Mangled Hearts: Francesca and Cade (Scarred Hearts)

by Felicia Tatum

  Mangled Hearts

  Francesca and Cade

  By

  Felicia Tatum

  This work is not to be reproduced, shared, or copied without my permission.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, and events are made up in my head, though things like this happen every day.

  Published by Felicia Tatum www.feliciatatum.com

  Edited by Jeanie Creech

  Cover Design by Samantha Bagood

  Copyright © 2013 Felicia Tatum

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1490519296

  ISBN-10: 1490519297

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the “Cade”s of the world. I hope you find your peace.

  Acknowledgements

  Cover Design by Samantha Bagood at CoverPub

  Editing by Jeanie Creech

  Super awesome beta reading by Mallory Thorpe

  I want to thank God, my family, friends, and all of my amazing readers who motivate, assist, and inspire me every day. My daughter is my ultimate inspiration, but you all are amazing and help me in more ways than you realize. This book has been really hard for me to write, not because it’s a bad story, but because some of it is based on real feelings, emotions. I hope you all enjoy it.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One-Francesca

  Chapter Two-Cade

  Chapter Three-Francesca

  Chapter Four-Cade

  Chapter Five-Francesca

  Chapter Six-Cade

  Chapter Seven-Francesca

  Chapter Eight-Cade

  Chapter Nine-Francesca

  Chapter Ten-Cade

  Chapter Eleven-Francesca

  Chapter Twelve-Cade

  Chapter Thirteen-Francesca

  Chapter Fourteen-Cade

  Chapter Fifteen-Francesca

  Chapter Sixteen-Cade

  Chapter Seventeen-Francesca

  Chapter Eighteen-Cade

  Chapter Nineteen-Francesca

  Chapter Twenty-Cade

  Chapter Twenty-One-Francesca

  Chapter Twenty-Two-Cade

  Chapter Twenty-Three-Francesca

  Chapter Twenty-Four-Cade

  Chapter Twenty-Five-Francesca

  Chapter Twenty-Six-Cade

  Chapter Twenty-Seven-Francesca

  Chapter Twenty-Eight-Cade

  Chapter Twenty-Nine-Francesca

  Chapter Thirty-Cade

  Chapter Thirty-One-Francesca

  Chapter Thirty-Two-Cade

  Chapter Thirty-Three-Francesca

  Chapter Thirty-Four-Cade

  Chapter Thirty-Five-Francesca

  Chapter Thirty-Six-Cade

  Chapter Thirty-Seven-Francesca

  Chapter One-Francesca

  The steaming hot water rolled down my skin, leaving a trail of red lines. I lathered the shampoo through my long, dark blonde hair. Closing my eyes, I let the lavender scent tickle my nose. Inhaling deeply, my lungs filled and my body relaxed. Continuing the gentle massage of my head, I thought about the past few years. The stress was consuming me to the point I missed much needed rest.

  I went through the same routine every morning. Nightmares tortured me throughout the night, reminding me of all that could have been. I woke with the memory fresh on my mind. The day that was forever etched in my brain; my best friend coming to break the heart-wrenching news to me, the world shattering before my eyes, and the blur that followed. My day always started with me in a tangle of blankets and covered in sweat. I would lie in my bed attempting to calm my fast beating heart until my breath would finally slow enough for me to get up and shower. At least I had a routine.

  I finished rinsing my hair and body, the suds covering me like a white, fluffy blanket. The water mixed in with my lingering tears, clearing my face of the night before.

  ###

  I hurried up the stairs of my building, tripping over my own feet and almost falling flat on my face. “Perfect,” I muttered as I gripped the handrail for support. I bent and slipped the too-high heels off. I usually took my shoes off in the office anyway, but they would have to come off little sooner than usual today. I rushed in the door, raising my hand to wave at the office assistant, Zander. He usually wanted me to stop and chat but I was running late. I slept too late, pushed snooze too many times, and spent too long in the shower trying to forget, and tripped over my own feet as I got dressed, so I was in a rush to get to the meeting with my boss.

  I flung my briefcase on my desk, sending papers flying. Groaning, I crawled around the floor picking them up. Pain shot through my head as I rammed it into the desk while attempting to stand. I rubbed the spot in a circle, trying to ease the intensity of the throbbing. I searched for the folder with my notes on the Archuleta case. Being unable to find it, I slumped in the chair, closed my eyes, and rubbed my temples. This was the worst Wednesday I’d ever had. Nothing seemed to be going right, and it was only 9 a.m.

  Being employed as a Worker’s Compensation lawyer for the last three years had been rough. Directly after graduating college with my B.S. in Business, I ran off to law school. I hoped being around new faces in a different town would help me forget. And I did for a brief period, but it didn’t last. After the graduation ceremony, I got a job with a firm back in my hometown, putting me right back where I started. Now I had a job I didn’t particularly like, mainly because they treated me like an intern. Most entry level lawyers were able to move up to the higher end cases after their second year, but not me. I was still stuck on the simple cases, and that frustrated me to no end. I was ready for the challenges that came with being a lawyer.

  Sighing, I opened the top drawer of my rusted desk to see if, by some miracle, the folder was in there. I shuffled the contents, gasping when I realized it was in my briefcase. Muttering obscenities to myself, I pulled the heavy leather case closer to my seat. The lock clicked as I popped it open to reveal the treasure. I laughed at myself as I opened the folder to ensure all needed papers were present. I moved my feet around under my desk, attempting to find my shoes. I got them on just in time to see my boss walk by on his way to our meeting. Jumping up, I slid the chair away from my desk and rounded the edge to get to the door.

  “Mr. Phillips,” I called, taking long strides to catch up. It wasn’t difficult because I was fairly tall for a woman. At five feet, eight inches, I generally stood well above other women. And some men. When I was younger I hated my height. It seemed that every boy I had a crush on was at least three inches shorter than me, making me feel extremely awkward for most of my teen years. Once I hit my twenties and grew in confidence, I didn’t mind it as much. If I was attracted to the man, height shouldn’t matter.

  “Ms. Taymon,” he said, nodding in acknowledgement.

  I smiled politely, and slid in step with him. “Good morning, sir. I was just on my way to our meeting for the Archuleta case.”

  “Yes, indeed. I am, too. Do you have everything ready?”

  I held the folder up for him to see, shaking it a bit. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. We have a conference call with the company at 11 a.m. This meeting needs to happen fast so we’re prepared.”

  Great. A conference call meant he would want to make our final offers today. We had a long meeting ahead of us, and I dreaded what would happen. The Archuleta case was about a woman that was injured while driving her company’s car to the post office. A semi-truck rammed into the driver’s side, completely crushing her. She had barely survived, and her spine had to be completely restructured. She was in a wheelchair
and her doctors seemed uncertain if she would ever walk again. Her company didn’t want to accommodate her new needs, nor did they want to pay the big settlement she deserved. The lawyers at J & B Law Firm were determined to get her the money she would need to survive.

  I wished I was the lawyer fighting in court, but I was only here to gather facts, numbers, and information. The case would definitely go to court, because the company felt they were getting the low end of the deal. How they figured they were getting the bad end, when Ms. Archuleta may never walk again, I didn’t know.

  “I’m ready, Mr. Phillips. I have all the information you asked for, and I made a few more notes with relevant facts and cases I came across while researching.”

  “You always do a thorough job, Francesca. Thank you. You may sit in on the conference call, if you’d like.”

  I nodded, a twinge of pain shooting through me. He said I could “sit in”, not participate. Once again, I was stuck on the sidelines.

  ###

  I listened intently during the call, though it drove me crazy not being able to chime in when I felt like it. I took notes, hoping to impress Mr. Phillips. I planned to discuss this with him during my next evaluation, but that was a few months away. After it was over, I gathered my stuff to take back to my office, including another folder with all the information I’d given Mr. Phillips. I made back-ups in case anything happened to his copies. I filed everything away in the proper places and pulled out my to-do list for the rest of the day. The conference call set me back a couple of hours, so I anticipated staying late tonight. The joys of being a lawyer were few and far between. At least in my current position.

  I scribbled down a short list of what I would need to do for the rest of the Archuleta case, put that paper in my to-do pile, and moved on to the next task. Researching old court cases was getting old for me, and I groaned as the list kept getting longer. I mumbled a few words when I heard a man clear his throat. My head snapped up, and my eyes widened in shock. Mr. Phillips stood a few feet from my desk with a smirk on his face. I never heard him come in, so I had no idea how long he had been there or what he heard.

  “Oh, Mr. Phillips,” I exclaimed as I stood hastily. My knee connected with the bottom of the desk, causing me to sharply inhale. “I apologize, sir. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  He laughed, “It’s alright, Francesca. You work hard, I appreciate that. I have a task for you, that’s why I’m here.”

  Hope soared through me. Could he be allowing me to work on a case as the actual lawyer? I couldn’t get too excited. I’d had my hopes and dreams crushed too many times before. “I’d be happy to help. What do you need?”

  “One of my close friends from college needs some help. His son has gotten himself into a bit of trouble and I told him we could help him out.”

  Intrigued, I prodded for more info. “Ok, sir. What exactly will you need me to do? Do you need research on something similar?”

  He shook his head, and my heart quickened. “No, Francesca. I want you working on the case.”

  My mouth fell open, but I quickly closed it. “Of course. I’d be happy to do it. Let me take notes.” I sat, and motioned for him to take a seat in front of me. “Go ahead, I’m ready.” My pen was poised and itching to write.

  “Well, first you should know this isn’t a worker’s comp case. I know that’s our specialty, but since he’s a friend I told him we would take it. His son got into a fight in a bar, and the owner pressed charges. Since his boy has gotten into a few fights before, not to mention more than a few tickets, the case will go to court. I just need you to review his record and make sure he doesn’t go to jail. He said he will agree to community service, but he doesn’t want his boy to do time.”

  I nodded. “Ok, and the name?”

  “His son’s name is Cade Kelling.”

  My heart stopped. The shaking of my hand caused the pen to fall and roll across the desk. I watched it make its way all the way to the edge, falling in slow motion to the floor. I’d stopped breathing. I gazed up at Mr. Phillips, trying to make words come out of my mouth. “Cade Kelling?” I choked out.

  “Yes, do you know him?”

  I nodded slightly. Oh, boy did I know him.

  Chapter Two-Cade

  My father continued to yell at me. I laid the phone down on the table, and went back to drinking my beer. My old man was annoying on a good day, but when I got in trouble, it multiplied in tenfold. “Cade, grow up. Cade, stop doing this stupid shit. Cade, I’m not bailing you out again.” I heard the same lectures and threats every time, yet he always got one of his big lawyer buddies to get me out of the bind. And he always sent money so I could survive. The threats were all empty, and didn’t mean anything to me anymore.

  I started sneaking his alcohol when I was ten, just for fun. By age thirteen, I was an alcoholic. I barely passed high school. My friends, if I could even call them that, only came around when they needed me to do something for them, which usually involved drugs or alcohol. Or money. Yeah, money was a big reason people contacted me. Only one person had ever cared, but I’d ruined that long ago.

  I picked up the phone, hearing silence. “You still there?” I asked.

  I heard a heavy sigh come from my father. “You didn’t listen to anything I said, did you?”

  “Can’t say that I did, Pops. I’m tired of hearing the same thing. Just send over that hot-shot jackass guy that’s gonna bail me out and let’s get it over with.”

  “Cade, they’re sending a young lady. Can you please be nice to her?” he asked, desperation in his voice.

  I smiled. A hot-shot lawyer lady. This could be fun for me. It had been awhile since I’d had a nice woman take me to bed, so I’d have to clean up before our meeting. “Yeah, Pops. I’ll be real nice to her. When’s the meeting?”

  “Her office assistant, Zander, will call you by the end of the day to set up a time. Be sure you answer.” He hung up before saying goodbye.

  I threw the phone down on the couch beside me. I leaned back, closing my eyes to savor the almost drunk high I was feeling. I wasn’t quite tipsy, but I was definitely on the verge. I sipped my drink, the liquid sliding down my throat. It didn’t sting like liquor, but it warmed me all over. I was on my eleventh of the day, and it was only a little after noon. Drinking numbed me all over. Helped rid all the emotions I didn’t want to feel from my body. Unfortunately, when the alcohol wore off, the feelings hit me like a Mack truck. So I did my best to keep it in me at all times. If that wasn’t enough, then I would add nerve pills. Between the two, I could forget everything around me. Swallowing the rest of the drink, I leaned my head back to rest until I got the dreaded phone call.

  ###

  The echoing of a fist on my door woke me from my drunken state. Rolling off the couch, I cursed whoever was on the other side of my door. Gripping the coffee table, I pulled myself to my feet. Stumbling forward, I yelled, “One second!”

  “Dammit, Cade! What is wrong with you?” I heard my father respond back.

  Damn. He was here. I flung the door open, holding my head. It throbbed like someone was inside beating it with a hammer. “What is it, Dad?”

  He pushed past me, causing me to fall back on the wall behind me. Kicking the door closed, I glared at his back. He knew the best way to piss me off, and seemed to be doing so on purpose.

  “You didn’t answer your phone. The firm called me saying Zander couldn’t get ahold of you. Can’t you do that one thing for me?” He stared at me accusingly.

  I didn’t say anything, only shrugged my shoulders.

  “Well, I made the appointment for you. Tomorrow at 9 a.m. Surely you can be sober that early?”

  “Dunno, Dad, Depends on how much I have tonight before I got to bed,” I smirked at him.

  He stomped to my kitchen, and before I knew what was happening, came rumbling back in the room with a pitcher of water. I was too unsteady to fight him off, and he drenched me in seconds. I shook the water off, clenching my fists. T
his wouldn’t be the first time I hit my dad, and if he kept this up, it wouldn’t be the last. I moved forward, but he bested me and pinned both my arms behind my back.

  “Listen to me, Cade. You are twenty-seven years old. It’s time to grow up. You’re going home with me; you’re going to sober up, and you’re going to be professional tomorrow at that meeting.” His fingers tightened around my upper arms, making me flinch in pain.

  Derek Kelling was stronger than most men, his build, one to rival a pro-wrestler. He stood at least four inches taller than my six foot, one inch frame. My younger brother, Cason, resembled him the most. Both possessed dark blonde hair and hazel eyes. Cason got his height, too. I think I looked more like my mother with brown hair and blue eyes. I regularly described my eyes as dull, though others have disagreed. The dullness reflected my life. Nothing really mattered. I disappointed most everyone I met. I wasn’t even sure it was worth going on.

  “Can you let me go, Pops?” I asked, venom dripping off my tongue. Being manhandled wasn’t a favorite pastime of mine. The current legal trouble I was in proved that.