A Dangerous Thing Called Love (Matters Of The Heart #1)

Prologue

Zena had never been arrested.

But it was nothing like what she had seen on TV or what Tate had described.

One minute, they were cruising in his new Dodge Charger, with Pac’s “Hit Em’ Up” playing.

The next, red and blue lights flashed behind them.

They had just crossed the North Carolina border when the State Trooper who’d been trailing them for miles finally hit his siren.

When their plates came back stolen, there was no discussion.

They were cuffed and driven to the county jail before they could even blink.

Now she sat in a hardwood chair beside Officer Moore’s cluttered desk, staring at the worn tile floor. Her ass had gone numb an hour ago. She didn’t complain. She knew she could be in a cell.

Moore turned out to be kinder than she expected, and she suspected her father had a hand in that. Even hundreds of miles from home, Franklin Rivers had reach.

“Your father is here, young lady,” Officer Moore said, his accent thick and deep.

She tensed and looked up.

Her father stood at the door with a weary, intimidating gaze. He was dressed in his usual expensive work attire: a tailored navy-blue suit and a crisp white button-up.

“Come on.” His fingers motioned once. “I have a meeting later, and I can’t be late.”

Her eyes swept the station. “What about Tate?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go get yo’ ass in the car, Zena.”

She rolled her eyes and walked out.

She didn’t see what happened next, but she knew how her father handled business. Her father would shake Moore’s hand, and somewhere in that handshake, a few folded hundreds would change hands. Just like that, no arrest would appear on her record.

Franklin climbed in, pulled out of the station, and drove towards the highway. For the first hour, neither of them spoke. The silence inside the truck is as thick as molasses.

“I can explain,” she finally said.

“I don’t want to hear it.” He didn’t look at her. “Ever since your mother passed away, you have been…”

“Just say it.” She felt heat rise in her chest. “Acting out? Is that what you think of me for chasing my dreams?” How dare he speak of her mother? Or her behavior, for that matter. She was fucking grieving.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You call this chasing a dream? Riding in a stolen vehicle with a boy you are way too fucking good for?”

“I was trying to get to Atlanta; it was an American Idol audition.”

A pause.

His voice dropped. "You could have already been in Atlanta. Why couldn’t you just tell me that?”

“So, you can control it?” She folded her arms. “Or just talk about how I should have gone to college. You only listen to yourself.”

His grip tightened on the wheel. “Where have you been staying?”

“Richmond.” She kept her eyes on the window, watching the county landmark bleed into the highway. “Why?”

“Just making conversation, that’s all. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Six months. It had been six months since he put her out.

“Hmm…you could've called. You know phones work both ways.”

“Seems like you only call me for money now. Or to get you out of something that boy dragged you into.”

“Fine. I won’t call you at all then.”

“That’s not what I'm saying.” His voice shifted, softer than she expected. “I’m your father. At least ask me how I'm doing before asking me for shit.”

“Sure, Dad.” Her voice was flat. “How are you?”

The truck went quiet again.

“It’s not about singing,” he said, eyes cutting to her face for a moment. “It’s the industry. They chew up girls like you. You're young. Impressionable. They chew up girls like you. Then it’s him. It seems like he just consumes you. If it’s not about singing, then it’s him.”

“You don’t know shit about me!” She seethed.

He slammed on the brakes. Her body jerked forward.

“Watch your fucking mouth!”

“IT’S TRUE!” The words came out of her, louder than she meant them to be. “YOU STOPPED GIVING A SHIT ABOUT ME THE MOMENT MAMA DIED!”

The words hung in the cab of the truck.

Franklin pressed his lips together, turned his attention back to the road, and reached for the radio’s volume knob.

Hours later, Franklin pulled into the house’s driveway, killing the engine. He looked over at her. He reached into his pocket and placed a set of keys on the center console. The keys to her BMW. The one he took from her and had been holding hostage since he put her out.

“After this,” he said quietly. “Don’t call me anymore. Not unless you let that boy go and drop this singing thing. Then we can talk.” He paused. “There’s money in the glove box.”

She stared at the keys. "That's it?”

He got out without answering. She watched him walk to the front door. Heard the screen door squeak loudly before slamming shut.

She sat quietly for a long moment. This is how her father loved. Money instead of words. He’d done it her whole life, doing just enough to say he was a providing father but never one who she could expect a hug from after a long day.

But not Tate. Tate had held her while she cried and even sat with her through her grief, but her father ignored her.

Her friends from private school sent flowers and disappeared.

Her closest cousin was too wrapped up in her own world to notice Zena had gone silent.

The family members who came to the funeral left just as fast once word got around that Franklin wasn’t releasing the life insurance.

After her mother was lowered into the ground, everybody just expected her to move on. She couldn’t. Her mother had been her number one fan, her safe place.

She thought about the Playbill and photos she’d found as a little girl, tucked in the back of her mother's closet. The large, bold letters read, “Howard University Presents: The Wiz,” starring Angela Rivers as Dorothy. Her mother’s face in those photos looked nothing like the women Zena grew up watching.

She looked so happy and so full of life.

They never talked about it directly. But every year they took the train to New York to see a show, just the two of them, and Zena noticed how her mother’s eyes would light up. Franklin never came and never asked.

She used to wonder who her mother might have been if she hadn’t gotten pregnant with her and married her father.

She probably would have seen her name in bright lights and lived the life of her wildest dreams. Zena would have wanted that for her…

even if it meant she wouldn’t have been born.

Her mother deserved to choose herself for once.

After a few minutes, she picked up the keys. Slid into the BMW, backed out of the driveway, and didn’t look back.

She made herself one promise. She would never call her father for anything else again. She would never need to be saved again.

She was going to make it, not for him but for the woman her mother never got to be and for herself.