His Heart

by Claire Kingsley

  His Heart

  Claire Kingsley

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Kingsley

  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 is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

  Edited by Elayne Morgan of Serenity Editing Services

  Cover by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  www.clairekingsleybooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  For my dear friend Stephanie, and side-dude, who gave you a new chance at life.

  And for the family of the young man who gave you that gift. My heart breaks for your loss. I pray you find love and healing.

  Contents

  Part I

  1. Brooke

  2. Sebastian

  3. Brooke

  4. Sebastian

  5. Brooke

  6. Sebastian

  7. Brooke

  8. Sebastian

  9. Brooke

  10. Sebastian

  11. Brooke

  12. Sebastian

  Part II

  13. Sebastian

  14. Brooke

  15. Sebastian

  16. Brooke

  17. Sebastian

  18. Brooke

  19. Sebastian

  20. Brooke

  21. Sebastian

  22. Brooke

  23. Sebastian

  24. Brooke

  Part III

  25. Brooke

  26. Sebastian

  27. Brooke

  28. Sebastian

  29. Brooke

  30. Brooke

  31. Sebastian

  32. Brooke

  33. Sebastian

  34. Brooke

  35. Brooke

  36. Sebastian

  37. Brooke

  38. Sebastian

  39. Brooke

  40. Sebastian

  41. Brooke

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Book Boyfriend: Chapter 1

  Afterword

  About the Book

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Claire Kingsley

  About the Author

  Part I

  Hope is a dream

  the young cling to

  the old yearn for

  but only the broken understand

  ~B

  1

  Brooke

  January. Age sixteen.

  It was all I could do to simply survive.

  High school, to be specific. Phoenix wasn’t any different than the other places I’d lived. No matter how many times my mom moved us around, no matter how many schools I went to, they were all the same. Ruled by a hierarchical social structure as stratified as the caste system. Everyone knew their place, and the only safe place was at the top.

  Which was the opposite of where I existed.

  But the day was over, the last class finished. Some kids hurried outside to catch the bus, or simply to put as much distance as possible between themselves and this prison of a building. Others lingered in the hallway, gossiping with friends, making plans.

  Most kids had somewhere else to go that was better than school. Home. Sports practice. A club meeting. A job. I didn’t. I took my time, walking alone toward my locker, my eyes on the ground. I wasn’t athletic by any definition of the word, and bouncing around from school to school made it hard to get involved in any activities. I was too quiet to make friends easily.

  I was the weird girl. Funky clothes. Blue and pink streaks in my dark brown hair. Always sitting in the back of the class, scribbling in a notebook. I wasn’t shy, necessarily. I’d just given up trying. It was hard to work your way into an established group of friends. And anyway, by the time I did, my mom would always move us again. So I tried to ignore the social goings-on of high school life. It was January, and I was a junior. That meant eighteen months until graduation. Eighteen months until I would be free. I could make it.

  A group of girls stood on the other side of the hallway, across from my locker. The Mean Girls. They wore the label with pride. They even had matching MG stickers on the backs of their phone cases. Since moving here, I’d kept under their radar. I was beneath most people’s notice.

  But for some reason, the Mean Girls had started to pay attention to me. They stood close together, leaning in to speak in low voices, their eyes on me. I quickly put in my locker combination so I could get out of their line of sight.

  “I don’t know what’s up with her shoes,” Karina Bowen said, making no effort to keep me from hearing.

  I stopped myself from looking down at my shoes—worn-out blue Converse. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I’d heard her comment.

  “I can’t even with those jeans,” Harmony Linwood said. Karina’s right-hand bitch. Those two were never far apart. The others huffed and made noises of agreement and disgust. Tapped manicured fingernails. Rolled eyes caked in makeup.

  I kept my gaze on my locker and shoved a few books into my bag. Ignore them, Brooke. Just ignore them.

  “Hey, Brooke,” Karina said. “You know, there’s a thrift store that’s walking distance from here. Might improve your look. Just a tip, sweetie.”

  Giggles. As if that was such a clever thing to say.

  Still, my cheeks flushed hot and I bit the inside of my lip. Anger that my red face was going to betray me when I turned around mixed with the shame they were so good at dishing out.

  More whispers and giggles.

  “Oh, of course she’s a fucking lesbian,” Karina said. “Anyone can see that. And it’s probably a good thing. What guy would date her?”

  I could feel eyes on my back, burning into me like red-hot brands. I balled my hands into fists.

  “Hey, Brooke.”

  The male voice startled me and I glanced up to find Liam Harper leaning casually against the locker next to mine. Blue eyes, careless dark blond hair, and a smile that would have made me feel fluttery and weak even if I was a lesbian. Which I wasn’t. Especially when Liam Harper was around.

  But why was he talking to me?

  “Um, hi.”

  The Mean Girls had gone silent and I saw Liam’s eyes flick toward them once, then back to me. He opened his mouth to say something, but Karina had crossed the hallway and stepped close.

  “Hey, Liam,” she said, a phony sweetness to her tone. “Did you see they announced the theme for the Valentine’s dance? Hollywood Nights.”

  His forehead creased a little. “Uh, yeah. Sounds a lot like the theme from last year.”

  She somehow managed to shoot a micro-glare at me while almost simultaneously batting her eyelashes at Liam. I wanted to take the opportunity to make a break for it, but curiosity had me rooted to the spot. Why had Liam talked to me?

  “Well, I think it’s going to be amazing,” Karina said. “Do you have a date yet?”

  I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling. Obvious, much?

  “Yeah,” he said.

  Her face registered surprise, her mouth popping open. That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. “You do? Who?”

  “Brooke,” he said.

  Karina huffed, her mouth dropping open. “Brooke Summerlin? You mean, her?”

  Liam met my eyes and treated me to a little grin. “Yep. Right, Brooke?”

  My mind spun as I stared at him. What was he doing? Was this some sort of pity thing? Or was he waiting for me to agree so he could pull the rug out and laugh
in my face? My cheeks flushed hotter and I swallowed hard.

  The possibility of being able to look Karina Bowen in the eye and tell her I was going to the dance with Liam Harper was too much temptation. If this was a prank, I’d risk the humiliation.

  “Yeah,” I said, glancing at Karina. “I’m going with Liam.”

  Liam’s smile widened. Karina’s look of disgust was about two steps past ridiculous. You’d have thought someone just told her she stepped in a big pile of dog shit.

  “Oh,” she said. With another scathing look at me, she flipped her hair and walked back to her minions.

  The Mean Girls backed their leader with more glares at me, but I barely noticed. I stared at Liam, knowing he wasn’t actually taking me to the dance. There was no way he’d ask me. But standing up for me like that had been such a nice—and completely unexpected—thing to do.

  “Wow, that was… pretty amusing, actually,” I said, watching the Mean Girls flounce down the hallway.

  “Amusing?” he asked. “Why?”

  “Well, you know, the look on Karina’s face,” I said.

  He glanced over his shoulder, as if he’d already forgotten about them. “Oh, yeah.”

  I shifted on my feet, feeling a little awkward. My locker still hung open, so I pulled out my bag and slung it over my shoulder, then closed the locker door. “I guess I should get going.”

  “You live next door to me, don’t you?” he asked.

  I shrugged, trying to maintain a casual air. But inside I reeled from the knowledge that Liam Harper knew I lived next door to him. Of course, I knew where he lived. I’d noticed him within days of moving in. But the fact that he’d made the connection that I was his neighbor left me a little breathless.

  “Um, yeah, I do,” I said.

  “But I don’t see you around much,” he said.

  “I guess not.”

  “So what are you up to all the time? You know, when I’m not seeing you around?”

  “I don’t know. I just do my thing. School, other stuff, you know.”

  “What other stuff?” he asked, still leaning against the locker.

  “Um,” I said, fumbling. Was he really still talking to me? “I read and listen to music a lot. Try to avoid my mom.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “Cool. So I should get your number.”

  “What?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Your number. You know, digits? So I can call or text you. I guess I can just come over if I need to talk to you, but it might be nice to have another means of communication since I’m taking you to the dance.”

  I blinked in surprise. He could not be serious. “You’re what?”

  “Taking you to the dance,” he said. “You did just agree to go with me, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but… I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

  “Oh. Okay, yeah.” My heart raced. I gave him my phone number and he typed it into his phone, then gave me his. I was amazed my fingers didn’t shake as I entered him into my contacts.

  It hit me as I stared at his name on my phone screen that I had nothing to wear to a formal dance, and certainly no money to buy a dress. My mom wouldn’t cough up the cash for something like that. Money for weed, or the pills and blow she thought I didn’t know about, sure. But for me? Not a chance.

  God, it was so disappointing. But better to do this now than have to cancel on him later. “You know, I actually don’t know if I can go. I mean, I want to. But the dance is in a couple weeks, and it might be hard for me to find a dress on such short notice.”

  “Oh,” he said, his face dropping. “That sucks.” He raised his eyebrows and started typing on his phone again. “You know what? My sister Olivia has a few dresses. She’s about your size, and it’s not like she’s going to wear them again. I’m sure she’ll let you borrow one.”

  I found myself almost speechless again. “I… are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m texting her right now,” he said, still typing. “Since you live next door, you can just come over sometime and pick one. Shouldn’t be a big deal.”

  “Wow, that’s really nice. Thank you.”

  “Sure. Hey, I have to get to practice.” He smiled again, complete with a little nibble of his bottom lip. “See you later.”

  I watched him walk away, his athletic shoulders pulling against his shirt, his cute butt filling out his jeans so well. I felt like I was living someone’s teenage dream in a YA novel. Did the weird quiet girl just get asked out by one of the hottest guys at school? The one Queen Mean herself had set her sights on?

  It seemed it had actually happened.

  Resisting the urge to clutch a book to my chest, lean back against the lockers, and gaze dreamily up at the ceiling, I adjusted my bag again. With a deep breath, I headed toward the exit, my head spinning.

  But for the first time in months, I was smiling.

  2

  Sebastian

  February. Age eighteen.

  The noise of the crowd beat at me, even through the music playing in my headphones. I liked hearing the crowd as if it were far away—separate from me. Not thousands of people surrounding me in the huge arena.

  I paced relentlessly back and forth off to the side of the center mat. There was only one mat now. At the start of the tournament, there had been four, with four matches going on simultaneously throughout the day. Weeding people out. Now it was down to the finals. The last rounds to determine who would be state champions.

  In my weight class, it would be me.

  Granted, my competition, Charlie Hall, was a fucking good wrestler. Defending state champ, in fact. Now, as a senior, he was determined to defend his title. Probably had a lot of scholarship money on the line.

  We both did.

  I hadn’t wrestled Charlie since last year. He’d beaten me then. Pinned me in the last round, knocking me out of the finals. I took third in state. Not bad for a junior. But nothing less than state champion would be acceptable today.

  There are few things as demoralizing as being pinned on your back, immobilized by another guy, completely at his mercy. Wrestlers look muscular and strong, as if the key to winning is in our bodies. But it isn’t. It’s in our minds. Mental strength, toughness, fortitude—that’s what it takes to win. I’d beaten guys bigger and stronger than I was. Guys who were older and had more experience. All because I had it in me to go the distance. To last longer. Endure more.

  To never, ever give up.

  I could see Charlie, prepping for our match, but I ignored him. He had his rituals, I had mine. What he was doing over on the other side of the arena didn’t matter. I was prepared. Months of training, hours in the gym. Strict diet to cut weight and keep up my strength.

  Like an animal in a cage, I stalked up and down, my muscles straining against my dark blue singlet. The heavy metal music I always played to pump me up blared in my ears. The crowd noise rose in a crescendo. A match must have ended. From the corner of my eye, I saw Blake, one of my teammates, his arm held up in the air by the ref. Win.

  It was almost my turn.

  Coach caught my eye and gave me a nod. We had a system. He knew the drill. He’d been coaching me since I was a freshman with a chip on my shoulder and a lot to prove. I’d been wrestling since I was five and thought I was hot shit. Coach had needed to knock me down a few pegs, but it had done me good. Made me better. Under his training, I’d excelled beyond anyone’s expectations. I’d gone from a strong wrestler to a fucking beast with an almost perfect high school record.

  One loss. To Charlie Hall.

  It was going to stay that way. Just one.

  I took out my headphones and put them in my bag. Unzipped my hoodie and let it drop. Shook out my arms. Bounced up and down onto my toes a few times. My head was clear, my body relaxed but ready.

  The announcer introduced Charlie first. He walked out, his eyes on the ground. Focused. He wasn’t letting
the roar of the crowd rattle him; he was on his game today.

  I walked out and allowed myself one glance at my family. My mom and dad sat a few rows up, right in the center. They’d gotten here when the doors opened so they could get a good spot. Been here for hours to watch me wrestle nine minutes—if it went full rounds.

  Cami sat with them, her back straight, her hands clutched in her lap. We’d been dating since fall of Junior year. This was the second wrestling season she’d been through with me, and she still got nervous.

  Just as quickly, I put them all out of my mind. The announcer said my name and school—Sebastian McKinney, Waverly Shell-Rock High School—and the crowd erupted with cheers. It washed over me like a breeze, barely registering. This wasn’t about them. It was about me, and what I was going to do to Charlie Hall.

  Most guys wrestling in the higher weight classes were big and strong, but with a thick layer of flab. Not me and Charlie. The two of us were tall, and our thickness was all muscle. Ripped arms, wide chests, powerful legs. It was part of what made us so evenly matched. Neither of us had a pound wasted on mass that hadn’t been developed for our sport.

  I fastened the green strap around my ankle. Charlie had black, and the ref wore a matching strap on each wrist. We stepped onto the mat and faced each other, the ref between us. Shook hands.