The Hearts We Break: A Sweet YA Romance (Young Love Book 4)

by Kylie Key

  “Well, you are here," Millie retaliated, "and there's nothing you and I can do about it." There was the sound of glass shattering and a wail of frustration from Cole. I held my breath, hoping he hadn't thrown anything at his mother. "This isn't my choice, Cole," Millie sobbed, "baby, this isn't my choice."

  A slamming door sent a vibration through the wall. Footsteps clipped on the tiles, followed by silence. I peeped my head around, the room was empty. With dainty feet I tiptoed in, putting the platter on the counter. With equal haste I bent down and carefully picked up the remains of the broken dish. I ran back across the driveway, my chest pained, though it wasn’t from the thirty yard dash. There were deeper issues going on in 1270 Maple Drive.

  Cole acted tough, he acted bad, but obviously there was more to it. There was something more to him than sneers and sarcasm and hostility. He was hurting.

  Cole Parsons was hurting bad.

  "What's wrong?" Mom asked, her eagle eyes narrowing as I came racing back into the kitchen. "Honey, what's wrong?" She took me by the shoulders. "You look as white as a sheet."

  I inhaled shakily, sniffing back tears, but never for a moment did I not consider telling her what I'd witnessed. "I heard Millie and Cole fighting. They both sounded so angry."

  "Oh sweetie," Mom pulled me in tightly. I guess you could say I was sheltered in some ways, never having experienced yelling or screaming or violence in family situations. Mom and Dad never raised their voices. My friends, as far as I knew, all had harmonious family lives, though Trieste's parents were divorced. Malachi was the only person I'd met who had a terrible upbringing. He had grown up with his grandfather because his mother had died and his father was in prison. "I'm sure it's nothing major."

  "Someone threw a plate," I whispered.

  I could feel from Mom's sharp inhale that she was shocked. She patted my hair. "I'll call Millie and check everything's okay. You go up and shower now." She kissed my cheek and I clung to her. I could never ever imagine fighting with her. Oh, maybe we'd argue about phone time or eating cauliflower, or leaving my shoes in the living room, silly little things, inconsequential things.

  But I'd never shout at her. And certainly never throw anything at her.

  "I love you," I said.

  "And I love you, sweetie," Mom said, planting another kiss on my forehead.

  Mom came up to my room later to say goodnight. She was vague about her call with Millie, only saying that Millie and Cole were fine and it had been a small argument. And no one had been hurt by the flying dish.

  But it was hard to forget the despair in Millie's voice, and the anguish in Cole's. And the words that revealed that no one next door was happy.

  CHAPTER 6

  Trieste’s birthday dinner had been a good distraction from the mountains of study I’d been doing, but with exam week now upon us, I was super focused on doing well. That meant not tracking the movements of Cole, whose comings and goings went largely unnoticed, so either he had learnt to drive properly or was now riding a bike.

  Unlike Ella who knew she wanted to study music, or Dominique who, despite knee reconstruction, was still dreaming of a gymnastics scholarship, I wasn't sure what I wanted to study at college. But I knew I had to do well in order to give myself the best opportunity. A test with the school guidance counselor revealed the jobs I'd been most suited for were social worker, human resources or a marine biologist. I think the latter was because I'd mentioned that I'd been diving in Hawaii over summer. Of course I'd enjoyed it, but that didn't mean I wanted to study it.

  Mom and Dad weren't pressuring me to make up my mind. Mom said she had never considered being a geologist, but rather had fallen into it when she needed to choose an option. She'd enjoyed it more than economics, which had been her first career choice. She was certain I'd find my path sooner or later.

  It was midweek and I was four exams down, and fairly confident I’d done okay up to that point. I was the first home from school and there were instructions to defrost some chicken and peel potatoes. It wasn’t my favorite job, but Mom was a chronic list maker, and we all had chores to do. I could see Charlie was on dishwasher stacking tonight, my most hated job. Potatoes were a breeze in comparison. I quickly did them, which would give me an hour of uninterrupted last minute study before everyone came home.

  My phone rang and I cringed to see Millie's name on screen, desperately praying that she didn't need me to babysit tonight. Didn't she know it was exam week?

  Luckily for me, she only needed a favor. She was home in bed with a migraine and a delivery van was about to bring her groceries. Could I be a sweetheart and put the food away? Both the boys were at sports training, and she didn't want the fresh foods left on the doorstep.

  A few minutes later a truck came up the driveway and I rushed over to meet it.

  Millie was lying in a darkened room, an eye mask pushed up on her mussed hair. She didn't look good and in a croaky voice she gave directions on where to put things.

  I felt a bit like a voyeur, going through the bags. There were tubs of protein powder and a whole bunch of packets of snack foods, and the variety of wines and cheeses indicated that she was going to be hosting a dinner party. Either that, or someone had an addiction.

  I could also see that Millie was not a very orderly person. I rearranged the pantry a little, making sure half opened packets were brought to the front, and I faced all the jars and cans forward. I liked things to be tidy.

  The voice of Cole Parsons made me jump, and I nearly dropped the jar of peanut butter I was holding. "What are you doing?"

  "Oh, um, hi,” I stuttered, nervous as I turned to see him, “Your Mom called me to put the groceries away." The Parsons boys liked their peanut butter extra crunchy. "They just got delivered."

  "She still in bed?" It was spoken with a bitterness not expected for someone suffering a migraine.

  "Um, yeah," I said, as he moved towards me, pulling at his neck tie. He unfastened the top button of his shirt, loosening it. It felt way too intimate, even though he'd only revealed the base of his throat.

  I swallowed with difficulty, offering out the jar of peanut butter. But he looked past me, into the pantry.

  "Do you want jelly?" I asked, turning to reach for the jar. Maybe he wanted to make himself a sandwich. He was right next to me. For some reason I felt suffocated, like it was hard to breathe.

  "You tidied this?" he said.

  Oh great, now he was going to ridicule me for that. "Uh, I just rearranged a few things, you know to fit everything in." I straightened a can of pineapple pieces...gah...I was so pedantic. If I'd had time, I would have put everything in height order too.

  I saw Cole's top lip make a slight upward turn, but it was only fleeting. "I can finish this off," he said, but I detected a weariness in him, a defeatist attitude about him. Like he didn't have any energy to bully or make fun of me.

  "It's okay," I said, racing back to the counter to the last bag. "I don't mind finishing. I'll just put these away real quick." I reached in and pulled out more packaged food.

  Cole was still standing at the pantry door, like he was dazed, unsure of what to do. I cleared my throat, hoping he'd move but he only turned a fraction, meaning I had to brush against him. Meaning I had to feel his arm against mine. I had another moment of being unable to swallow properly. I put the groceries in their rightful places, unable to stop myself from straightening the boxes of cereal. It was so simple to keep things neat and orderly, yet people didn't!

  I folded the paper bags. He opened a bottom drawer and I put them in cautiously, scared he might jam my fingers. But he smiled; it was the most courteous he'd ever been, the most normal.

  "I have to take a glass of ice up for your mother before I go," I said. He opened a top cupboard, displaying a range of glassware and I was surprised when he handed me a short tumbler. I took it to the fridge and filled it with ice. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he had gone back around to fetch his blazer from the back of the chair. He sw
ung it over his shoulder, walking around to the foot of the stairs, waiting for me.

  "I'll take it up to her," he said, with a sigh of resignation.

  "I don't mind," I said, "but I'm not sure if it's enough, and she might need a cloth for the ice. For her migraine."

  Cole snorted in disbelief. "Migraine?" He reached for the glass, his fingers fluttering across mine as he took it. "She doesn't have a migraine," he said softly, "And you gotta know how to pour her a perfect scotch on the rocks."

  I watched him trudge up the stairs, like his blazer was weighing a couple of hundred pounds. A step from the top, he stopped and turned, like he knew I was still there.

  "Hey, thanks," he said.

  I nodded, words choking in my throat, a sinking feeling in my gut.

  So much was wrong in this house.

  And my heart hurt knowing that I didn’t have a clue about any of it.

  OUR FAMILY TRADITION was to put up our Christmas tree and decorations on December 20. For a lot of families it was way too late, but it had been my real Dad’s birthday, and sometime over the years it had become our way to celebrate. It was also the day that we baked the first lot of gingerbread. I loved how the house smelt of pine and cinnamon, ginger and vanilla.

  Having sat my last exam and being the last day of school, I was more than ready to embrace the holiday spirit, and we unashamedly dressed in our reindeer antlers and Santa hats as we went to select our tree. Our other tradition was to buy one new decoration for the tree every year and it was no surprise when Hayley chose a Christmas llama.

  Mom always got a little emotional as she remembered my Dad, and she’d reminisce with the story of how they got together at their high school winter dance, Dad wooing Mom by telling her it was his birthday and that she should dance with him because of it. Mom laughed and said she felt sorry for him, she had called it a needy reason, but one she was glad she fell for.

  With Christmas music playing, we shared the activities. Mom was mixing the cookie dough, George was supervising Charlie, who was up the ladder stringing the fairy lights and Hayley and I were decorating the tree. Like something from a cheesy family movie, we all sang along to Jingle Bells.

  The front doorbell chimed and a few seconds later Mom appeared with Ryan, her arm protectively around his shoulder. Normally easy going and unperturbed, he looked troubled and on the verge of tears.

  "We could use the extra help," Mom said, her hand sweeping the room of upturned cartons, bubble wrap and pine needles. Her eyes stopped on George, who was frowning at whatever Mom was trying to make him lip read. For a moment I saw Ryan’s arrival as an intrusion—this was our family time, our special tradition, it didn't warrant outsiders, non-family members. This was a celebration for the Harris-Brown family.

  "Hey, Parsnip," Charlie called, proudly showing off his position at the top of the ladder. A slow grin emerged on Ryan's face, and his teary eyes brightened, making me see how petty my thoughts were. Something had upset Ryan and he needed some comforting.

  “We need help here, Parsnip,” I said, as Mom guided him over to Hayley and me kneeling beneath the tree. I pushed a box of baubles towards him. “Maybe you can decorate the high branches.”

  “Yep,” Ryan said, “where should I put them?”

  “Anywhere you want,” Hayley said with a giggle. Our tree was not a picture of perfection, there were no color coordinated ornaments—it was covered in mismatched tinsel and homemade decorations. Mom’s favorites were the ones we’d made as kids; a Santa drawn on cardboard, hanging by a yellow string, a white dove with paper wings, a bauble marked with a Santa face and cotton wool glued on for his beard.

  Ryan had never decorated a real tree before, he thought they came already styled. He said theirs was silver and white and he wasn’t allowed to touch it.

  The oven timer rang and Mom dashed back into the kitchen. Shortly after, she ordered us all to the dining table where the aroma of freshly baked gingerbread filled the room. We sat down and each of us decorated our gingerbread person with candy and frosting—another Harris-Brown tradition.

  After a glass of milk, Ryan appeared to relax. He had never iced a cookie either, and he, Hayley and Charlie tried to create a gingerbread version of themselves. Hayley piped on her bangs, but it went badly wrong, making her look like she had a beard. The three of them howled in laughter.

  Mom, George and I congregated in the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” George whispered.

  Mom shook her head in disappointment. “Seems Millie’s gone out for the night and his brother, who is supposed to be babysitting, has his friends over and is drunk.”

  I gasped. “That’s not right.” I pitied Ryan for having a brother who didn’t care about him.

  “No, it isn’t,” Mom said. “I’ll ring Millie and tell her he can sleep here tonight. I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be over there.”

  George had gone to the door, listening and looking out. For once the music wasn’t loud, but there were lights on in the house and around the pool.

  I couldn’t understand it. Cole had accused his mother of drinking, of being hungover, and now, when he was in a position of responsibility, he was doing it himself.

  I had been a fool to think that Cole had been sincere in anything he said. And a bigger one for feeling an ounce of empathy for him.

  CHAPTER 7

  The whole episode of Ryan coming over to our house had disturbed all of us. George had gone with Ryan to get his pajamas and pillow, and he’d been disheartened by what he’d seen—six kids drinking, unsupervised, the kitchen counter covered in an array of alcoholic drinks and pizza boxes. He had suggested they turn the music down, tidy up and get rides home, but he was under no illusion that any of them listened. He said that Cole had begged Ryan to stay, but he was so drunk he probably didn’t know what he was saying. Millie had arrived home in a taxi some time later.

  What was worse was when Mom returned Ryan’s pillow the next day, Millie accused her of butting into their business. She reprimanded Mom for getting involved, saying Cole had been completely capable of looking after his little brother and Mom was an interfering busybody who needed to keep her nose out of other people’s lives.

  Mom had been devastated. Her intentions had been nothing but altruistic. She’d taken in a young boy who had been scared, and kept him safe for the night.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  And done without judgment.

  It was a difficult situation, being good neighbors, but not getting too involved in personal stuff.

  Seeing Mom stressed out, stressed me out. I needed to get away from the house, from the neighborhood. Like, totally away. Under the guise that I was doing Trieste a favor, I asked her if I could stay for a few days. She had been on her own through exam week, with her mother and father visiting family in the Ukraine. Now that winter break had started, I was sure Mom and Dad would agree to let me keep her company.

  Trieste thought it was a fantastic idea, so I stayed for two nights, decorating her apartment, doing last minute shopping and eating copious amounts of candy.

  Trieste had an urgent job to do for one of her mother's house staging clients. They were paying her big money to deliver some special Christmas arrangements, so she dropped me home on Christmas Eve. I was looking forward to helping Mom build the gingerbread house before we went to midnight mass. Trieste was making her way up our driveway when Cole Parsons appeared in front of us, coming within a whisker of hitting her bumper.

  "What the-?" Trieste slammed her brakes hard.

  "Oh my goodness," I cried, "he is such a jerk." I waved my hands, signaling that he should back up, though knowing it was in vain.

  "Aren't we past the halfway mark?" Trieste asked, "shouldn't he reverse?"

  "He won't. He's a total jerk." I unbuckled and leaned across for a hug, embarrassed that I was making her reverse out.

  Fortunately, Trieste wasn't fazed; driving didn't scare her. "Is that your new neighbo
r?"

  "Yes," I nodded, his toot making me quickly retrieve my bag from the backseat. Why was he so impatient? "Thanks for having me. It's been fun."

  "Sure has. Enjoy midnight mass,” she said, tongue-in-cheek I suspected.

  "I will.” I rolled my eyes in acknowledgment. It was another family tradition, but one I wasn’t so keen on, if only because I found it hard to be stay awake. “And let me know that your Mom gets home okay. You can text me in church,” I said with a grin. Her Mom's flight was arriving after midnight. Cole's horn blasted again, long and loud. I strode off to give him an earful.

  His window was down halfway. "Really? It's Christmas Eve," I snapped.

  "So?" Cole Parsons was expressionless.

  "You know, peace and goodwill and all," I said, trying to lighten the moment.

  "Yeah, whatever," he said, his face etched with a hardness.

  “Are you-” I began to ask, but he revved the engine, storming forward. Someone definitely wasn't in the holiday spirit. I looked to see that Trieste had safely made it to the street, envying her confidence in driving.

  Mom had started on the gingerbread house, getting so far as glueing together two walls.

  “Cole just about slammed into Trieste,” I said, “he still hasn’t learnt how to drive properly.”

  “It’s getting beyond a joke now,” Dad called from the living room.

  “Come on, let’s not be grouchy on Christmas Eve,” Mom said, ever the diplomat, but I knew she was concerned about things next door. The whole neighborhood had seen, and discussed, the recycling bins full of wine bottles and beer cans.

  “Are they staying home for Christmas?” I asked.

  “Millie said they’re going to be away for a few days,” she said, and nodded to a gift hamper on the dining table.

  “She came over?” I asked.

  “She dropped it off,” Mom said crisply, unable to hide her hurt.