Runaway Heart (A Game of Hearts #2)

by Sonya Loveday

  I crossed the threshold, my pulse beating in my wrists and ears. My brain rapidly fired through all the memories. All the places she could be, or the things that could have already happened.

  The floors groaned under my weight as I stopped in the foyer. Squares of bright yellow littered the walls of the hallway where my childhood pictures once hung. Decayed flowers hung from a vase on the table by the door.

  If it weren’t for the sound of the TV coming from the den, I would have thought it was abandoned.

  “Mother?” I called, peeking into the den off to the right of the door. The TV was on a sports station, replaying whatever my father had been watching. A trail of smoke slithered toward the roof from a lone cigarette left perched on his ashtray next to his worn-down recliner.

  No one answered back.

  Maggie came in behind me and shut the door, her hand on my shoulder, telling me she was with me, every step of the way.

  I blinked through the colors of panic filling my eyes. Braced myself through her touch to keep from turning back, and then glanced into the dining room to the left. A plate sat on the table with the empty plastic shell from a frozen dinner.

  “Mom?” I croaked out, passing through the dining room to the kitchen.

  My feet froze when I saw his form hunched over the sink.

  Every ounce of me wanted to turn and run, but I dug my heels into the ground, knowing there was no going back. I had to face him. Had to find out where my mother was.

  “Your mother isn’t here.”

  His voice. Still harsh and rough like sandpaper. Still devoid of emotion.

  My stomach dropped a flight of stairs. “Where is she?” I kept my voice flat.

  “Gone,” he said, and then he flicked the switch to the garbage disposal.

  The awful scraping sound gurgled and scratched at my ears, rattling my bones as he turned around to face me. Still sinister. Still looking to get a rise out of me.

  His white shirt was stained yellow around the armpits and neck… something my mother wouldn’t have let happen. His eyes were sunken in with large, purple bags hanging under them. He was a withered-up, wrinkly old man, who looked nothing like the monster I left behind so many years ago.

  He just looked… human.

  “What do you want?” Irritation stained his tone.

  My heart clobbered within my chest like a rabid animal. I thought about leaving. Running. And then I thought about her. And about Ed. And about all the things I’d buried under my tongue for longer than I could remember, and a sort of bomb exploded inside me.

  “You never deserved her,” I said, praying she was all right. That I wasn’t too late.

  “No?” His voice raw.

  “So many years… too many I wasted being scared of you,” I said, my voice thick and sore. “All I ever wanted was to be good enough. For you to look at me the same way you looked at Jack. For you to love me.”

  “We all want things we can’t have, now don’t we?” He turned back to shut the disposal off.

  A lightning strike of anger crackled against my spinal cord.

  “Don’t you turn away from me!” I snapped, feeling like I was breaking clean in half. Like the shell I spent years forming around me was slowly beginning to fracture and crumble away.

  He turned back to face me, the angry look in his eyes I memorized long ago returning. “Or what?”

  If he looked closely enough, he’d see the tremor in my hands. The vein beating wildly in my neck.

  But, then again, he never looked at me.

  “Look… look at you!” I stuttered out, riding the high of my own hatred for him. “You’re weak. And you’re sad. A sad old man who wasted his life by trying to ruin everyone else’s. I hate you,” I said, not caring that my voice was trembling and my eyes were beginning to pour out all the pain he caused. “Do you know that? I hate you so much I can barely breathe.”

  His hand gripped the sink, his eyes never leaving mine as he took in my words.

  “Why couldn’t you be there? Love me the way a father should? Why was the only emotion you ever showed just your fists and your hatred? What did she ever do to you? What did I ever do?”

  He stared at me with those dark eyes that never showed an ounce of emotion. “I told you before. You were a mistake. I never wanted children and she knew it.”

  “And Jack? Was he a mistake?”

  I felt ashamed of myself… like a beggar asking for food. Felt as ineffective as a squirrel trying to move a tree. He wasn’t going to hear me. Understand me.

  Not ever.

  He didn’t answer me. He didn’t have to. It was in his eyes. I was the only mistake in his eyes. I was the one who pulled my mother’s attention from him. Who needed from him.

  Don’t fall apart.

  “No.” I felt myself slowly piecing back together. Felt my heart pumping out the love I felt for Ed and for Maggie, the two who would always be there, filling me with strength.

  One man’s opinion didn’t have to be my truth.

  “What you did was take a perfectly good child and ruin her childhood. What you did was raise a daughter afraid to love and be loved in return. What you did, Dad, was take the only chance you had at love and squashed it deep into the ground, burying it in a hell you’ll soon enough find yourself in.

  “And you know what?” I said, trying to collect myself. Realizing I held on to a human more broken than even I was. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

  “Is that so?” No one threatened my father.

  “Yes,” I said, more firmly that time. “I thought I wasn’t good enough because you told me so. You told me I didn’t deserve love, and I believed you. But that was then and this is now.

  “I didn’t see it then and, how could I have? I was little. You were my father. But how can I take the word of a man who doesn’t even understand how to love? You don’t know the first thing about what I deserve.”

  I stepped up to him, closing the distance between us. Smelling the cigarettes on his breath.

  “The only mistake that happened was ever letting myself think I didn’t deserve love because you said so. I’ve given you too many years of my life. Given too many chances at a real life to the memories in this house. Memories are just that… the past. They can’t hurt me anymore. You can’t hurt me anymore.”

  I saw his fist ball. Saw the same look he always got when he was close to snapping.

  “You want to hit me?” I asked, stepping up to him. “Go right on ahead, because I’m not seventeen anymore, Dad, and I sure as hell won’t take it like Mom did. You will spend your last days rotting in jail.”

  We stood like that for a split second, neither of us wavering, and I relished in the liberation that came with standing up to him. With calling his bluff. Felt the last pieces of my shell fall to ashes at my feet.

  His hand relaxed, his eyes moving to the side. “You wouldn’t,” he said, his voice bumpy.

  “You want to test that theory?”

  He chuckled.

  It was the first time I ever heard what his laughter sounded like.

  I took a step back, confused.

  “You’re a lot like me, kid. A backbone for days.”

  “I’m nothing like you.” My blood boiled like a pressure cooker. “Where’s my mother?”

  He found my eyes again and, this time, there was pain there. Not anger. Not hatred. Just pure pain.

  “She found her backbone.” He paused, looking to the floor as he shook his head and laughed. “Can you believe it was all the way in England?”

  England?

  The single word had the power equivalent to a punch. To a jammer slamming into me. She went to England. The place I just left.

  The very same place that haunted my dreams.

  England had become more than just a country. More than just a place where I recently visited and returned from. It was his home. A place that held my heart. A place that healed me, without me being aware.

  Every muscle in my bo
dy jumped under my skin, screaming for me wake up.

  I looked at my father, head tilted to the side and, as if an invisible pair of sheers closed its razor-sharp edges between us, I felt the last thread of pain between us snip in half and fall away.

  “I’m done here,” I said, almost incredulously as I turned back to Maggie. Feeling like I was already ten steps behind where I should be.

  With him.

  “You’re just going to leave? Not say anything else to him?” she asked, peeking over my shoulder.

  My legs felt like a foal’s as I stumbled back on shaky laughter. “What else is there to say? He was never my father. Not in the real sense. All he was to me was a fear. A shadow in the corner.” I paused, turning back to look at him one last time, and said, “And now the light has been switched on.”

  He didn’t say anything when I walked away from him. I didn’t expect him to.

  “Hannah?” Maggie hesitantly said.

  “What?” I shut the front door behind me, not bothering to look back.

  “I know where your mother is.”

  My footsteps halted in the middle of the sidewalk. “Repeat that again?”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek and put her weight on one foot. “I-I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but she left an address with my father.”

  My brain felt like it melted. “And you just let me go in there? Knowing I didn’t have to?”

  She reached for my hand, eyes leveled on me. “You did have to, Hannah. In all the ways that matter, you needed to.”

  I didn’t know if I wanted to hate her or hug her. Sure… I finally closed the door to my past. The one where monsters crept out of at night… and then I realized. “Thank you,” I said, pulling her into a hug.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied, understanding completely what I meant.

  I turned as we headed down the street in search of a cab. “So what now?”

  A smile broke across my lips as the weight that bore down on me my whole life finally lifted.

  “My mother found her backbone. It’s time I found mine.”

  TIME. IT STOOD STILL FOR me.

  Even with everything going on around me, time, it seemed, had dug its heels in and refused to move forward. Faster. Anywhere.

  One day blended into a week, which turned into several months. We’d talked, Hannah and me, a few times. Sporadically.

  And then she stopped calling.

  I’d picked up the phone what seemed like a million times, only to put it down again. It seemed wrong, calling her, when I told her I’d wait. Told her she was the only one for me. No matter how much I longed to hear her voice, I didn’t want to push her. Didn’t want to make her feel like I was asking more of her than she was willing to give. I needed her fully and completely, on her terms, if we were to ever make it work.

  In a nutshell?

  I was nothing more than a hollow person seeking the love of a broken girl.

  Could I have been fooling myself in believing we were meant to be? That we were just what one another needed?

  It hurt. Ached, really.

  But I kept myself moving onward, even with the absence of time. The absence of her.

  The vibration of my cell phone in my back pocket made my heart jump. Hannah.

  Please let it be her.

  I answered the phone, trying my hardest not to sound disappointed. “Hello, Aunt Della.”

  “Not who ye were expecting?” Her voice held the slight tremor of a laugh.

  “How are ye?” I asked, choosing not to delve into my expectations.

  “I’m doing wonderful. And yourself?”

  I looked around the stocked supply room. Business was flourishing. The pub gained more patrons since Charlie and I hired Violet. Her ideas on how to bring in new customers had been brilliant. For such a small person, Violet had a personality as big as the moon. Not to mention a vast amount of unending ideas that gave the pub a lot of exposure. I wasn’t sure I’d seen Charlie smile so much in my life. And having Violet around kept me from slinking off further into my misery.

  “I’m good. Been really busy lately.” I shut the stockroom door and made my way to the back of the pub where I could finish my conversation with Della without interruption.

  “Not too busy for your aunt, I hope?” I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Never too busy for ye. Is everything all right?” Aunt Della hardly ever called out of the blue. Christmas and Easter were a given. I always heard from her during the holidays for gatherings.

  “I’m having an event, well, more like a small social gathering for the house,” she said, pausing for a brief moment. In all the time she’d run the women’s shelter, she’d never called it such. It was ‘the house’, a place where anyone needing assistance could seek refuge, and it was just that… their house. Ever since Aunt Della married Elliot and he took on her and her passion, they’d worked in tandem, creating a safe place for those in need. It had grown over the years. Rooms renovated. Additions added.

  Women from around the world graced the halls of the house. It was something to be quite proud of. It was also very expensive to run, which was why Della would hold gatherings, or small galas, to help cover the vast expenses of running such a place.

  “Elliot came up with the idea to take some of the art the women have created and auction it off. Brilliant idea, if ye ask me… and it gives those who’ve created the pieces a little more pride in themselves. And ye know me, I love a good party,” she finished.

  “So ye need a bartender?”

  “I don’t typically bring in men, as ye well know the reasons why. But this event will be a little different from most. Even Elliot will be joining us,” Della said, excitement bubbling in her voice.

  “Just tell me when ye need me and I’ll be there.” I caught sight of Violet waving madly in my direction to get my attention.

  “This Saturday at three. Oh, and, Ed, be a dear and wear your best dress coat,” Aunt Della said before ringing off.

  Best dress coat? Must be one fancy event, I thought, shrugging it off as I slipped my phone back into my pocket and made my way toward Violet.

  “What’s up?” I asked, expecting a problem.

  “Watch the bar for me. I have to go to the loo before I piss myself,” Violet hissed beside my ear before darting off.

  The pub was full. Drinks needed to be refilled. I found my groove, losing myself back into the hustle and bustle, getting through another hiccup in time without Hannah.

  AUNT DELLA MET ME AT the front door. Beyond her were tables stacked neatly against the wall as a handful of women chatted together, setting them up one table at a time. All of her parties were like that—the women of the shelter erecting the layout of tables and chairs. Men were not typically found in any setting that dealt with them, unless of course, it was family. Each of them knew who I was. They would have seen my picture or heard my aunt rave on about me.

  In some ways, I was sure, it settled them. Made me being around a little easier for them.

  And Della typically didn’t bring me around until those who were there were only steps away from leaving the house and comfortable with going back into society.

  “Ed, you look dashing!” Della said, stepping back as she beamed at my choice of clothing.

  My finger went to my shirt collar, tugging at the tight feel of it. “Thank you, Aunt Della. Ye look beautiful as ever.”

  She swatted at my arm. “Ye know I don’t get dressed up for these things until it’s time.”

  I grinned back at her, knowing full well she wouldn’t change out of the tracksuit she wore until everything was in place. Della didn’t just delegate the work going on around her, she dove headfirst to help get it all done. She’d told me once that trust breeds trust. Hard work and the willingness to jump in right alongside someone to get the job done showed those who looked up to you what basic human nature should be. Just because it was a hard job, or a dirty one, didn’t mean anyone should feel ab
ove themselves about doing it.

  “What can I help ye with?” The words, like magic, prompted a list of things to do as long as my arm.

  “Once ye’re done with that, Elliot will help ye with the bar.” Aunt Della patted my cheek and left me to it.

  I’D HAULED LINENS AND UNFOLDED chairs. Hung strands of lights and helped situate pots of flowers around the room. I’d brought out the easels from the art room and set them up in various spots, and I’d fetched box after box of table decorations and helped distribute them before my list was done.

  The only thing left to set up was the bar.

  Elliot popped in earlier, snagging my attention to let me know he’d either be in the kitchen or his office, and then told me to come and find him when I was ready.

  Leaving the grand entryway in search of Elliot, I tucked my hands in my pockets and enjoyed the last few minutes of quiet before the bustling activity the gala would surely bring. I’d always loved Della’s house. No matter how many times I’d walked through each room, or across the grounds, it always gave me a sense of wonder.

  The house itself was invisibly split in half because of the layout once past the front door. It might have, at one time, been a grand living room, but once Aunt Della and Elliot bought it, it became many things. Small family gatherings were held there on holidays. Every so often, a gala event to help raise money. It was a rather large room, fitting twenty round tables with plenty of space to move around.

  Aunt Della claimed it was the heart of the house.

  The west wing was off limits to visitors and family alike. It had its own ebb and flow of activity. Women seeking shelter didn’t much care for strangers poking around and making them uncomfortable. I’d asked Aunt Della about it once. Why she’d have parties when it brought in so many strangers? She’d smiled and explained the west wing was a self-sufficient structure inside the house, and the women living there were always informed of every activity going on. Should they choose to participate, they could. If not, that was fine too.

  “They’re learning to live again, without fear, but they can’t sequester themselves away and hide from the world either. This house gives them stability and safety while they gain their independence again.”