Courage to Love Again

by Kimberly Brown

Genres: African American Mystery & Detective; African American Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Months after meeting a kind gentleman on the most embarrassing night of her life, a newly divorced woman gains the courage to reclaim her life and explore newfound love with the perfect stranger in this enthralling romance, perfect for fans of Kennedy Ryan.

Pascha St. Claire has nothing to live for.

After five years, her once-loving husband, Raymond, decides to end their marriage. He’s unable to deal with her mental health, significant weight gain, or the idea that she cannot seem to birth him a child. She returns home one night to find her belongings on the curb and the locks to her home changed. Her pleading falls on deaf ears as Raymond has made the decision to end their marriage. With no other option, Pascha is forced to leave and never look back.

When Callum Ellis accepted the reservation for his car service, the last thing he expected was to pick up a beautiful, weeping stranger. His heart goes out to her as he drops her off at a hotel. After discovering her credit cards have been canceled, Callum swoops in to pay for her stay. Though she wants to protest, Pascha realizes she is in no position to decline the stranger’s generous offer.

Months roll by and Callum is still unable to get Pascha out of his head. A chance encounter finally lands him in her presence, and Callum is determined to make the most of it. Though she initially declines his interest, Pascha soon finds herself intrigued by the once-kind stranger. Fear has her recoiling at his advances, but men like Callum come to restore. Will Pascha continue to avoid the inevitable, or does she find the courage to love again?

Release date: April 23, 2024

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

Chapter One

Pasha

I sighed heavily as I pulled into my driveway.

Today had been draining. After my therapy session, I picked up my prescription and headed to the waterfront to self-reflect. My anxiety had been peaking for weeks now. The feeling of impending doom washed over me, and it had yet to leave. I thought some time by the water would mellow me out because it was my favorite place. Sadly, it hadn’t. All I wanted to do was climb into my bed, pull the covers over my head, and sleep.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to be the case. I still needed to cook dinner even though I was not motivated. Part of me just wanted to order takeout and call it a day. However, that would only start an argument with my husband, and I had no energy to argue today. Raymond’s annoyance at me seemed to spike whenever I came home from a therapy session. I felt like he was looking to pick a fight when I was the most vulnerable. It was a horrible thing to feel like my husband couldn’t stand me at times.

Things weren’t always like this. Once upon a time, he was the most loving and caring man. He dated me with purpose and intention. I moved out of my parents’ house and into his to fall straight into my role as a housewife. Raymond was ten years older than me. I met him when I was twenty and he was thirty. My parents hadn’t been a fan of our age difference. In their mind, a thirty-year-old had nothing in common with a twenty-year-old.

I didn’t care.

He wasn’t anything like the guys my age. He moved differently. He showed me different, and that made me want him more. He knew he wanted . . . to flourish in his career as a cardiothoracic surgeon and have a beautiful family. I was fine with that. I could handle being a wife and mother. I’d watched my mother do it my entire life. My father took care of the bills, and she took care of the home. That was easy enough . . . until it wasn’t. Now, I was barely hanging on by a thread.

Reluctantly, I grabbed my things and stepped out of the car. As I made my way up the driveway, I noticed a pile of suitcases on the front lawn. A frown of confusion settled on my face when I realized that they belonged to me.

“What the hell? . . .”

Briskly, I walked up to the pile. Upon further inspection, I discovered that trash bags filled with my shoes, lotions, hygiene, and beauty products were packed up too. Frantically, I tried to open the front door. It was locked. I stuck my key in . . . only to find that it wasn’t working.

“Raymond!” I yelled, banging on the door. “Raymond, it’s me!”

His car was here, so I knew he was inside. After a few minutes of knocking like a madwoman, the front door finally opened, and my husband stepped out.

He snapped at me. “Stop banging on this door and yelling like you’ve lost your damn mind!” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

I pointed at my things. “What the hell is this?”

“Look . . . Ain’t no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna put it out there. I want a divorce.”

“Raymond!”

“Don’t ‘Raymond’ me. You had to have seen this coming, Pasha. We haven’t been happy in a long time, and it’s largely in part to you. All you do is mope around here. I’m sick of the depressed act. You barely cook anymore. You don’t clean. You haven’t fucked me in months, and even before that, it was like watching paint dry. All you’ve done in the last year is eat and get fat. I’m not even attracted to you anymore.”

“I . . . I don’t . . .” I struggled to respond. How could I respond?

“You what? What do you have to say for yourself? Go on, I’m listening.” He crossed his arms as he glared down at me.

“I’ve been in therapy . . . I just need some time—”

“Therapy isn’t doing shit. You’ve been in therapy for almost two years now, and I see no improvement. You can pay for that out of your own pocket now. That means you’ll need to get a job. Say it with me, J.O.B.”

“How can you do this to me, Raymond?” I was crying profusely at this point. “I’m your wife!”

“You haven’t acted in a wife’s capacity in so long. When was the last time you felt happy, Pasha? I can’t tell you ’cause I don’t know myself. I feel like we’ve been going through the motions, and I’m tired of that. I take care of you, and for the longest, you’ve been failing miserably to do anything I ask you to when you agreed to marry me.”

“You know what’s going on with me, Raymond.”

“What I know is you use your mental health as a crutch. You got a diagnosis and ran with it. Enough is enough. This isn’t the life I envisioned as a married man. I’m tired of feeling like I settled. Look at you. Your hair looks a mess, and you’re out here looking like a homeless woman instead of the wife of a doctor. I can’t take you in public. I can’t have people over. It’s embarrassing. You can’t even bear me a child—”

I jabbed my finger in his face. “That’s so hurtful and unfair. You know my issues with fertility. I’ve tried and tried.”

“Then something is wrong with you.” He scoffed. “I know it ain’t me. The more weight you gain, the less likely you are to carry. You haven’t even tried to lose it, Pasha.”

“I’ve been depressed, Raymond! Do you know what a struggle it is to get out of bed in the morning? I’ve had to deal with the death of my parents. I’ve suffered three miscarriages back-to-back. I dealt with postpartum depression that came back stronger after each one. And then . . . just when I thought my body was finally working with me, I gave birth to a stillborn son—”

“And I get that, I really do. But you just checked out. You checked out of life and out of this marriage. I can’t do this anymore, Pasha. You have to go. Get you some real help and move on.”

My mouth hung open in disbelief. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. Eight years I’d been with this man. Five of those I’d been a devoted wife. I catered to him and his needs. I put him before myself, and he showed his true colors when I needed him to stand beside me. Last year was the roughest. After giving birth to a stillborn son, my world was shattered.

I developed postpartum, my anxiety was at an all-time high, and I gained a total of forty pounds. I wasn’t overweight, but I wasn’t the size I used to be. Clearly, I wasn’t his preferred size, either. Things changed between us. Raymond wasn’t the loving and affectionate man he once was. He turned cold and almost hateful toward me. I kept telling myself once I got it together that things would be better. . . . If I lost the weight, things would go back to the way they used to be.

I was wrong. Things would never be the same, and now they’d never have that chance. I struggled to verbalize my thoughts. My lips were moving, but not a sound came out. Raymond sighed. Just as he went to speak the front door opened.

“How much longer are you going to be dealing with . . . this?”

My eyes settled on a petite woman. Her hair was long and straight, and not a strand was out of place. Her clothes were perfectly pressed and well put together. She was beautiful, and everything about her was the complete opposite of my current self. My eyes left her face and dropped to the prominent bulge in her stomach. They bounced from her to Raymond and back to her again.

“Who is this?” I asked just above a whisper.

She stepped out with one hand rubbing her stomach, and wrapped the other around his arm as she spoke to me.

“Adora . . . Raymond’s fiancée and the mother of his child.” She flashed a glistening diamond ring at me. “I’m also the new woman of this house, so I’d like you to get your shit off my lawn.”

“Raymond . . .” I whispered. “How could you? Eight years—”

“Please don’t start that crying shit,” Adora said, holding up a hand. “I’m not trying to hear that. It was bad enough I had to listen to it inside.”

“Shut up!” I screamed, jumping at her.

Raymond stepped between us and pushed me back. “I’m not about to have you fighting her. You’re embarrassing yourself, Pasha.”

“I’m embarrassing myself?” I looked around. “Am I being punked? Is this a prank? Are . . . Are there hidden cameras?”

Raymond shrugged. “Look, call yourself a ride, Uber, walk . . . Frankly, I don’t care. You’re trespassing on private property. You have thirty minutes to get your shit off my lawn, or I will have you forcibly removed. Give me your keys.”

Again, I stared at him in disbelief. This was as much my home as it was his. Maybe I didn’t work, but I kept this house spotless for years. I kept a hot meal on the table. I made sure our finances were straight. He was the one that made me a housewife. He told me he wanted to care for me as long as I could handle that responsibility. I did that for as long as I could. I was suffering mentally, and he didn’t care . . . He just didn’t care.

“The keys, Pasha! You know what . . .” He snatched them from my hand. “The clock is ticking.”

He and his mistress walked back inside without another word, slamming the door behind them. I couldn’t move. My body was riddled with shock and emotion. When I felt my chest begin to tighten, I knew I was having a panic attack. The tightening feeling was soon accompanied by the struggle to breathe. I began to pace, trying to calm myself.

Everything I learned in therapy felt useless at that moment. Part of me wanted this episode to just take me out. I didn’t want to feel anything. I just wanted to be numb.

Numb to the pain.

Numb to the bullshit.

Numb to life in general. If I couldn’t feel it, maybe it wasn’t real. If it wasn’t real, it couldn’t hurt me. I’d experienced enough hurt . . . I just wanted to feel nothing . . . absolutely nothing.

Chapter Two

Callum

I stared at my computer screen, counting down the minutes until I could go home. Since being down a driver for the last week, I’d been filling in to make things run as smoothly as possible. I was set to end my day in about thirty minutes, and it couldn’t be over fast enough. I owned and operated Elite Rides, a car shuttling service. It was something like Uber. I even had a hand in developing an app to run the service through.

In addition to that, I also own a limo/private car service. After seeing how well the car shuttling did, I decided that expanding my services in my local area would be a good idea. I catered to everything from proms to weddings to gala events. A few high-profile clients used me to take them from place to place around the state as well. We are currently booked through the year for various events.

We’d been up and running for about six years now, available in fifteen major cities in the southern states. At thirty-five, I was blessed to be able to make money in my sleep. I honestly could have easily replaced my sick driver temporarily. However, since I lived in the city, it was easier just to cover the shifts myself.

Today, however, was draining. For whatever reason, there was an influx of bookings. I wasn’t upset about that. More bookings meant more business, and more business meant more money. I was simply tired. My bed was calling me, and I would answer that call as soon as I left.

The sound of my notifications dinging alerted me to a request.

“I was so close,” I muttered.

With a heavy sigh, I looked up the information for this last ride. After claiming it, I grabbed the keys to the last SUV on the lot and headed out. Settled in the driver’s seat, I loaded my smooth R&B playlist, rolled down the windows, and started toward my destination. The sun had gone down, and there was a cool breeze blowing. I was thankful for light traffic because this fifteen-minute ride could easily turn into forty-five.

When I pulled into the neighborhood, I turned the music down so I could focus. A minute later, I pulled up to a nice, two-story house. I frowned as I noticed the woman sitting beside a pile of suitcases and trash bags on the sidewalk. When she saw I had come to a stop, she stood slowly. I threw the car in park, climbed out, popped the trunk, and rounded the front to her. At first glance, she looked timid. Her face was beautiful, but aside from that, I could see the puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“Ms. Sinclaire? My name is Callum. I’ll be your driver this evening.”

“Hi . . .” she said just above a whisper. Her voice was raspy like she’d been crying for hours.

I pointed to the pile. “Is all of this yours?”

“Yes.”

Asking that seemed to trigger her. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. I wasn’t sure what to do. Did I say something? Should I console her? I stepped forward and rested my hands on her shoulders to guide her to the car. No sooner than I opened the back door of the car did the front door of the house behind us open.

“You still here, Pasha?” a man asked angrily, stalking toward us.

I frowned. “She’s leaving.”

“Not fast enough.”

He started grabbing her suitcases and throwing them into my open trunk.

“I’m leaving, Raymond!” she pleaded helplessly. “Just let me go in peace. You’ve embarrassed me enough.”

“I told you thirty minutes.”

He came back for another suitcase, but I snatched it from him.

“I can put her things in my car. Why don’t you go back inside? That’s as nice as I’m going to ask you.”

He scoffed. “As nice as you’re going to ask me? You’re on my property giving demands?”

“It wasn’t a demand. It was a very wise suggestion.”

He poked my chest. “And what are you gonna do if I don’t comply with your little ‘suggestion’?”

I looked back at Ms. Sinclaire. “Get in the car, baby.”

She didn’t hesitate to climb into the backseat. I closed the door and turned to see this man standing right up to me.

“Sir . . . I suggest you back up. Allow me to get Ms. Sinclaire’s things, and we’ll be on our way. If you want her gone, why hinder the process? Make it make sense.”

He finally took a step back, glaring at me as he did. His gaze focused on the back window as I put the rest of her things in the trunk. Ms. Sinclaire was crying profusely at this point. This man had to be her husband or at least her boyfriend. Either way, he was a complete asshole, and I couldn’t get her away from him quick enough. As I moved to close the trunk, I saw her reaching for the door handle.

“Ms. Sinclaire, he’s not worth it,” I tried to reason.

“You better not get outta that car, Pasha,” he warned her.

She ignored both of our voices. She got out and walked around him and back toward the house.

“Pasha!” he yelled.

Again, she ignored him. Before I knew it, she’d picked up two bricks lining the walkway. She hurled one through the front window of the house and the other through the front window of the costly luxury car sitting in the driveway.

“Oh shit!” I grimaced as she picked up another brick and hurled it through the back window of that same car. At this point, the man I now knew as Raymond was yelling obscenities. He grabbed her, but she jerked away and slapped him.

“Fuck you, Raymond! I gave you eight years of my life! I was nothing but a good wife to you, and you did this to me. Rot in hell, you selfish son of a bitch!”

When a visibly pregnant woman came storming outside, putting two and two together didn’t take long. Things were about to take another left.

“You need to leave!” she screamed.

“Oh, I’m leaving!” Mrs. Sinclaire screamed in return. “I wish I could say I feel sorry for you. You think you have one up on me now . . . You’ll be just like me as soon as you can’t cater to him the way he wants. Enjoy him while you can.”

“I’ll never be you. Not only do I know how to get and keep my man, but I can give him the one thing you can’t.”

She rubbed her belly with a satisfied smirk. I anticipated Mrs. Sinclaire’s reaction, and before she could charge at the woman, I scooped her up and put her in the backseat. Discreetly, I put the child locks on to keep her from jumping out of the car again.

“Do not move,” I said firmly. “Do you understand?”

Her beautiful face held a deep frown. It softened as tears pooled in her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled, and the next thing I knew, she fell against me, releasing a gut-retching cry. I wasn’t the biggest fan of physical affection with strangers, yet this woman had an unnerving effect on me in the short time since I arrived.

“Get her away from here,” Raymond demanded.

I ignored him as I continued to comfort his wife.

“You have to calm down so we can get outta here. I know this shit hurts, but he ain’t worth it. Don’t give him that kind of power over you.”

“You hear me talking to you?”

Raymond grabbed my arm. Now, why did he do that? I didn’t like people touching me, especially in an aggressive manner. I closed the back passenger door. Then with catlike reflexes, I spun around and twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him to the ground. The pregnant woman screamed at me to let him go.

“Let this be a warning . . . Don’t ever put your hands on me. Now, as I previously stated, Mrs. Sinclaire is leaving. I trust that when I release you, you will show some decorum and take your disrespectful ass inside so she can leave in peace. Are we gonna have a problem?”

“Fuck you!” he seethed.

I twisted his arm tighter. One move, and I could snap it. If he knew what was good for him, he would heed my generous warning.

“I asked if we were going to have a problem,” I repeated.

“No! Just let me go!”

I released him and took a step back. “Have a good evening.”

Without another word, I retreated into the car and cranked up. As I pulled onto the road, I saw Raymond being consoled by his mistress in my rearview. I shook my head. I didn’t know him, yet I could pin him as a weak-ass man with control issues. That woman might have thought she was getting a prize, but I had a feeling she would eventually learn that everything that glittered wasn’t gold.



I’d been driving around aimlessly for a good fifteen minutes now, just waiting for Mrs. Sinclaire to calm down enough to tell me where to take her. I didn’t want to rush her, especially after that fiasco. Every so often, I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. It gave me a chance to take in her natural beauty. If I had to guess, she was around five foot seven, a little on the thick side, which was absolutely fine by me. I loved a thick woman. A little belly, cellulite, or stretch marks never hurt anybody.

Her skin was cocoa-complexioned and blemish-free. Her full lips and beautiful brown eyes stuck out most to me. I always believed that the eyes were the windows to the soul. When she looked at me back at the house, I saw a soul that was drowning in pain. It was more than what she was going through at that moment. Pain like hers was deep-rooted.

Mrs. Sinclaire cried softly in the backseat. As I pulled to a stop sign, I looked back at her.

“Hey . . .” She slowly wiped her eyes and looked up at me. “Fuck him. I don’t know the details, but from the looks of it, leaving is the best thing you could have done.”

“I didn’t leave . . . He put me out. He packed my things, and he put me out of my home. That . . . woman is his mistress. Excuse me, his fiancée.” She began crying again. “How could I not have seen this coming? How could I have been so stupid? All the comments about my depression being too much . . . the constant jabs at my weight and appearance . . . the loneliness I’ve been feeling in this marriage for the longest. There were so many signs! I’m so embarrassed.”

Her cries echoed in the car as I pulled away from the stop sign. The sight of her tears was doing something to me. She looked and felt helpless, and it was stabbing at my soul. Any other time, I would have canceled the service and refunded a client if they had too much drama during a reservation. My heart went out to this woman. Something about her just resonated with my spirit. I knew I couldn’t leave her tonight without ensuring she was okay.

Her cries calmed down as I drove aimlessly through the city. Finally, they turned to light sniffles and whimpers. I’d been driving around at this point for thirty minutes.

“Is there anywhere I can take you?” I asked quietly.

She sniffed. “A hotel is fine. Whatever is close. I’m sure you’re tired of me. I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”

I sighed. “It’s not, but I’m in it now. I just wanna make sure you have somewhere safe to lay your head tonight.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry. I can tell you were blindsided. I don’t know you or your story, but no woman deserves that from a man, least of all her husband.”

“Are you married?”

I chuckled. “No, ma’am. I’m in these single streets.”

“Oh.”

She turned her head and looked out the window. We drove in silence until she spoke to point out a hotel. I pulled into the parking lot and up to the front entrance. While she went to grab a room, I grabbed a luggage cart and began unpacking the trunk. As I played Tetris, attempting to fit everything, she returned with a distressed look on her face.

“Put it back,” she whispered.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused.

“He canceled my credit cards . . . I can’t pay for the room, and I don’t have enough cash to cover it.”

Her lips trembled as she turned away from me. I felt anger surge through me at that moment. It was enough to make me wish I had broken that nigga’s arm. What kind of man puts his wife out of their home and then proceeds to cut off her livelihood? Whoever that pregnant woman was must have had his nose wide open. She had to be out of her mind to sit and watch that happen and be okay, let alone feel secure.

Mrs. Sinclaire finally gathered herself. She turned to me with red eyes. Again, my heart broke for her.

“Is there anybody you can call?” I asked. “Parents . . . a friend?”

She shook her head. “My parents died in a car accident a few years ago. I haven’t spoken to any friends in so long that I wouldn’t feel right asking them for help. You can just take me to a shelter—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please, I’m begging—”

“Let’s go inside. I’ve got you.”

“No, no, you can’t.”

“Mrs. Sinclaire, I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe. You don’t know me, but I can be annoying as hell. That’s the last thing you want. Now, let me help you.”

I didn’t wait for her to protest. Instead, I grabbed her hand and pulled her and the cart behind me as I headed for the front desk.

“Good evening. My friend here needs a room. What do we need to do to make that happen?”

The receptionist ran me the pricing while Mrs. Sinclaire stood off to the side, looking embarrassed. There was no need for her to feel embarrassed with me, but I understood. If I were in her shoes, I would feel ashamed too. After paying for the room, I led her to the elevator. The ride to the fifth floor was quiet. The walk to the room was quiet, and it was quiet as I unloaded the cart. She seemed to be searching. . .