Glass Heart Broken: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Glass Heart Academy Book 2)

by Lindsey Iler

  I dry the last tear on Delaney’s cheek as she does the same thing for me. A best friend is what I’ve needed. I’ve had one this whole time, even if I’ve somehow managed to forget.

  Once you lose someone precious, it becomes easier to live life alone. I don’t have to do that anymore. Seclusion is a hard habit to break, though. We depend on others the minute we are born into this world, and without our consent, the people we care for come and go with little to no regard for our wellbeing.

  Alone is easy. Alone is safe.

  What if telling Delaney has painted a big target on her?

  But telling her has lifted the heaviness off my chest. I can breathe easier now than I could an hour ago.

  Is it worth it to let her in, or is it selfish to drag her into this twisted, dark world I now live in?

  Chapter Three

  Marek

  “So, you going to talk to her today?” Breaker kicks at the slushy snow on the ground.

  Second period has just ended, and we’re in our usual spot before heading to grab lunch. I think my lack of interaction with Palmer is wearing on the boys. Breaker wants his best friend in his life again, and Dixon, he’s anxious to right his wrongs, even when he doesn’t want to admit it.

  What I want is more complicated. I want her to be able to look at me and not see disappointments.

  There’s no point in answering Breaker’s question because Palmer is walking this way. She’s nearly fifty yards away, but I know it’s her. The way she wears that damn school uniform is hard to forget. She’s switched out the black thigh highs from yesterday for sexy-as-sin white ones. Who is she trying to fool? There’s not a single part of her that’s angelic.

  Palmer claims to believe I’m not capable of vulnerability, and she’s so fucking right it’s painful, but I’m going to try. Not in a way she expects, though. It would be too easy to fall at her feet, beg for her forgiveness, but that’s not me, and there’s no way I’m going to offer her a version of myself that isn’t authentic.

  Her attention is on the book in her hand, and she somehow manages to swoop in and out of the busy courtyard without hitting anyone.

  We haven’t spoken a single word over the last three days. Instead, I’d purposefully been tardy to class the last two days, taking the spot next to her. Not today, though. Today, I was early and took her usual seat. Palmer rushed into the room, caught sight of me, and paused.

  She had two options. Choose a different seat or sit her pretty ass right next to me. I couldn’t control my grin when she fell into the chair beside me. She may as well have not taken a single breath the entire hour. Her making that choice felt like a damn win, and I had a hard time not letting her know every time she glanced at me.

  “She’s getting closer. Here’s your chance,” Breaker whispers. I would smack the glee right off his pretty boy face if I could, but I’m damn near certain he’d only smile harder.

  Dixon shifts behind me, and without warning, I’m shoved forward, right into Palmer’s arms. The book in her hand drops into the slush.

  “Dammit,” she whisper-yells, bending down at the same time I do. Our heads crash together. She almost falls onto her ass, but I’m quick to grab her forearm, stopping her before her uniform is soaked by the melting snow. “I don’t need this shit right now.”

  Palmer’s last sentiment definitely isn’t meant for my ears. Her eyes lift to mine, and a heightened sense of indifference glowers back at me. Shit.

  “I could’ve let you fall into the snow, baby girl. Good to know next time that that’s where you’d prefer to land instead of having me touch you.”

  “Trust me, your touch isn’t the problem. Never has been.” She straightens to her full height as I do to hand her the book that caused this collision in the first place. I flip it over to see the cover and grin when she yanks it out of my hand and tucks it into her bag.

  “Oh, it’s the fact that you like it that’s the real problem, huh?” I step forward, invading her space for my own pure enjoyment. “Does it bother you when I do this?” Knowing she won’t resist, I bend just enough to put my lips against her ear and nip on the sensitive skin. “Or what about this?” A little bit lower, my lips find their home on the softest part of her neck.

  “Your lack of boundaries is truly appalling, Marek.” She makes a show of dragging her finger over my chest and circling my body until she’s behind me.

  “Oh, shit,” Dixon whispers, moving out of the way, shoving Breaker with him until they’re directly in front of me. Both of their expressions prove what I already know. She’s not going to go easy.

  “We don’t have boundaries,” I challenge Palmer, growing maybe a bit too cocky as I smile at Breaker and Dixon.

  “Yeah, you’ve proven that time and time again. This isn’t exactly something to be proud of.” Her hand wraps around my neck and quickly moves upward until her fingers are laced in my hair. She tugs my head backward, exposing my throat, then her lips mimic what I’ve done to her.

  “I think that’s up for interpretation. Take for instance, you, right now. I didn’t ask for you go all soft-core porn star on me right here in the open, but there’s no real complaint, proving sometimes boundaries are meant to be crossed.” I close my eyes for a second, and when I open them again, her touch slips away. How can something as simple as letting go sting so damn much? My hunger for her touch is becoming unbearable.

  “I’m not yours to cross anymore. I thought I made that crystal clear,” she whispers.

  I turn and take one large step to eliminate the small space between us. She holds her hand up to stop me, only to drop it immediately. Bold is the only way I’ve ever approached Palmer, and nothing is going to stop that now.

  “Are you positive?” I graze my hand up her leg until I’m at the apex of her thighs. She doesn’t jolt away as I half-expect when my fingers dig into the velvety skin. “Don’t ever think you’re in control of what I do or don’t do, sweetheart.”

  Palmer’s teeth grit together, harshly clenching her jaw. What is she thinking? There’s anger and sincere sexual tension building between us. She hates to admit it, which makes this that much more fun.

  “Move out of my way,” she demands.

  I do as she says, turning to watch her sashay through the courtyard straight for the cafeteria.

  “Well, that went well.” Breaker laughs as I step up beside him.

  “She’s going to be trouble,” Dixon adds.

  “That’s the kind of trouble I live for.” I pat them both on the shoulder and head in the same direction as Palmer.

  Thinking about the days before of zero contact between myself and Palmer sends a surge of excitement through my body. This is a game for us, trying to prove who is more powerful when it comes to the other. Control is something neither of us are willing to surrender, but that’s the whole point. She finds the fun in demonstrating her strength. My amusement comes from watching her try to own me.

  We enter the cafeteria to searching eyes. Breaker and Dixon head straight to our new spot, a booth against the furthest wall. This is the only way we can keep our eyes on everyone.

  I cut to the front of the line with no argument from anyone and grab a tray. While reaching for a drink, I see Dillon leaning over one of the longer tables, talking to Palmer. Her eyes are far too focused on the fork in her hand. It amuses me how effortlessly she’s blowing him off. When he reaches forward and tucks his finger under her chin to force her attention to him, I set my tray down.

  I stride forward, then stop in my tracks. Palmer stabs at his hand and stands with him trapped under her fork.

  “Don’t ever fucking touch me again, you got it?” She releases her hold, and the fork falls to the floor as she walks away. She’s barely a foot from him when Dillon hits her where it hurts.

  “I thought you were like your sister!” Dillon shouts.

  Palmer twirls on the balls of her feet and saunters up to him. “Don’t get it twisted. I’m just like my sister, and if you knew a
damn thing about her, that should be enough warning not to ever put your sleazy, good for nothing hands on me.” She stands firm, unmoved, exposing a strength I’ve always known she had. Dillon, on the other hand, is learning what it means to step on the toes of a Weston girl.

  Their little standoff has everyone’s attention, and after a minute, the corners of Palmer’s mouth tip up in a barely-there smile.

  “There’s my girl,” I murmur.

  Without uttering another word, she turns and leaves. Her eyes never search for us, proving what I already know. She’s able to stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of us.

  “Where’s your lunch?” Breaker asks, noticing my empty hands.

  I slump down in a chair, linking my hands together in one large fist. With a swift smack to the table, I start to calm down. “I lost my appetite.”

  “Girl has some balls,” Dixon states.

  “Dillon is up to something.” My stare locks on my quarterback. After several minutes, his eyes dart over his shoulder, catching me.

  Not that I’d ever look away. I want him to see my eyes on him. He should know he’s being watched, especially if he fancies harassing Palmer, because that shit won’t work for me. She’s officially off limits as far as my patience is concerned.

  “Dillon’s a harmless prick. He gets off on sniffing around what’s ours,” Breaker says. “Did it with Quinn. Did it with every piece of ass Dixon’s ever sniffed around.”

  “We have more pressing matters to deal with than a steroid junkie,” Byron says as he slips in beside us. By the look on Breaker and Dixon’s faces, I’d say everyone is on the same page.

  “Well, I think it’s safe to assume that whoever attacked Palmer is more than likely the same person who’s trying to get you charged with Reed and Georgina’s murders,” Dixon says. “I’m still trying to hack into the officers’ phones, but whoever set them up didn’t want anyone getting in.”

  “Keep trying,” Byron demands.

  “And if they aren’t the ones, then they have to at least be connected to them in some way,” Breaker adds, climbing on top of the booth and resting on the small ledge connecting ours to the one behind us.

  This isn’t the smartest place to be having this conversation. Although no one has seemed worried about the allegations against me, there’s plenty of breathing room between us and everyone else. I prefer they keep their distance.

  The three of them compare theories and bounce ideas off each other on who could be doing this and why. There’s nothing for me to contribute, nothing else for me to give.

  “So, I’ll ask again,”—Byron raps his knuckles on the tabletop— “what’s the plan?”

  “No plan.” I stand and grab my bag off the floor. “I’m going to be late for my next class.”

  “When have you ever given a fuck if you’re late?” Breaker argues. “You’re top of our class. You could not show up for another class for the rest of the year and still ace your exams. Don’t you think this is kind of important? Someone is framing you for the murders of two girls.”

  At this point, these charges feel more out of my hands than anything ever has.

  “Whoever’s doing this isn’t done. That’s what I’m certain of.” I exhale a lungful of angered breath and poke my finger into my chest. “I’m looking to face jail time for murders I didn’t commit, and the girl who I fed to the lions”— I gesture to them, which isn’t fair considering I’m the king of this jungle— “somehow has stolen a part of me I didn’t know existed, so yes, my fucking plan is to do nothing.”

  That’s not exactly true. I won’t do anything hasty when it comes to Palmer. Careless won’t work for her. Small and subtle is the way to go.

  “Marek Hawthorne!”

  I search the room and see one of the dean’s secretaries at the doorway. When we lock eyes, she tilts her head, requesting me to follow her.

  “All right, boys! My time is up,” I announce, hiking my bag over my shoulder.

  I’ve been expecting this request from Dean Eberstark. The increased police presence is more than likely a ruse to prove to our major donor families that safety is his top priority.

  “Deny. Deny. Deny,” Byron advises.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I plead.

  “Doesn’t matter. They’ve already made up their minds about you,” Dixon adds. “And here’s the information you wanted. I did a little extra digging for you.” He hands me a blue folder, and I tuck it into my backpack.

  “You’ve always loved extra credit.” I nod my chin in thanks.

  After a quick hike across campus, I’m sitting in front of the dean’s desk, waiting for him to hang up his phone call. The blue folder Dixon gave me is begging for me to read it. I wonder what he found.

  My eyes skim along Dean Eberstark’s bookshelves. Photo frames line many of them. Snapshots of the dean with the elite on campus. Mr. and Mrs. Weston smile wide in a photo that appears to have been taken at a Christmas party. On the far left is a black frame, and in the middle of it, is a photo of young Henry with his arm draped over the dean’s shoulders. The black and silver flag hanging in the background behind them has some sort of design that’s distorted by the folds.

  “Henry was the top of his class.” His eyes dart between me and the frame. “Much like yourself, Marek. You’ve been given quite the opportunity here at Glass Heart Academy. So much so, your future possibilities are endless.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, slouching in the chair, proving how little I give a fuck about this visit. We both know this is a formality.

  “Every single opportunity was bought for you by that man.” Dean Eberstark points to the picture of Henry and him.

  “Which I appreciate, more than I can possibly express.” This is the game. Nod your head and tell them what they want to hear. We are meant to be appreciative, but not condescending.

  “I sure hope so, Mr. Hawthorne, because reputation is everything on our campus.”

  “Are you sure about that, Dean Eberstark?”

  “What are you implying?” He reclines in his chair, crossing his hands over his large belly.

  “No one, not even you, was worried about the missing girls until one of your own was accused of the crime.” I jump out of the chair and set my hands wide apart on his desk, glaring down at a powerful, yet powerless man. “What’s going on within the walls of your school, Dean?”

  Without waiting for a response, I jerk my bag off the floor and head out of his office.

  Out front, I rest against the side of the building, hidden in plain sight. I take the blue envelope from my bag and flip it open. Dixon wasn’t kidding when he said he’d done some digging. I’ve got everything I could ever need to know about this girl, down to her blood type.

  Reagan Waterstone. Sixteen years old. Daughter of congressman Paul Waterstone. Wealthy and respected family. No juvenile record. No dating history from social media. For the most part, this girl seems like any other girl on campus.

  So, who hurt her? Who had her sneaking into the dorms with a nasty bruise on her cheek?

  I cut across campus, heading straight towards Rose Dorms. Once I’m out front, and the coast is clear, I punch in the code and open the door. Knowing most students are in class, I take the stairs, not expecting to have any run-ins.

  Outside of Reagan’s dorm room, I debate if this is the best idea, or if I’d be better off ignoring my gut. My hand takes control before I can convince myself otherwise.

  KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

  A low rustling noise comes from inside. I pop my hand over the peephole, giving me the advantage for when she comes to the door.

  “Quit fucking with me, D!” she shouts, obviously being greeted by the darkness in the peephole. “How in the hell did you get in here? I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Reagan Waterstone?” I say.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Marek Hawthorne.” I take my hand down. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  The door swings op
en. She stands there in sleep shorts and a tank top. Her bruise has lightened, although it’s glaringly obvious someone has used her as a punching bag.

  “What do you want?” she barks, clearly irritated.

  “We crossed paths not too long ago on the stairs, and I was wondering if you were okay.”

  “It’s been two weeks,” she deadpans. Her eyes narrow, inspecting me for the truth.

  “I know, and I should have come sooner, but I didn’t know who you were.”

  “How’d you find me?” I eye her, begging her not to dig deeper. “Never mind. I should have known. Aren’t you wanted for murder or something?”

  “They can’t charge you for murders you didn’t commit,” I answer, surprised by her candor and lack of fear. “No offense, but why aren’t you afraid of me? It would be quite simple for me to force my way into your dorm room.”

  “Are you trying to frighten me? Because if you are, it won’t work. There are bigger and badder things after me than Marek Hawthorne. There isn’t a single thing about you that scares me.”

  “What are you talking about? The person who did that to you?” I point at her healing face.

  “That’s none of your business. I appreciate the popular train making a well-check visit, but I can assure you, I’m fine.” She shoves me out of the doorway, placing her foot in the space to block me. Defensive stance.

  That she knows how to protect herself may be the reason she isn’t afraid of me. My first run-in with Reagan proved something or someone is haunting her. The look of fear in her eyes as she raced to her room reminded me of Palmer too much to ignore.

  This girl standing in front of me has turned a different corner. She’s stronger, more self-aware, and unwilling to stand down and cower.

  “If you need anything, Reagan—” I offer, knowing if it were Palmer, I’d hope someone would do the same for her. Damn, that girl really has done a number on me. I’m selfish as they come most days, yet here I stand, worrying about a girl that literally holds no weight in my world.