Almost Innocent

C
opyright
© 2016 by Carina Adams

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locations or events is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Sommer Stein at Perfect Pear Creative

Cover Model Travis DesLaurier

Editing by Cassie at Joy Editing

Formatting by Leigh Stone at Formatting by Leigh

A
lmost Innocent touches
on a serious and heartbreaking issue that many people have to face on a daily basis.

Domestic Violence. Two words that bring out a mixture of emotions in me, from sadness to anger. No person, no matter what age, no matter what gender, should ever have to fear a person they love.

Yet, they do.

If you cannot read about domestic violence, cannot handle violence in literature, or are looking for a light and fluffy read,
this book is not for you
.

According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, one in three women and one in four men have been the victim of physical violence by an intimate partner. On average, nearly twenty people every minute are physically abused by their partner in America (NCADV.org). That equals to more than ten million men and women who are abused – every year.

It breaks my heart.

The truth is, we often don’t see it happening until it is too late. One minute, you are happy and in love, and the next you are telling yourself that he (or she) will never hit you again – it happened once, that’s it. You’re smart and you are strong and would never, ever stay with someone who hurts you. Then, before you know it, you are a person you no longer recognize. You’ve lost everyone you love because you made excuses for your partner and then isolated yourself from everyone who spoke a word against him (or her). You feel broken and alone.

If this is you, if you get to that point, I want you to do something for me. I want you to look in the mirror and know that you are not alone. You are never alone.

I would rescue you if I could. I can’t. You need to rescue yourself.

However, there are plenty of people out there that want to help you through this. For anonymous, confidential help, you can call the National Domestic Abuse hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (1-800-799-7233).

Sometimes, it isn’t you that’s being hurt, but a friend, and you feel helpless because you cannot get through to them. You can also call the hotline and ask for guidance on how to help save your loved one. They can be an ear to listen when no one else understands.

I share a lot about me – every time I write a book, I pour my heart and soul into the pages. Sometimes you are getting my story without even realizing it. There are parts of my life I don’t often talk about because I haven’t completely healed yet. I may never be able to talk about them.

However, I can tell you that there is a reason domestic violence awareness and prevention and child abuse awareness and prevention are so important to me. I’ve seen things that no one should ever see, and I’ve survived things that no one should ever have to endure. I want to live in a world where my children never know those pains and fears.

I’m one of the lucky ones now. My husband (for those of you who haven’t met him), is a foot taller and weighs twice what I do. He’s obnoxiously loud when he yells, but then again, so am I. I do not fear him. I don’t live with my stomach in knots wondering if he’s going to be angry that I’m late or that I burned dinner (God knows, I
always
burn dinner). He does not put his hands on me in anger. We are not perfect, but I am not afraid of him. There are kind men in this world!

The dedication for this book is for two very dear friends of mine. One who is still fighting to find her place in this world, one who is no longer with us. My hope is that women will read this book and say, “it’s time for me to leave.” Even if that doesn’t happen, I hope that I got through to someone.

I’m sorry if this book hurts you. I’m sorry if it is too painful to read. I’m sorry if it makes you cry. That was not my goal. I did want to paint a picture that shows what life can be like.

Men and women live those moments every day. Even if we don’t see it or want to pretend it doesn’t exist.

My heart is with them.

T
he day started relatively normal
. My alarm screamed at me at four thirty, tearing me from dreams I would never leave voluntarily. As soon as I stood, I threw my hair back into a ponytail, stepped into my sneakers, tucked in my earbuds, leashed Zahira, and ran out to greet daybreak. I hit the shower as soon as I got back, dressed to impress, then I dropped two slices of bread in the toaster before hurrying into the bathroom to dab on a little makeup.

Fifteen minutes later, I poured coffee into a travel mug and headed out the door, munching on burnt toast as my mind whirled over the list of things I still had to do. It was early, almost an hour before I definitely had to be on the road—something that never happened when my son was home—but I didn’t want to chance being late.

It was a big day for me. After months of trying to convince them I was good enough, and weeks of emails going back and forth, I had finally snagged a meeting with a literary agent. Well, a meeting at the firm that housed the best agents the written world had seen in years.

It was the only company of its kind in my home state, but convincing them to meet me took more than having the same area code. They were the real thing, the big deal. If they took me on as a client, I was almost guaranteed success as an author. They were that good.

Even though their office was in Bangor, three and a half hours from my house, and I’d have to make the journey often if things went well, you would never hear me complain. Technically, Boston was closer to me than Bangor. And there were agents in Boston.

But those agents didn’t carry the same clout as the SammWell Agency. Plus, my agent had to be someone local—someone who would, at least, have knowledge of the family I was writing about. I would have driven six hours each way for this once-in-a-lifetime chance. Distance wasn’t important when your dreams were finally almost within reach.

By the time I hit the first big town, an hour away from my house, I’d finished my giant coffee. Thirty minutes past that, I realized it had been a mistake not to stop when I’d had the chance. Another ten miles and my bladder informed me that if I didn’t find a bathroom soon, I’d arrive at my meeting soaking wet.

Annoyed with myself, I took the first exit that came and groaned when I realized where I was. When I had left this town, I knew I was never coming back. Not even to visit.

I rolled my eyes as I pulled into the parking lot of the first store I came to. Back home, I avoided shopping at what I called the Evil Empire at all costs. Here though, it would be the easiest place to get in and out without taking too long.

Hurrying through the large box store, I headed straight for the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with everyone, even the door greeter, and I sighed loudly with relief when I made it in time. I glanced at my reflection as I washed my hands, turning from side to side to make sure I still looked presentable. The bags under my eyes were almost completely concealed, and I hoped whoever I met with today didn’t notice them. Satisfied I didn’t look hideous, I hurried out, anxious to be on the road again.

My phone pinged, signaling a new text message, and I looked down, searching through the pain-in-the-ass gigantic bag that I called a purse. I didn’t slow my pace though, knowing I needed to get back to the car and on the road if I wanted to make sure I arrived early. Finally finding my iPhone, I yanked it out and swiped the screen so I could read the text.

I never saw him.

Instead, I barreled full speed into a wall of muscle, almost losing my footing as I stumbled backward. A strong hand closed around my upper arm as the gentleman in front of me steadied me. My head snapped back in surprise as my free hand landed on his chest, trying to use him to regain my balance.

The sincere apology died on my lips as my eyes met the light blue ones I saw every day but never thought I’d look into again. The eyes that haunted me. “When in the hell did you get out?”

The words were harsh, almost spit at him, and spoken on instinct alone. If my heart had given my head just one second to adapt to the surprise of seeing him, I might have been able to form a greeting that didn’t sound as though I was pissed to find him standing in front of me. Maybe not.

Declan Callaghan stared at me, eyes widening as realization hit him. “Little G,” he breathed, almost too quiet for me to hear. “Jesus, you’re still the most…” He trailed off and dropped my arm as if it were scorching him and stepped back, obviously putting distance between us. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “July. I got out in July.”

He could have offered a smile, a “Hey, how in the hell are ya?” But no. He treated me like a leper he was desperate to get away from. Considering everything that had happened, I guess that made sense.

Then his words sank in. July? My heart pounded so hard, I was positive he could see it. Four months? He’d been home for four freaking months?

“Seriously?” I snapped, unable to keep my anger in check.

His eyes searched my face for a moment before they narrowed on my neck, and I had no doubt he could see my pulse racing. Declan had always seen more than anyone else. At least when it came to me.

“You didn’t know,” he muttered.

I shook my head quickly, more to clear the fog invading my thoughts than to answer his pathetic statement of fact. Of course I didn’t know. Very few people in my life even knew I was connected to an infamous criminal, and the people who did obviously didn’t know he was out either.

Then I realized there were people who would have known and should have told me.

“I thought they told you.” His eyebrows knitted together before he jerked his head to the left, the scowl deepening. “It’s mandatory. The DOC sends a notification of release to all victims.”

Victim
. The word had me straightening up to my full height, all five feet two inches of it, and stepping back as I fisted my empty hand. Screw him. I couldn’t do this with him. I wouldn’t. Not again.

I turned to leave, but he moved faster than I did, sidestepping so that his enormous body blocked my path. “I know you hate that term.” He leaned down, growling the words into my ear, “It’s theirs. Not mine.”

Being close to him, smelling the crisp musk of his deodorant, was just too much. I couldn’t think, didn’t have the ability to process, and definitely couldn’t respond. Declan pulled away, staring down as if he was waiting for me to reply. Instead, I tipped my head back and let my eyes move over him, really seeing all of him for the first time in years.

God, he was just as handsome as he’d ever been.

His nose was centered and straight, leading to evenly spaced almond-shaped eyes under eyebrows that were so naturally perfect that they were the envy of every woman he knew. When he didn’t have whiskers covering them, I knew his high cheekbones, combined with his square chin, gave his face a roundness that seemed out of place but made him seem less dangerous than he was. His lips were thin enough to be manly but still full enough to make you want to kiss him. His teeth were straight, and if you were the girl lucky enough to receive a rare toothy grin from him, you knew you were special.

His skin was flawless, and I could tell it still stayed dark all year, as if he spent his days on the beach of an exotic island. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the person in front of me was in his mid-twenties, not actually a decade older than that. The damn man hadn’t aged a day since I’d seen him last—it was as if time had just stood still for him.

Some things hadn’t changed despite how long he’d been away.

Yet others had definitely not stayed the same. His dark brown hair was longer than I’d ever seen it, and greasier than the boy I knew would ever allow it to be. He had the top half pulled back, and I could clearly see his thick hoop earrings. His beard was full and wild instead of the neatly trimmed style he’d always worn in the winter.

His hair wasn’t the only thing that was different. The Callaghan brothers had always been larger than life. Over six feet three inches and two hundred twenty pounds each, they’d been a force to be reckoned with as young men. Yet Dec had always had a softness about him.

All adult now, Declan had obviously used some of his free time to tone and bulk up. His sleeves were pushed up on his forearms, giving me little peeks of his tattoos—a Celtic design ran down one arm and what looked like skulls filled the other. I let my gaze wander over them briefly, thinking how out of place they seemed on the boy I’d once known, and I wondered how much more ink he had. The dark maroon long-sleeved T-shirt he wore wasn’t tight, but it fit well enough to show me he was only hard muscle now.

As my gaze traveled upward, I found his lips twisted in a slight smirk as he watched me study him. Sudden embarrassment warmed my cheeks, and I chastised myself for ogling him. I just couldn’t believe he was there, standing right in front of me, so close I could touch him. It didn’t seem possible. I swallowed loudly but refused to look away.

“It must be a shock,” he practically whispered as his eyes bore into mine, reading much more than I wanted him to. Even after all these years, Declan could see right through me. “I’ve had months to get used to the idea, to understand that life is different now. It takes a minute to accept that things will never be like they used to.” His tongue trailed along his bottom lip. “You’ve done good, Gabby.”

I shook my head, feeling my face scrunch into a frown. “You don’t know the first thing about me anymore, Dec.” The fact that he thought he did, after all this time, pissed me off. Yet it also made me sad.

His lips moved quickly, and I caught a brief glimpse of his cocky smile. “Yeah, I do. Two masters’—education
and
social work—and now a tenured professor. I’m so fucking proud of you.” Then his face turned dark, and I had a glimpse of the dangerous man everyone else saw when they looked at him. A rational person would be intimidated, but I never had made my best choices when the Callaghan brothers were around. “You should watch the shit you put on your social media accounts.”

I glared at him, my hands moving to my hips. “My accounts are all locked down tight. I use every safety feature available. People only see what I want them to see.”

The bastard actually snorted. Then he sobered. “You being serious right now?” One look at my astonished face, and he shook his head. “If one of your friends”—he said the word as if it were dirty—“leaves a site up, without logging out, all your information is there for anyone to see. I used Fi’s account.”

My stomach knotted. “You’ve seen Fiona?”

Declan raised a single eyebrow and crossed his arms. “She is my sister.” He dropped his arms and shrugged as he glanced over my shoulder again, as if he was watching for someone. “Not everyone in my family hates me, Gabs. Some people were actually happy to have me home.”

His words made my heart hurt. I had no doubt that not a lot of people had welcomed him back with open arms. Suddenly memories that I’d pushed away for the better part of twelve years came surging forward, and dread washed over my body.

Forgetting everything else, I stepped into him, clutching his arm. “Why did you come back home, Declan? Are you even safe here?”

“You’re worried about me.” His face softened as he cupped my cheek.

The gesture was too intimate. I should have pulled away, but I couldn’t bring myself to.

When his eyes met mine, they were filled with concern. “This is my home, Little G. Where else would I go?”

He’d once been a boy filled with dreams and plans to get out of this shitty little town and see the world. Apparently that kid, and his ideologies was gone.

A throat cleared behind him made Declan stiffen slightly, but he didn’t remove his hand from my face. His wide shoulders blocked me from seeing whoever had joined us, but they also kept that person from seeing me. When Dec didn’t move, I realized it was because he didn’t want me seen. Kind of silly, considering we were in the middle of a walkway in a very crowded store.

“Boss?” A deep voice spoke quietly, “We got it.”

Declan didn’t spare the man a glance. He only nodded, keeping his eyes on me. “I’ll be right there.” His thumb moved up and down slowly and gently, as if he were touching the most beautiful silk that had ever existed. He leaned down again, getting on eye level with me. “You’re supposed to be afraid of me, Gabs, not afraid for me.”

I rolled my eyes, not caring what I was supposed to feel. “This is a dangerous place.”

“I know.” His eyes glistened and a look I couldn’t decipher drifted over his face. “You shouldn’t be here.” Before I could point out that he shouldn’t be here either, he dropped his hand and stepped away. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

His tone gave no room for argument, and a glance at the phone I’d forgotten was in my hand told me I was out of time anyway. I’d completely blown almost all of my wiggle room, and unless I left right then, I would be late for my meeting. I hurried to my car, the cold November wind whipping my hair about and sneaking through my North Face fleece, Declan one step behind me.

I turned back to him after I opened my door, unsure what to say. There was so much to tell him and no time to do it.

When I hesitated a moment too long, he shook his head as if reading my mind. “Good-bye, Gabby.”

His tone was so final that all I could do was mutter a farewell back. He waited until I was in and buckled before he shut my door, then he stood there watching until I drove out of the lot. I cranked the music, trying to ignore the thoughts that insisted on sneaking into my mind and focus on the meeting I had coming up.

I’d made it through three Adele songs when it hit me. He had said he’d stalked me on social media, talked about my degrees and my job, but he hadn’t said one word about the rest of my life. The most important part of my life.

I pulled up my frequent call list and tapped on the contact at the top.

Fiona answered on the second ring, and her voice came through my car’s speakers. “How is my favorite sister doing today? The boy is off to school fine, said he’d call you when he got home tonight. What time is your meeting?”