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

  Five Reasons To Go

  A Risky Hearts Duet

  Candace Knoebel

  Contents

  Five Reasons To Go

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Did You Enjoy FIVE REASONS TO GO?

  Also by Candace Knoebel

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people-living or dead, real locales is entirely coincidental and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Five Reasons To Go. Copyright © 2018 by Candace Knoebel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  Cover design by Candace Knoebel

  Interior book design by Sonya Loveday.

  Edited by Cynthia Shepp.

  First Edition

  Published by Candace Knoebel

  Created with Vellum

  Prologue

  Jessica

  Spicy musk consumed the small hallway.

  Tiny hairs along my arms stood at attention just before Hank stopped me on my way to the bathroom. He narrowed his chocolate gaze, nose scrunched, and then pointed to my lips. “What’s that?”

  My breath burned in my chest. He’d stopped me. He’d talked to me.

  “Lip gloss,” I’d managed to squeeze out while forcing myself not to bring my hand to my face.

  Hank worked for my father’s construction company, though he didn’t fit in the category of most of the men my dad worked with. Gray hadn’t touched the thick, black thatch of hair that swirled atop his head. Tendrils I’d dreamed about running my fingers through.

  Dad had taken him under his wing years ago when he’d found a young Hank wandering the city streets, looking for his next meal. For years, I covertly stole glances of him across the dinner table, barely able to peer up through my lashes at the handsome man way out of my league. The experienced hands that would always go for seconds of my mother’s spaghetti. Grit under his nails and in his voice. But it wasn’t until I turned seventeen that he’d taken notice of me, however small.

  The small grin that shadowed the corners of his mouth caught me in the center of my chest. Riled the barrel of butterflies in my stomach.

  “Lip gloss,” he repeated, searching my eyes. “Are you going somewhere?”

  As if I could. Mom rarely let me out of the house. I shook my head, gaze shying from his.

  “Then why wear it?”

  When I finally met his stare, which had been amused and somewhat risky, I realized I didn’t have to tell him why. Nor why I’d been wearing it for the last few weeks whenever my mother said he’d be at dinner. I wore shorter shorts. Curled my hair. Cut my shirts so they hung off my shoulders, exposing my collarbone.

  It drove all the boys wild. I was aware of the effect I had on them. It was why I had no trouble obtaining a boyfriend when I wanted one. I was stubborn in that way. When I wanted something, I went for it, no matter the cost.

  But my usual tricks hadn’t worked on Hank.

  He ruffled my hair and then chuckled as he walked past me. Mortification painted my skin in flames of red when he disappeared into the bathroom, the slighted sounds pointing fingers my way. I hated being viewed as a child when the woman deep within my bones begged to be released. I was no stranger to touching. I’d been with boys before.

  But not with a man.

  Not with someone who knew where to kiss me.

  Unable to face him after that, I didn’t come down for dinner. I hid in my room with the radio blasting pop music loud enough to cover my thoughts.

  All my attempts to be noticed were thwarted by a single hand mussing up my hair. A teasing chuckle. My body ached with a restlessness I didn’t understand. Phantom hands brushing my skin with desire. Heat stirring in places untouched.

  Time took in a large yawn as scattered steps trudged down the hallway. The clock on my nightstand blinked sluggishly. It was nearing bedtime. I lay on my stomach underneath the soft glittering lights pinned to my wall, circling prom dresses in a magazine. Bedtime was the only time I had to myself, free from prying eyes. Mom always tucked herself in with a heavy helping of sleep medicine, while Dad usually fell asleep in his recliner in front of the television.

  When a knock banged against my door, I shoved the magazine under my blanket and laid on my side, feigning sleep.

  The steps shifted, wood creaking under the weight. “I know you’re not asleep.” My hairline prickled. It was his voice, the notes deep and playful. “Meet me up top.”

  I shot up from the bed, then peered through the crack of my door. Caught his shadowed form slipping out the window next to the fire escape that headed up to the rooftop. Quietly, I shut my door behind me. I couldn’t risk my parents knowing I wasn’t in my room. Mom would lock me in at night if she caught me. She always lectured me about my future. Keeping me from the normal things people my age did. Coddling me.

  I couldn’t wait to be free and on my own.

  Slipping my legs over the ledge of the window, I pressed my foot against the metal grate, and then pushed off until I stood just below Hank’s trailing steps. The rooftop was two floors above our apartment. A daunting Neverland I’d yet to visit.

  Clinging to the handle, my heart rattled against my chest. I’d never been out here before. On a school night, no less. But I had an ache to be sated, and fear had never stopped me before.

  Hank sat on the ledge, feet dangling over the edge. His gaze focused on the empty streets below. His form shadowed under the moon’s waning light.

  I moved forward, steps hesitant, clutching my elbow to my side. What am I doing? The air was warmer than usual, sweat already beading along my forehead. A certain danger carried on the faint breeze.

  It wasn’t odd for Hank to still be here, at my house. To my parents, he was a stray taken in. An adopted son. Off limits to me. Some nights, he’d stay over and ride to work with my dad. Others, he’d come up to the roof doing God knows what before disappearing later.

  He turned when he heard my approach, a cocky smile to his lips. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  My hands wrung together. “It seems you thought wrong.”

  My brazen words didn’t fit my awkward stance, so I
straightened my shoulders, counterfeit confidence pressing its way up my spine.

  “Come. Sit.” He patted the ledge beside him.

  I walked closer. Peered over the side, and then took a step back.

  He chuckled, deeper this time. “Scared?”

  My head dipped, giving away my truth before I could stop it.

  “I thought blackbirds weren’t afraid of heights.”

  My face scrunched, the distant sounds of sirens braiding with car horns and the random howling of voices. We were front row to New York’s symphony—a glittery veil of lights our backdrop.

  “I hear you sometimes humming to yourself. Always singing, my little blackbird.”

  Tipping his head to the side, he captured me with his stare. I couldn’t explain the warmth that spread to foreign places within my body at hearing his endearment. At being labeled his.

  Getting up, he pointed to the block of concrete in motion for me to sit. I did, my nerves more charged than the city lights when he sat beside me. He was feet upon feet of solid male. Paws for hands. Muscles thick and heavy like the weights in my dad’s office he never used.

  I’d never been this close to Hank before. To any man this age. He smelled like sweat and liquor, and my lips began to tingle. My heart vibrating.

  “Have you ever been kissed, blackbird?”

  “Yes.” The lone word leapt off my lips, hauling the memory of every kiss I ever gave.

  I didn’t move an inch. Barely took a breath. I’d never seen the moon touch a man’s skin like this. The way the silver hue curved around his jawline, softening his features. The shadows expanding the vortex of his pupils. It was a beautiful contradiction of soft and hard. Light and dark.

  “That’s good,” he said, his smile somewhat predatory. “By who?”

  “Boys.” I kept my attention on him even though every part of me was a stuttering mess of nerves. I didn’t want to be seen as a child, so I would change his opinion.

  A lone eyebrow raised. “Plural, huh?”

  “Yes.” I eased into myself, palms flat against the rough concrete. Feet swinging back and forth. “I like kissing. I’m good at it.”

  He chuckled. “How do you know?”

  “I haven’t had a complaint yet.”

  His grin spread. He lifted his flask, took a swig, and then he offered it to me. “Have you ever had a drink?”

  I stared at the round rim where his lips had just touched, still warm, and my heart pattered off-kilter. He pushed it closer, insisting, unaware of the internal war raging inside me. I knew I needed to run back to my room where my fantasies were kept safe behind the bubble of innocence, but another side of me, the woman scratching for the surface, kept me firmly planted in this moment.

  With a shaky inhale, I took the flask and downed a big gulp. Started coughing as soon as the liquid spread like fire down my throat.

  Rich notes of laughter pecked at the night. If only I could freeze that sound. The deep baritone rushing past his lips. “I take that as a no?”

  With the back of my hand, I wiped my mouth and smiled as the liquid loosened my limbs, leaning me into him.

  “Do you have a boyfriend, blackbird?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like boys my age.” The tension became palpable between us with my admission. It was dangerous and exhilarating. Crackling and swirling like an unattended livewire.

  His head swayed side to side as he swallowed my comment. “Yeah… you’re right. They’re all little shits. But, one day, when you’re older, that will change.”

  I ran my hands over my skirt, a lick of fire racing up my spine. “You know I’m not a child, right? I know things.”

  “You know things?” he repeated, again with a chuckle. “And what do you know, Jessica?”

  It was the first time he’d ever said my name like that. Drawing out the ah that coursed over my skin like the rough touch of greedy fingers. Desire unspooled in my belly. My innocence tiptoed forward, a little more curious. A little more pliant.

  A summery recklessness awoke inside my veins, stirred from the alcohol. I leaned into him, determined to prove myself, adrenaline and hunger streaming through my body. Lips puckered, eyes closed, praying he didn’t laugh.

  There was a long moment of nothing. The backs of my eyelids silenced my sight. My lungs constricted, bracing for the impact of this moment. Of what it could be. What it could mean.

  I took in a sharp breath of air, and then color burst behind my lids as his lips brushed over mine. His tongue moved unhurriedly, tasting, commanding mine to slow. When I did, his hand slid behind my neck and tugged, inviting me closer. My lips vibrated with a pinging awareness, matching his movements. His whiskers grazed my chin like sandpaper against porcelain.

  The hotness of his tongue dove deeper, twirling around mine. My fingers grew restless, reaching for the locks of hair I yearned to touch. A hot, eager hunger rippled through my veins.

  I melted into him. Against him.

  And then he was gone, licking his lips, laughing to himself.

  My eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you laughing?” My demand, full of agitation, didn’t match my wobbling legs when I stood. They bent and swayed beneath me as I fought to ground myself.

  “Sit,” he said when he realized I was angry. I attempted to pull away, but he tugged me down to him. “Easy, blackbird. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because of you.”

  Crossing my arms, my eyebrows dug farther down. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” A pause before he turned to study me. “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “I know.”

  “To touch you is a sin.”

  I shuddered at the thought of his lips on my skin. From the way he swallowed me whole in his gaze. I wanted him. Wanted that. “It isn’t if I want you to,” I said, almost pleading. “I’m nearly eighteen.” I was months away, but that didn’t matter. How much would I change in those few months?

  His gaze softened, rounded with strain. “Jessica…”

  I grabbed his hand, pulling it to my breast. My mind spiraled with sensations as I moved his palm around, showing him I knew what I was doing.

  His eyes closed, a groan escaping past his lips.

  “We can’t…” His words a mere whisper, as slight as his attempt to pull away. But I wouldn’t let go. I was crazed with need. It pulsated off me in thick waves, intoxicating the air.

  A moment later, I was beneath him, his weight crushing mine as our lips fought to learn one another. As I tried to keep up.

  That night… I became a woman. I gave what I wanted, and he took what he needed.

  The only thing was… neither of us had been prepared.

  Hank didn’t come around much after that night. It seemed like he was ashamed. I attempted to contact him. I even showed up after work on one of his job sites, but all I got was him ushering me off the property, telling me not to come around anymore. Telling me I was a mistake. That I needed to forget it and act like it never happened.

  It wasn’t until almost two months later that my mother started to look at me funny. My appetite had drastically decreased. I was ill in the mornings. I thought my sickness was from his rejection. Thought my inappetence a result of my naivety. My innocence I had been so careless with.

  I was wrong.

  After another morning of losing the battle with my stomach, my mother ushered me to the doctor. And when the results came back that I was pregnant, the first thing I received from her was a hard smack to the cheek.

  Her words were etched in my mind forever.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Jessica. How could you stoop so low? How could you ruin yourself? Your life?”

  I couldn’t see her through the tears. Through the sharp pain in my cheek. “I’m sorry, Momma,” I cried, my stomach sloshing, acid surging up the back of my throat.

  “You will be when your father finds out,” she said as we drove home.


  That night, I stood on their doorstep with nothing more than a half-packed suitcase in my hand and a couple of hundred dollars my dad had slipped to me when Mom wasn’t looking. My future was crippled and dark. Lost in a foggy haze I didn’t know how to begin to weed through.

  Because I wouldn’t name the father, I couldn’t live under their roof. If I was grown enough to make those decisions, then I was grown enough to have the child on my own.

  I spent the latter half of the night asleep on the subway, head resting on the hard shell of my suitcase. The next morning, I found Hank leaving his apartment, kissing some woman goodbye. Alarm widened his features when he noticed me.

  “What are you doing here?” he hissed, pulling me away as the woman eyed me suspiciously.

  My cheeks burned, eyes straining to stay open. “Please,” I begged him to stop.

  “You can’t be here. I already told you.”

  “I’m pregnant.” Tears streaming down my face, I dropped to my knees on the sidewalk. “I’ve got… I’ve got nowhere to go,” I said in between sniffles.

  He pulled me to my feet, nearly dragging me into his apartment to get me away from onlookers.

  After we were inside and the door was shut, he sat me in a chair and stood in front of me. “Who’s the father?”

  His words slapped my face. “You,” I said in between sobs.

  He raked an angry hand through his hair. “You’re sure?”