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

by Candace Knoebel

  Jack.

  When would it end?

  When would I be enough?

  Maria’s mouth fell open, but then quickly shut, a menacing frown turning her lips. “Excuse me?”

  “Jessica.” My name spewed out of Hank’s mouth, dripping with acid. “Don’t you dare talk to her that way.”

  “What about me?” My fist curled against my chest. Rage sharpened my tongue. “You know, I don’t need this shit, Hank. Maybe I needed you before, but I stand on my own two feet now.”

  He took a step toward me, fingers flexing at his sides.

  “Go on. Show them the loving husband you are. Tell them you’ve never laid hands on me.”

  Joe pushed up from his seat. “Hank?”

  “That’s enough!” Hank shouted. He grabbed me by the arm. “You will not do this right now.”

  I yanked my arm from him. “I will do whatever I goddamn well please. Just watch me.”

  I headed for Hank’s room, panic flurrying through my chest. Blood thrumming with a red-hot anger unlike anything I’d ever felt. Every step I took was concrete with conviction. A promise made with every exhale.

  Ciana poked her head around her door. “Mom?”

  Everything froze… even the air, her voice dumping over me like a cold bucket of ice. The world had broken beneath me, splintered down the middle, and I was barely hanging on.

  My lips stretched taut like a bowstring. Shaking from the tension as I tried to curve a smile. “Everything is fine, baby. Just stay in your room.”

  She rushed over and pulled me into her arms, a sign of affection I wasn’t ready for in that moment. A pick to my icy heart, cracking it in half. “It’s not fine, Mom. Please…”

  I didn’t think it was physically possibly to break any more.

  Scuffled sounds came from the living room. Voices heightened and dipped in disdain. Shuffling footsteps, then the front door closing, followed by hard, angry steps.

  “Go,” I whispered to Ciana. “Keep Nic busy. I love you.”

  She skittered back into her room, terror in her eyes as Hank came pummeling down the hallway.

  I headed for his room, determined to finish what I started.

  His door slammed shut behind him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  I was done being threatened.

  I used every inch of me to push back against him. “It’s over, Hank. The charade is up. I can’t…” I shoved a fist down by my side. “I won’t live like this anymore.”

  I reached for the suitcase he kept under his bed, then tossed it onto the mattress. “Get out, Hank. This is my house. I will not live in fear anymore.”

  With one fell swoop, the suitcase was thrown against the wall with a hard smack. A dark hole dented the wall, mimicking his soul.

  When his eyes turned oil black, I backed away. Ran on fumes of bravery. “That’s good. I’m sure the kids will love hearing this.” My voice quivered as my pulse pounded in my neck.

  His nostrils flared. “It’s that guy, isn’t it?”

  The air was slowly sucked out of the room, replaced by an ungodly heat that pushed against my skin. A long overdue war of wills waged between us.

  I planted my legs. Arms crossed, determined to win. “No. And even if it was, that’s none of your business. Leave.”

  His fists shook, teeth grinding. I saw it then, the uncertainty taking hold of him. My firmness reflected in his eyes.

  “I’m… I’m not leaving, Jessica. I won’t allow you to break this family up.”

  My laughter was hollow and bitter. “That’s the thing, Hank. You don’t own me.”

  His eyes were sharp slits. His control began to slip. “You’re not taking them.”

  “I never said I would.”

  “I’ll make them hate you. I swear it, Jessica.”

  I laughed. Stalked over to him, raging with adrenaline. “Go ahead and try. I’m their mother, Hank. They love me and will continue to do so.”

  The smack that came next was so hard it knocked me onto the bed.

  “Mom!” Ciana rushed into the room as I fought to pick myself up.

  That acrid, coppery taste I’d come to know filled my mouth.

  The moment Hank realized what had happened, what he had just done while they were home, he panicked. He backed out of the room. Disappeared down the hallway, the front door slamming shut. I kept moving her hands, trying to shield her from what had happened.

  Although I could handle it, I didn’t want her to know. He was her father. A good one.

  Just a shitty husband.

  I turned toward the door. “Where’s Nic?”

  “On my bed. He has his headphones on. He’s watching a movie.”

  A sigh. “Good. Thank God.”

  “He hit you! Daddy… I can’t—”

  I pulled her against my chest. I’d tear my heart out if it meant I could undo what she’d seen. What could I say to her? I didn’t want to tell her it was an accident. Didn’t want her to think it was okay.

  But I also didn’t want her to hate her father.

  “Ciana, honey.” I cupped her face, using my thumbs to brush her tears away. “What happened… it wasn’t okay. Got it? Your dad and I… we just… Things went too far tonight. We were both wrong for reacting how we did. We’re just… we’re not good for each other.”

  “Are you really going to make him leave?” Innocence filled her wide, sky-blue eyes. That little girl who used to crawl into my lap during thunderstorms emerged through her frightened pupils.

  I hugged her to me. Absorbing her pain as she let out a meek sob. “It’s for the best, honey. Daddy and I… we need to be apart.”

  “I hate him!” She pulled from my grip. Her eyebrows dropped into heavy slashes. Her pretty smile had crimped around the edges. “I won’t speak to him. Not ever.”

  I was caught in the middle of a field full of landmines. Every step I took would either be life or death. Every word a double-edged sword slicing through a future we’d been building from the moment she was placed in my arms. “Ciana, he loves you. You know that. Please, don’t hold that over him.”

  She crossed her arms, her stubborn side grabbing mops, soaking up her tears. “I don’t care.”

  I ran my hand over her cheek. “But you do, sweetie, and that’s how it should be. You will never need to choose sides, okay? You are our world. All we’ve ever wanted was to give you a happy home. A family. But we grew apart. And that happens. It’s okay to realize you’re not in love with someone. It’s okay to admit things are better living apart. I promise, you—”

  She started to pull away.

  “No,” I said, forcing her to look at me. “I promise you everything will work out. It’s just going to take time, okay?”

  Her gaze dipped. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

  “Of course.”

  Her arms wrapped around my waist. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you more.”

  Chapter 9

  Jessica

  It was one in the morning, and I still couldn’t sleep.

  I traced the shapes of the room as the soft glow of pink teased the shadows out of hiding. I loved the city late at night. The distant sounds of rubber against pavement. The faraway sirens serenading their lonely hearts song. There was comfort in knowing my mind wasn’t the only one awake. The darkness of the night was a blanket, tucking me in, holding me tight.

  I fastened my gaze on the dresser I’d found on the side of the road one morning long ago on the way home from school. I’d been lucky enough to have had a few friends help me haul it the three blocks to Hank’s tiny apartment. For weeks, I had lived out of a garbage bag in the spare room on a dingy mattress on the floor. A garbage bag my parents so generously left on the curb shortly after I was kicked out.

  When we had moved into the apartment above the shop, I brought it with me. It was silly to love a dresser, but it was more than that to me. It was independence. A discarded, forgotten piece of furniture left
for the garbage. A piece that was all my own. I’d spent weeks cleaning it up after school with sandpaper from one of Hank’s kitchen drawers and wood stain I found in a cabinet.

  I couldn’t wait nine more years to leave him. What kind of example was that to my children? Hearing Ciana tell me she knew, that she realized what was going on, was an ugly shock I wasn’t prepared for.

  I had to leave him.

  I had to… for her.

  So she could see a woman didn’t need a man to survive. That a woman didn’t have to stay in a situation she wasn’t happy in.

  That a woman could be her own fucking boss, and no matter how big, bad, and scary a man thought he was, a woman could be even scarier.

  After all, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

  I was the thorn to the stem.

  I was the hero of my own story.

  The next morning after the kids left for school, I hailed a taxi and gave him the address to the women’s shelter. It was a short trip. Only ten minutes from my apartment. The sun blinked through the crevice of buildings that towered like fingers reaching toward the sky. Spread its golden rays over the streets.

  “Thank you,” I told the driver, handing him the fare when he pulled up to the curb.

  Standing outside the small building, which used to be an apartment complex, I stared up at it with renewed sense of purpose. It had been converted into rooms the women could stay in. It had a fully staffed kitchen. A dining hall. A courtyard in the middle where the kids could play. There were rooms where the volunteer therapists, doctors, and lawyers could use to meet with the women. A TV room. It had everything.

  Volunteers would come in the morning, putting together welcome baskets that had everything from clothes to soap to books. Diapers. Nail polish. Transportation passes as well as pre-paid cell phones. The goal was to make the women feel as normal as possible.

  After I buzzed the front door, I stood back. A moment later, I was let in.

  “Jessica?” Alma had been with the shelter from the beginning. Serving was her passion. She was the mother hen of the place. An elderly woman who looked every bit the years she’d spent on this earth. Checking the women in. Helping them get sorted. She had a sharp tongue and even sharper wit.

  I hugged her. “How are you?”

  “I’ve been better.” She paused, a funny expression on her face, and then said, “Come in. I was just prepping some goodbye care packages for the women.”

  “About that…” I followed her to her office, trailing slightly behind. “I was thinking… what if I bought the shelter?”

  Her head whipped around. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I have my ice cream shop I could take a loan against. I could invest. We could spruce this place up. Give it a new look and feel.”

  Her laughter was robust and rippled with deep layers of age. “You?” She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “Yes, me.” Courage tapped on my shoulder, asking for its turn in the spotlight. “I’ve already thought it through. I know the debt this place is in. What I can get for my shop is enough to cover it, and then some.”

  The words floated above her, like a balloon, only to be popped by her doubt. “This is a big commitment.”

  “I’m doing it. I’ve already decided.”

  “You did, did you?”

  I wouldn’t be swayed. “This place can’t close. It’s my heart. Your heart.”

  “That it is,” she said with a curt nod.

  “I’ll go first thing in the morning to have the paperwork sorted. I just wanted… I wanted your approval.”

  Her fingers stretched out against the desk. “This isn’t a toy project. It isn’t easy running a shelter, Jessica. It takes hard work. Lots of sacrifice and pavement pushing. The women who come through here—”

  “I know who comes through here, Alma. It’s one of the biggest reasons I want to do this.”

  She sat back down. Pressed her fingers into a steeple. “Then I say do it, because Lord knows we need more shelters.”

  The next morning, I met with my banker.

  When the paperwork was signed, and I stood on the sidewalk outside the bank next to a small planted tree, I jumped a small, giddy hop. For the first time in my life, I was doing something for me. On my own.

  By myself.

  Chapter 10

  Jack

  “You did the right thing by leaving,” Finley said as I sat at the bar beside him, killing my liver with vodka.

  The place was packed, bodies pressing against one another. The bar I’d been at nearly every night for the past week. I’d been a wreck since Jess told me to go. Losing her for the second time. I should have stayed. Fought harder for her.

  “She’s a good girl, Jack. And you’re… well…” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’m saying this as your best friend. She has kids, man. You shouldn’t start something with her you can’t finish.”

  I gripped the glass, fingers slipping every so often as I watched the bartender stacking glasses.

  “She is a good girl. The best.” I pressed the home button on my phone, staring at the screen—a picture of Jess.

  Finley sighed. “Ah, man. What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

  “Sell me off for parts?”

  He chuckled. “You and I both know that liver of yours is no good.”

  Nodding, I took another sip of my drink.

  Hours later, as I laid in bed scrolling through Facebook, eyelids growing heavy, I stopped on a post shared by a friend asking for donations for a women’s shelter. But it wasn’t the headline that caught me… it was her.

  Jess.

  There her face was, front and center, smiling with her arms around women I’d never seen before. Setting my glass down, I clicked on the post, stomach tensing.

  Freedom’s Flight Women and Children’s Center has recently reopened under the care of Jessica Krause, a young mother of two and the owner of Blackbird’s Creamery. The shelter has been around since the early seventies, and it needs any donations that can be made to remain afloat. If you’ d like to help, follow the link below.

  She bought the shelter?

  My fingers hovered over the keys. I rubbed my eyes, and then clicked on the link. Pages of information about the shelter, and about Jess’ cause, were offered. Stats were listed of the many women who passed through the shelter, and how much it cost on average to maintain a healthy atmosphere.

  Numbers and words blurred together. I could barely keep my eyes open as I read and read. My stomach sloshed at the thought of Jessica losing the shelter after putting everything up for it. I had to help… somehow.

  Some way.

  I met with my lawyer the next afternoon, when the sun began to sink behind the city skyline. Bans of light coated the sides of the buildings, like spilled orange juice. His office was uptown, in a posh, freshly renovated building. It felt weird, being back on this side of town. Being here.

  The last time was when I met Corinne and signed the papers for our divorce.

  The doorman greeted me with a small dip of his head. I gave him a curt nod before stepping into the lobby, searching the sign for his floor. He was eight floors up. His name etched in gold.

  I tucked myself into the back of the elevator, staring at the ad of a famous actress holding a bottle of perfume while floating in a pool of gold in front of me.

  What a waste of money.

  Once the numbers dinged, I stepped out and headed into his firm. I had to chuckle when I realized the interior was decorated by Wonderland’s Touch—Corinne’s decorating business. It was strange, feeling like she was in the waiting room with me. There were so many sides of her I never paid any attention to, all on display for me to finally see. And having the feeling she was there with me told me I was doing something right for once in my life.

  “Jack Swanson?”

  I stood, nodding at the young woman clutching an iPad to her chest.

  She smiled. “He’s ready
for you.”

  I followed his secretary to the back where Aaron’s office was. Corinne seemed to follow me through the walls, inside the hand-selected art pieces, solidifying my purpose for coming.

  “Hey, Jack,” Aaron said, heading around his desk to shake my hand. “So, what brings you in?”

  I took a seat across from him, adjusting my tie. “I want to invest in a women’s shelter. But I want to be a silent benefactor. No one can know. Not even the owner.”

  “Okay.” His face screwed up with confusion. “Why the need for mystery?”

  “Because this isn’t about me. It’s for… it’s for her.”

  He smirked. “Her, huh?”

  My gaze was pointed. “Jessica.”

  Just saying her name out loud had power over me. Like an icy shock to my system, waking me up.

  “Okay.” His pen danced across a pad. “What’s the name of the shelter?”

  “Freedom’s Flight Women and Children’s Center.” I hadn’t realized how tight my lungs had been up until that moment. Everything I had saved from working as a broker, every cent, I’d earned as a different man. A selfish man. I wanted to purge him from my system. Toss him to the wayside, so I could start anew.

  A small smile slipped across Aaron’s lips.

  “What?”

  Hesitating, he dropped his pen, resting his elbows on the desk. “I haven’t told many about this, but my mother and I were in a shelter once. My father… he wasn’t a very nice man. If it wasn’t for that shelter, I don’t think I’d be sitting where I am today.”

  In all the years I’d known Aaron, and they were many, I never once suspected he’d had a rough upbringing.

  He picked his pen up, grinning as he continued to scribble on his notepad. “I think this is great, Jack. Really great.”

  I cracked my neck to the side, one knee bouncing. “I do, too.”

  He glanced up. “So… what are you looking to donate?”