A Heart to Heal Read online

  A Heart to Heal

  Synithia Williams, author of You Can’t Plan Love and Worth the Wait

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Synithia Williams

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-6659-3

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6659-2

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-6660-7

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6660-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com; istockphoto.com/Squaredpixels

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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

  About the Author

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  Also Available

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my editor, Jennifer Lawler, for taking a chance on my first book. I cannot tell you how glad I am that you liked my novel. Thank you to my wonderful critique partners: Ester, M.J. Kane, Danita Reese, and Terry Newman. You ladies have helped make my novels shine. Much love to my beta readers: Ashley Harmon, Natoya Taylor, Nancy Nicholson, Jamelah Wright, and Tamara King. I appreciate all of the love and support you ladies have shown. A huge thank you to the new readers who’ve take the time out of their day to tell me via email, Facebook, or Twitter that you’ve read and enjoyed my stories. You guys have often made me smile on a dreary day. And finally, again, thank you to my wonderful husband. I couldn’t do this without you.

  Chapter 1

  “Well, it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s as good as you’ll get.”

  Shayla Monroe ignored her mom’s comment and dropped a box of her belongings on the old hardwood floor. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that Marcella Monroe wanted her to know how lucky she was to have any place to stay. She suppressed a groan and took in her surroundings. As if coming home with a tarnished reputation wasn’t bad enough, she had to live here. The tiny house barely knocked on the door of 1,000 square feet and consisted of a living area, small kitchen, one bedroom, and a bathroom with a tub.

  No shower. Just a tub.

  It was a far cry from the spacious apartment she’d had. Atlanta was a large city, but when you created a scandal, it wasn’t large enough. Shaking aside the regret she constantly lived with, she walked over and took the box her mom was carrying and placed it on the floor.

  She cringed after dusting her hands on her jeans. They were once the epitome of style, now they were reduced to a dust rag.

  “The house is fine, Mom. I’m glad Mr. Porter was willing to let me rent it.”

  The frown line between her mom’s eyebrows deepened, blending in with the other worry lines on her tan skin. “Yes, well, he did it as a favor to me. Remember that before you invite anyone over.”

  Shayla bit the inside of her cheek. Her plan was to hide out here for a few weeks, not throw a party. But it would be a waste of breath to say that out loud. “I won’t have company.”

  Her mom lifted one large shoulder as if what Shayla said didn’t matter. “Just remember, the house is owned by a church deacon.” Marcella turned away. “Did you see the kitchen?”

  She didn’t answer because her mother’s question didn’t require a response. They both knew she’d walked through the house with Mr. Porter the day before. His acidic tone and accusing eyes were just as scorching as they’d been when she was in high school. He was one of the many people she’d hoped to never see again when she left Helena, South Carolina after high school. Instead, she had to return home disgraced and needing help from those who weren’t happy to give it.

  Her mom shuffled through the small kitchen and adjoining hall into Shayla’s bedroom. “If you paint this room a lighter color, it’ll brighten things up. Just be sure to get the okay from Mr. Porter first.”

  Shayla walked from the living area into the connected bedroom. Marcella spared her a fleeting glace before turning away. She ignored the pain. Her mom hadn’t made eye contact with her since she wore pigtails.

  Shayla walked over to the king bed and ran her hand along the cream and gold bedspread. The bed took up most of the small room, but she refused to give up all her luxuries. With a defiant stare at her mom’s averted face she said, “I think I’ll paint the walls red.”

  Marcella scowled, but didn’t rise to the bait. “On second thought, I’ll go to the hardware store later and pick up some paint swatches. If Mr. Porter agrees to one, your brother can paint.”

  “I can paint my own room.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Kenny can do it.”

  Shayla sighed and rolled her eyes. “Kenny has classes. I can do it. It’ll keep me busy until I find a job.”

  Marcella’s gaze skirted to her for a second. “Hmmm, well maybe it is a good idea for you to stay occupied.”

  Shayla’s lips pressed into a thin line. After a lifetime of her mom’s accusatory tone it still grated her nerves. There would be a huge scarlet letter on her chest if her mom, family, and neighbors had their way. She wasn’t the first person to have an affair end badly — okay, horribly — and she wouldn’t be the last. No need to waste her breath trying to explain the truth behind the situation. The good folks of Helena always preferred thinking the worst about her.

  Hopefully someone else in town would cause a scandal and everyone would forget about the harlot in their midst. Or she’d find a job in Columbia or Charlotte and hightail her ass out of here as soon as possible.

  “Yo, mama, where ya’ll at!” Her brother’s voice boomed through the small house.

  Her mom smiled as she hurried out of Shayla’s bedroom into the living room. Shayla followed, and leaned against the connecting door to watch her brother drag her luggage in the house. Kenny was twenty-nine, six years younger than her and still living at home. He’d been going to the local technical college for the past six years with no major or graduation date in sight. As long as he attempted school her mom let him stay rent free. Probably the reason he stayed in school.

  His beefy shoulders bunched and he lifted her bags as if they weighed nothing. “Where you want this stuff to go, Shay?”

  She pointed over her shoulder. “In the bedroom.”

  Kenny tipped his bald head up in answer just as his best friend Bobby slithered through the front door. He’d
trailed her brother everywhere since grade school.

  “Alright, let me check out where I’ll be staying.” Bobby said rubbing his thin hands together.

  She sucked her teeth and glared at Bobby. He’d been an annoying horny teenager that had grown into an annoying horny adult. While most people in town talked about her behind her back; the day before Bobby brought up the reason for her flight from Atlanta, then outright propositioned her in her mom’s kitchen. He’d laughed when she’d slapped his face and stormed out. There was no need to tell anyone what a jerk he’d been. Her mom would say she deserved it, and Kenny shrugged off his friend’s behavior as teasing the way he shrugged off most things.

  Shayla glared at Bobby. “I never invited you into my home.”

  His beady eyed gaze traveled over her. “Not yet.”

  Kenny shoved a bag at Bobby. “Quit playing, man. C’mon and help me put this stuff up.”

  Shayla stepped back as they passed, but not fast enough to prevent Bobby from “accidentally” brushing against her breasts. When she glared at him, he smirked. Her face flushed as anger and humiliation warred within her. Bobby was an ass, but his juvenile action was something she’d dealt with longer than she could remember. She’d come to accept that her figure presented an open invitation for touches from creeps like him.

  She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. It was time to get everyone out of her space. “Is that everything?”

  Her brother put the bags on the floor. “Yeah, that’s it. Do you need us to do anything else?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Cool, then we’re out. C’mon Bobby.”

  Bobby stopped in front of Shayla and eyed her from head to toe. “You sure you don’t need me to work on your pipes?”

  She held up her hand. “That line is older than both of us. Get out of my face.”

  Kenny burst out laughing. Bobby looked at Kenny before turning back to her and shrugging. “Like it really takes more than an old line to hook up with you.”

  She balled her fist and took a step forward. Bobby’s smirk fell and he rushed out the door. Kenny gave her an apologetic look, then followed.

  Marcella walked to the door. “Don’t get mad at Bobby. Until you clean up your act, you’ll only get more taunts like that.”

  Shayla’s shoulders stiffened. “That was uncalled for.”

  Her mom raised an eyebrow as she looked over Shayla’s jeans and tank top. “Maybe if you didn’t walk around with all of your stuff out.”

  Shayla bit her tongue and counted to three. This was her mother and she wouldn’t curse her out. “What I’m wearing is fine. Bobby is just an ass … I mean, jerk.”

  Her mom lifted a shoulder. “I’m just trying to give you some advice. But you’re just like your daddy. Always thinking you’re right, but never wanting to do what’s right.” Her eyes focused on Shayla’s forehead. “You need anything else?”

  She was surprised it had taken this long before her mom compared her to her absent father. Her return home was further proof to her mother that she was as big of a screw up as her father.

  Shayla shook her head. “No, I’m going to start unpacking.”

  Marcella hurried out the door and Shayla followed. “Well, if you don’t need any help, I’ll head home.” She stopped on the front porch. “I’m frying chicken for dinner. Are you coming over to eat?”

  “I’ve got so much to do here. I’ll just microwave something.”

  Her mom nodded. “Do what you want. I’ll leave a plate on the stove if you change your mind.”

  Shayla didn’t comment and watched her mom go down the porch steps to her car. Only four houses separated them and her mom still drove the distance. She went back into the house and leaned against the door, facing the inside. Every room connected to the other and visible from the front door. Nowhere to hide.

  She tapped her hand on her leg. One stupid decision and her career in public relations, stylish lifestyle, and hopes for the future were all down the drain. Her other hand came up to touch the small gold heart charm she wore around her neck, a gift to herself. It was supposed to be a reminder that self-love was important. Instead it reminded her that she had a long way to go to achieve that goal. With so many regrets, it was hard to find something worth liking, much less loving.

  With a quick shake of her head she pushed away from the door. She had to get out before she succumbed to the pity party lurking in her subconscious. If she sat in the confined space Mr. Porter called a house, she’d lose her mind. Grabbing a bag off the floor of her bedroom, she rummaged through it until she found a pair of running shorts and a sports bra. In less than five minutes she was changed and out of her front door, jogging down the street.

  The warmth of an early September afternoon caressed her skin. Neighbors sat on porches and kids tossed a football in the street. The hometown scene should have comforted her. Instead it made her anxious as she felt the gazes of her neighbors watching her run. Maybe it was narcissistic, but she guessed they were clucking their tongues about her. Her Aunt Linda and her mom’s neighbor sat on her mom’s porch. She smiled and they waved before huddling together to whisper behind their hands. This scene was repeated on her way out of the neighborhood. Fake smiles and hushed conversations. In the years since she’d left nothing had changed. The citizens of this small town loved a story, and unfortunately her shameful homecoming was the most recent one.

  The tension didn’t leave her shoulders until she was out of her neighborhood and passing through Hangman’s Woods, a nature preserve in the outskirts of town with biking and hiking trails. Bittersweet memories assailed her as she passed though the gravel parking lot and into the entrance of the woods. The familiar comfort that came from the muffled sounds of her feet falling along the path, the rustle of the wind in trees, and birds chirping erased the last vestiges of anxiety from earlier. It was funny that after avoiding Helena for all of her adult life, the comfort she got from these woods was still there.

  The park was the one place she’d found shelter and solitude growing up. The last time she’d come here was right after graduation, heady from the excitement of the coming freedom of leaving behind everyone and everything in Helena that boxed her in. No one looked for her there that night. Only one person knew about her hiding place, and he’d stopped looking for her after she’d fucked up their relationship in true Monroe fashion.

  As if the memory pulled her, she continued toward the path she’d been on that night. She should have learned her lesson about bad men and dramatic relationships after her disastrous screw up in high school, but no matter what, she could be counted on to fall for a loser. Former Atlanta councilman, Mark Reed, was the last in a line of bad choices.

  It was time to take a break from men and reevaluate the belief that she’d held any type of power in her relationships. Psychologists probably had a name for whatever attracted to her to sorry men. Fool for a nice smile-itis or something similar.

  With a determined huff she picked up the pace. When she rounded a bend her steps faltered. Tripping over her feet she fell onto her knees. This could not be happing. It was too cliché for the one person she hoped to avoid during her short stint in town to be in the once place she sought refuge. But sure enough, Devin Jones, the guy she’d loved with all of her teenage heart, stared at her as if she were an apparition.

  She’d avoided seeing him after graduation, then to her utter embarrassment, had to face his disapproving stare twice over the past year. Once at a party when she’d been with Mark, and then at a reception celebrating the marriage of her best friend Tasha Smith to his best friend Jared Patterson. They’d avoided each other during the entire party. His dislike still hurt after all these years, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t deserve it.

  The man looked better every time she saw him. Golden skin over high cheekbones, a straight nose and a fu
ll lower lip that used to send her teenage hormones into overdrive. He’d always been tall and thin, but now his body was all man. Wide shoulders, sinewy arms and legs shown off to perfection in an Under Armor running shirt and basketball shorts. Heat from embarrassment and desire ran through her body.

  She quickly tried to stand. A sharp pain shot through her ankle. With a wince, she fell back. Devin shook his head as if to clear it before rushing over to her side.

  “Shayla, are you okay?” His long fingers gently gripped her ankle.

  She nodded and tried to ignore pleasure vibrating through her body just from his touch. “Just embarrassed. I must have tripped on something.”

  He looked at the clear trail before one corner of his mouth lifted. “Those leaves can be pretty cumbersome.”

  Her breath rushed out in a nervous laugh. “Maybe you can sign my petition to have something done about the hazardous leaves in Hangman’s Woods.”

  Eyes the color of whisky, smoky brown with golden tones, met hers. Something stirred in their depths before he cleared his throat and looked at her ankle.

  He pressed gently and she sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  “My ankle?”

  He shook his head. “No, the leaves.” He smiled at her. It was the first friendly smile she’d gotten since returning home and warmth filled her chest. “Your ankle, on the other hand, is swelling.”

  She frowned. “Really?” She tried to pull her leg away but he increased the pressure. His touch was firm but gentle. Desire rippled through her as she imagined him pinning her in other ways.

  “Really.” His hand flexed before slightly moving up her leg.

  She squirmed and bit the inside of her cheek. They were close enough that she could see his pulse jumping at the base of his neck and she watched his Adam’s apple move enticingly as he swallowed.

  He stood briskly and held out a hand. “I’ll take you to my office and wrap it up.”

  “There’s no need for that. I don’t live far from here.”