slight breeze cooling my heated cheeks.

  I tried not to think about Maria. She’d spent the entirety of dinner complaining about the veal and risotto. The veal was too tough. The risotto tasted burnt. Even the salad managed to have too much citrus in the dressing.

  But she didn’t complain about the wine I’d chosen.

  She kept filling her glass, her tongue growing sharper.

  My nerves teetered on a dangerous edge. I was so sick of the Krauses. Of Hank and Maria and their never-ending hate. For years, I’d taken it. Absorbed it for the sake of my kids, but that strength was one breath away from being blown over the side of a cliff.

  When the dishes were done, I had no choice but to find a place on the couch across from them as they talked about everyday life. I buried myself in work for the shop, forming next week’s schedule. Dreaming up new recipes.

  “You.” Maria’s glass bec
ame an extension of her body, pointed in my direction like a finger. “You’re too skinny. Hank doesn’t like skinny women.” Her voice was mushy and wet.

  I rolled my eyes, continuing to scribble ideas for a new ice cream blend.

  “Maria.” A chuckle drifted out of Joe. His feet were kicked back, hands splayed across his belly as he watched the game. “Let her be.”

  “It’s true. Look at her.” Her lips curled. “It’s a wonder she was even able to bear children with those narrow hips of hers.”

  Pausing, I set the paper down and scowled at her. “Really, Maria?” I didn’t hide my disdain, growing weary of the insults.

  “Leave her be, Mama,” Hank said vaguely, too enthralled in the game to really know what was going on.

  Maria frowned.

  I went back to forming recipes. My jaw was sore from clenching, a small headache forming at the base of my skull. The kids were on the couch on the other side of the room, their noses pressed into their electronics. They could zone out through an earthquake.

  “Tony’s wife said she saw you out with Katarina the other day.” Maria’s glass pointed to Hank. “It’s a shame you didn’t end up with her.”

  “Mama,” he hissed, eyes darting in the kids’ direction.

  “What?” She feigned innocence. “It’s true. She could have made you happier than her. I honestly don’t know why you two keep on with this charade. You deserve a good woman, Hank. One who can set a good example for your children…”

  She kept on, every word a shovel that dug deeper through my resolve. The thought of another woman replacing me as a mother set fire to my blood. The fact she had the nerve to say that out loud, in front of my children, broke what little reservation I had.

  I couldn’t take it. Not a single second more.

  I stood, slamming my notebook down on the table. “You know what… If you have an issue, then leave, Maria, because I’m sick of your condescending bullshit.”

  The room fell silent. The kids raised slack jaws from their electronics, eyebrows dipping.

  “Go to your rooms!” Sanity slipped behind a door in my mind, locking itself in. I was sick and tired of the relentless disappointment I seemed to inflict in everyone around me. My parents. Maria.