by Allie Kay
Heartsong
A Garden Falls, TN Romance
Allie Kay
Contents
Prologue
1. Joy
2. Joy
3. Jack
4. Joy
5. Jack
6. Joy
7. Jack
8. Joy
9. Jack
10. Joy
11. Jack
12. Joy
13. Jack
14. Joy
15. Jack
16. Joy
17. Jack
18. Joy
19. Jack
20. Joy
21. Jack
22. Joy
23. Joy
24. Jack
25. Joy
26. Jack
27. Jack
28. Joy
29. Jack
30. Joy
31. Jack
32. Joy
The Trouble With Hearts
About the Author
Prologue
Jack
Feet shackled, one arm cuffed to a chain at my waist, I shuffled into the lobby of the huge sports medicine practice, my free arm curled painfully against my abdomen. Growing up, Mama had always told me, “No good deed goes unpunished.” Yeah. Learned that one the hard way.
A few weeks ago, I’d been assigned a new cell mate, and the guy just couldn’t keep his friggin’ mouth shut. Before breakfast, he started yet another fight. I stepped in, trying to keep him from getting his brains splattered across the concrete floor, and got my first broken bone as a reward for that good deed. I should have let them kill him.
Air hissed from my lungs when the guard bumped my shoulder and a particularly sharp pain shot through my broken arm. Cursing the compassionate streak that ran deep within me, I knew damn well I’d have still stepped in, even if I’d known I’d end up with a broken arm.
I’d tried to shut down all feeling when I’d got locked up. Teach myself to feel nothing for anyone. But without alcohol, I couldn’t numb myself to the swirl of emotions that surrounded me each day.
“Sit in the corner, Jack.” One of the deputies escorting me pointed to three seats in an empty corner off to the right. The other walked over to the front desk, presumably to sign me in to get my arm casted.
I moved deliberately across the crowded room, avoiding eye contact with the waiting room’s occupants. The weight of a hundred judgements pressed down on my already burdened shoulders as each person I passed cast their verdicts about my crimes. No one heard the metallic clink of the chains impeding my movement more than I did.
The side-eyed glances and whispered judgements going on around me were earned. But it was too late for “I’m sorry” or even reparations. I could only look forward. I had three months left until the end of my sentence. With the cast I was sure to get today on this arm, at least half of that remaining time would be spent in total isolation. But things weren’t all doom and gloom. My former cell mate, and still best friend, had a job lined up for me when I earned my freedom come June. I planned to make a new start in his hometown where everyone didn’t know that I’d gone on a bender and driven an eighteen-wheeler into a home.
“Hey, mithter,” a very small voice said at my knee, interrupting my latest trip down Feel Guilty Lane.
Raising my head slightly, I made eye contact with an adorable little boy. I arched an eyebrow at the brave little tot, feeling my lips turn up in a hint of a smile. Not many would walk up to a man in shackles just to talk. The kid had more balls than a lot of grown ass people.
The shaggy haired kiddo stood just in front of me, his little arm cradled in a black sling rather like the one on my arm. “Did somebody hurts your arm too?”
“Mateo!” The most beautiful woman I had ever seen hurried over. The floral notes of her perfume tickled my nose, the sensual exotic scent enticing my lonely libido with its presence. My mouth watered as I took in the gorgeous blonde. She bent down and put her hand on the kid’s shoulder. “What did we talk about, sweetie?”
Mateo popped a tiny thumb in his mouth and muttered around it, “Don’ talk a strangers. I sowwy, Mama.”
She glanced over at me, eyes taking in the bright orange jumpsuit and the shackles, and her cheeks brightened to a fiery red. A murmured apology barely reached my ears before she steered the curious boy back to the check-in desk. My gaze lingered more than once on the blonde. I let my eyes travel over her lush frame. She had curves, just the way I liked. Her dark jeans hugged them perfectly too.
Damn. If only I could bump into a woman like her when I got out of these chains. I watched how carefully she handled her son, every touch gentle and the love visible.
The resemblance between the two was subtle. The tot’s hair was a few shades darker and had a hint of wave where hers was smooth and straight. They shared a tiny dimple that I only glimpsed for a second on her beautiful face but was readily seen on her son’s. The shape of their eyes matched. I continued to watch them, ignoring the mumbled censure of the guard seated next to me.
He didn’t need to remind me of my place. I knew better than he did nothing could ever happen between me and Mateo’s mama. I’d seen the ‘hell no’ in her gaze despite the smile on her lips when she’d spoke to me. But I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off her.
A few minutes later, they were checked in. Her haunted eyes scanned the hectic waiting room and she had no choice but to take the seats directly across from me and my guards. She flashed the tiniest hint of a smile in our direction, but didn’t make eye contact. When she raised a hand to brush a lock of unruly hair out of Mateo’s eyes, the boy flinched almost imperceptibly.
But I saw. I also caught the hint of a concealer covered bruise on her jaw and the faded yellows and greens of an older mark marring the creamy white skin of her upper arm. The slightest edge of purple peeked out beneath the neckline of her shirt.
Damn.
I’d brushed the kid’s question off as the misspoken phrase of a young child, but I’d bet someone hurt the little guy, and his mama too.
“I was breaking up a fight,” I found myself saying. An aura of sadness surrounded the pair. I wanted to make Mateo smile. Make Mateo’s mama smile. It was impossible, of course, but I wanted to nonetheless. “You asked me how I hurt my arm? I was breaking up a fight. Got shoved backward, landed funny, and broke my arm. I may have to get a cast. What happened to you?”
Mateo started to speak and his mother laid a hand on his leg. He looked up at her and then dropped his head. “I fell on the pwaygwound.”
Bullshit.
His mama had clearly censored his words silently. I wondered how often she covered bruises or made excuses to protect some sorry mother fucker that didn’t deserve her. What sort of private hell did she go through every night in what should have been her safe haven? I tried to get her to look at me, but she kept her eyes on her child. Purple bags below her eyes added to the depth of sadness radiating out from them. A pain hid behind her thick lashes I wanted to get to the bottom of. When had she last slept—truly slept without the fear of some man and what he might put her and Mateo through next?
“Timothy Jackson.” A nurse stood at the door with an iPad in her hand, looking around for her next patient.
“That’s me.” I wobbled to my feet. Fucking hell, it was hard to stand with shackles and chains all over. Before I shuffled over to the nurse, I bent down a bit to look at Mateo. “Kiddo, I hope you can find a safer playground.”
I made eye contact with Mateo’s mama and added softly, “Both of you.”
1
Joy
Pain changed a person, not just physically, but emotionally as well. Emotions were tricky that way. T
hey could make people soar high above any negativity, or crash them so hard, so deep, that positivity didn’t have a chance. The last several years, I’d been on the latter end of the emotion roller coaster.
With a sigh, I glanced down at the watch on my wrist. Mom had given me the little time piece for my last birthday. On the back, there was a short inscription, it simply said, “Heartsong.” That one word had given me a hope I hadn’t felt in years.
As a kid, my mom used to tell me that when you met your soulmate your heart would know and burst into song. As an adult, I’d forgotten about that, forgotten to listen for my heartsong, and ended up with Ricky. But they say everything happened for a reason. Some things were predestined by fate. Ricky had given me Mateo, and that made the hell he’d put me through worth it.
When I packed Mateo up in the middle of the night and ran away, the watch was the only piece of jewelry I’d allowed myself to bring. All my earrings and bracelets were tucked safely into the armoire in the closet. Consolation prizes, I’d called them. The more expensive the piece, the bigger the bruise I’d won in earning it. The large, sparkling diamond and matching wedding band I’d left on the nightstand with a single lined note.
We’ve had enough.
I looked over at my son. We had to meet the women’s shelter director in about forty-five minutes. Mateo still lay sleeping on one of the queen-sized motel room beds. His little bottom poked up in the air as he slept, his beloved stuffed donkey tucked firmly against his cheek. As much as I hated to, I had to wake him. We’d never make it on time if he didn’t get up soon.
“Mateo, wake up, sweetie. We have to go meet the lady who is going to help us find our new house today. Remember?” I rubbed his back and he shifted beneath my gentle touch. “Come on, buddy. Wake up. I have the chocolate pop-tarts you like for breakfast.”
That got his attention.
“The ones with the frinkles on top?” he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes with one hand.
My lips turned up at the misspoken word. It wouldn’t be long before he’d self-correct, but his little Matteo-isms always lightened my soul. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d have given up years ago and let Ricky win. I’d lost so much of myself anyway, but my little angel had been the only thing that kept me going most days. Mateo had given me a reason to wake up in the mornings when life seemed too hard and I just wanted to quit. I ran a hand over his soft hair. “Yes, baby, the ones with sprinkles.”
“We gonna look at houses today?” He climbed out of the bed and ran into the small bathroom without waiting for an answer.
I got his pop-tart and a juice box out for him and put it on the scuffed table by the window. The blinds creaked when I opened them, but the warm sunlight shone through and brightened the dull motel room. I couldn’t do motel living long-term with a rambunctious almost five-year-old. Even if my sanity could take the frantic pacing as he sought to burn off excess energy within the confines of the small space, my wallet couldn’t. Staying in motels ate away at the tiny start-up fund I’d saved. I needed to get us settled, find a reliable babysitter, and a job. Amanda at the women’s shelter said that she’d help me find both a job and a sitter once we got our living situation settled.
Mateo skipped over to the table and happily chowed down on his pop-tarts. He swung his little feet to an unheard beat. My boy could find happiness anywhere he could find music. And when silence filled the room, he’d make his own. I loved that about him. Some days I wondered if he were my heartsong, but my mother had said that wasn’t how heartsongs worked. I’d shrugged her answer off, because if it wasn’t Mateo, then I supposed I’d never find my soulmate. The only time my stupid heart had ever even fluttered for a man, he wore an orange prison jumpsuit and shackles. Clearly, my heartsong was on a scratched CD that no longer registered.
Sipping at the barely tolerable motel coffee, I watched Mateo eat. When he finished, I wiped the crumbs from his face and hands and we hopped in the car.
His high-pitched voice filled the car as we drove to the women’s shelter to meet Amanda and her realtor contact. “One, two, skip a few, ninety-nine, one huuuuuuuuunnnnnnndrrrrrrrrreeed.”
“Sweetie, can you sing a different song?” I rubbed at my temple, willing away the headache trying to form. Mateo had thrown a fake southern accent onto that particular song since he’d heard the mechanic yesterday say hundred. The false drawl grated on my nerves.
“Okay, Mama. Bout I sing this one instead? It’s Sunday and it’s Monday, it’s Tuesday and it’s Wednesday.” He paused. “Mama, you have to do the finger snappy part, okay? When I snappy my fingers they don’t make any noise. Okay, Mama?”
“Wanna listen to the radio?” Odds were against me, but I sent up a silent plea that he’d agree.
As expected, Mateo didn’t want me to turn on the car stereo. “Nah. I’m a gooder singer than those people are. I’m gonna be a rockstar, you know.”
“You’re a better singer, sweetie,” I softly corrected.
He let out an exasperated huff. “That’s what I said.”
I tried to keep back the chuckle that threatened. “We have time for one more short song before we get there. What do you want to sing now?”
“My ABCs.”
“Okay then, go.”
“ACDCEFG HIJKMNMOP QRX TUB WXY and D. Now I know my ABCs, next time won’t you sing with me?” Mateo reached forward and tapped me on the shoulder. “Mama, why are they called ABCs when they go ACD?”
“They go ABC, you just say them your own way, honey.”
“Oh...” He was silent for a moment, contemplating my words. “Maybe I’ll start a new way of doing them then. They can be called the Mateo ACDs.”
I couldn’t hold the laughter in that time. “You know, I bet it will catch on super-fast.”
“I know it will. You know why? Cause you said super-fast and I’m wearing my super-fast shoes today.”
“And what did I say about those shoes?” I prompted.
“To use them wisely.” I didn’t need to look in the rear-view mirror to know he was rolling his eyes. I could hear it in the tone of his voice.
“Which means…?”
He sighed. “No running away from you. Specially if you say stop. Because mamas don’t got super-fast shoes like kids do.”
“Good.” I pulled the car into an open space in front of the shelter. “You’ll be on your best behavior today, right? If I don’t have to get onto you, we will go get ice cream when we are done.” There was a quaint little soda shop down the road from the motel we were staying at. I hadn’t had a true milkshake in years and had been itching to try it since we first drove past it. If the sweet treat encouraged Mateo to behave today, well, all the better.
“Okay! I love ice cream. I’m gonna be extra special super-tastic good. Can I have frinkles on my ice cream?” He held up his hands, folded together like he was praying, and poked that bottom lip out and made it quiver. “Please?”
“You are going to turn into a frinkle,” I told him as we walked into the building. That kid really knew how to brighten my day. And he didn’t even have to try.
2
Joy
The rundown shelter had a view of the lake. The lone boat bobbing along the agitated water reminded me of myself. The tiny vessel seemed both about to capsize and yet completely sea-worthy, depending on its position in the waves. I’d made it so far without capsizing, but I was not at all confident in navigating the unfamiliar waters of being a single parent.
Everyone—well, every one of the three friends I’d had left by the time Ricky was through—had told me that moving would make everything better. Get a fresh start in a new town, they’d said. No history. No painful pasts. It would be the best thing, especially for Mateo. Except they’d forgot to mention just how hard being a single mom with no support system could be.
How lonely.
Exhausting.
Terrifying.
Like that little boat, I bobbed along, hoping for a safe landing, hoping som
ething didn’t grab us and pull us into the murky darkness once more.
A new start had been the best thing for Mateo. In the few short weeks since we’d left Ricky, Mateo had been smiling so much more. He’d been less afraid to speak, less afraid to play. To be a kid. His transformation from timid to normal stung a little. It hurt to know just how much our situation had affected him. He’d been hiding more than I’d realized. Clever little fellow, he’d concealed as much of his personality as I had. He’d figured out, probably more than I had, that to have an opinion that his father hadn’t given us would lead to a bruise. Or worse.
Mateo shifted next to me, strands of his dark blond mop tickling my hand. He’d grown tired of watching the determined fisherman who braved the lake alone. I murmured to him, “It’ll be okay, baby. Mama’s going to make sure of it now.”
His safety made all our recent struggles one hundred percent worth it. To know that I didn’t need to stay up at night to protect my innocent child from his own father. The relief that coursed through me when I’d driven away from that prison disguised as a high-end suburban home, knowing Mateo would no longer be beaten and battered by the man who should have loved him more than anything, gave me the strength to continue on.
After trying a few towns where the residents looked at us like alien outsiders, I grabbed a map from the interstate rest stop and marked all women’s shelters from my list and let Mateo point out the dot representing our new home. His chubby little finger had landed on the lakeside town of Garden Falls, TN. He’d thought the blue of the lake had looked pretty on the wrinkled paper.