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

by Kylie Key

  “Oh,” I said, going to inspect the beautiful basket full of goodies. “So, I guess Cole left on his own?”

  “Mmmm. I didn’t want to pry,” Mom admitted. She had reached out again with a gift of her fabulous home baked cookies and peppermint bark, but Millie had been distinctly frosty and dismissed her bluntly. Ryan hadn’t been back over to see Charlie. It was ridiculous, like it had turned into a full-blown feud of Montague and Capulet proportions. Did Shakespeare write anything that had a happy ending?

  “Okay,” I said, carefully piping a line of frosting, “Let’s make this our best gingerbread house yet. We’ll blow Hayley away when she sees it.”

  Mom smiled, assembling the roof, but I could see she was bothered by it. Mom didn’t have a mean or unkind bone in her body and I could tell that Millie’s snubbing affected her, that a tiny piece of her heart had been broken.

  WITH SUCH A BUSY WINTER break—we'd been visiting family, hiking, to the zoo, to the mall, it was practically a relief to be getting back into routine, going back to school and catching up with friends.

  The biggest news was from Trieste. In the most unexpected turnaround, she was now dating Felix Northcott. Felix worked at Mooki's cafe and rode a bike (because of finances, not fear of driving, I assumed). He had been her project partner in Digital Design class, and she'd openly called him out for his appalling fashion sense and geekiness, so I couldn't wait to hear what caused the change of heart.

  The weekend before school started Mom and Dad had a wedding to go to for one of Dad’s work colleagues. They would be staying overnight at a fancy vineyard. With Hayley at my grandparents’ house, Charlie and I were looking forward to being on our own. He had plans for an online gaming marathon, and I wanted to chill, stay in my pajamas all day and binge watch some shows.

  I stood at the microwave, watching the seconds count down as the popcorn bag made its final popping sound. Charlie came rushing in, holding his phone out for me.

  "It's Ryan," he said, "he needs a favor."

  "What?" I said, not hiding my annoyance. What kind of favor would Ryan want from me? And besides, we hadn't seen him since before Christmas. If the neighbors were home, they weren't advertising the fact. On a walk with Mom and Hayley around the block a few days before, we'd happened to converge on the driveway at the same time that Millie was leaving in her car. Wearing her sunglasses, she’d lifted her chin and pretended she hadn't seen us.

  "Hello?"

  Ryan's voice was a panicked state of anguish. "Mom's away, and I can't get hold of Cole. He's not answering his phone. Or his messages. He was supposed to pick me up."

  "Oh," I said, walking outside and across the driveway to see if his car was home. It wasn't, and it sent a mild panic through me.

  Ryan was stranded at a judo competition in Willow Park, a suburb I'd never driven to. He had no way of getting home, his mother was sailing on a yacht for the day. His other teammates had already left, expecting that Cole would pick him up.

  A sickening feeling enveloped me—I would have to go and get him. I couldn't leave him waiting on his own.

  "Are you sure you can't contact Cole? What about his friends or girlfriend? Do they know where Cole is?"

  Ryan didn't have Kaedie's number. Or any of his friends. I was virtually hyperventilating. "I'll just knock on your door and see if he's home," I said, breaking into a jog and ringing the doorbell frantically, praying that his car might be in the garage and he was upstairs sleeping.

  But in my heart of hearts I knew it was an action in futility. Cole wasn't home.

  "What about your father? Can't he get you?" I asked in desperation. I knew the family was going through an ugly divorce, but surely he wasn't totally out of the picture.

  "Dad lives in Atlanta," he said, momentarily confusing me. For some reason I thought their father lived in their old house in The Hills. It plunged me deeper into despair, knowing I was going to have to step up, brush aside my fears and drive to Willow Park.

  My driving was confined to an approximate eight mile radius. I drove from home to school, to my friends' houses, my piano lesson and the mall. If I needed to go anywhere further I let one of my friends drive. None of them had any fear in driving, they had no qualms about randomly driving up or down the coast, or across the city to another mall. Me, I visualized every route I had to take, knowing beforehand how many lanes there would be, when I needed to change, every stop light.

  Getting in the car and driving to pick up Ryan should have been an easy task.

  Yet it wasn't.

  It terrified me.

  "I don't know where he is," Ryan was saying, "but yesterday he said he'd pick me up." His voice turned shaky and squeaky. "He told Mom he would."

  "Look, don't worry," I said, faking my confidence, "Charlie and I will come and get you."

  A few minutes later I'd abandoned the popcorn, pulled on my jeans and a hoodie, grabbed my keys, set google maps, and Charlie and I were off. I'd told Ryan to wait at the fast food place that was fifty yards down the road. Using my phone, Charlie relayed the directions.

  My hands gripped the steering wheel in a state of tension for the whole thirty minutes it took us to get there, my concentration fully on the unfamiliar territory. Upon arriving, I had to flex my fingers that had cramped up. Ryan's joy in seeing us was reflected in my own brief euphoria at having made it to our destination. But my relief was short lived as Charlie reset the map and I realized I still had to get us home.

  Plus, I had a new anxiety to contend with—the sun was setting and driving in the dark was another of my not favorite things. At least the roads were familiar now, or that's what I made myself believe. Having a good memory meant I'd taken note of every stop light and number of lanes.

  Ryan was chattering away in the back, telling us about his fights, proudly showing us his medal, completely unaware that his driver was freaking out.

  "Did you hear back from Cole?" Charlie asked him.

  "Nah. Nothing," Ryan said. "Mom said he's probably at Kaedie's."

  "Still, you'd think he'd answer his phone."

  "Yeah," Ryan sniffed. "He's probably drunk or something." It seemed a little early for drinking, but the prep kids were notorious for their partying, so it could be true. But his voice cracked a little, "I hope he's okay, though. I hope he hasn't had an accident."

  "I'm sure he's fine," I said positively, not wanting Ryan stressing about it. Though secretly I hoped his phone had smashed, or his car had a flat tire in the middle of nowhere.

  My phone told me to turn right in sixty yards. I clicked my turn signal earlier than was necessary, giving plenty of warning of my intended direction. The light was green and I was following at a safe distance. I checked my mirror to see there were no cars behind me.

  Yet, from nowhere a glaring light headed straight towards us. And life happened in slow motion.

  A squeal of brakes.

  A crunching sound.

  A puff of smoke.

  My own screams.

  CHAPTER 8

  I learnt that shock does funny things to you. It doesn't let you feel the pain of bruised ribs and a broken wrist, and eliminates all rational thoughts. My most pressing concern was that I must turn on my hazard lights to alert other drivers.

  Charlie was the one who was calm and in control, unfazed by his bleeding nose and an airbag slammed in his face. He told me the smoke in the car was dust from the airbag and that we were not about to burst into flames, as I was hysterically predicting. He reassured me that I was not about to go to prison for driving with two minors in the car, and that he was not going to lie and say he was 20 years old. Ryan, too, showed more maturity than me, unbuckling himself, somehow unscathed in the backseat, and comforting me as if he was seventeen and I was the twelve year old.

  It was when Mom and Dad met us at the hospital that I finally broke down into a sobbing mess. Apparently I'd been silent on the ride in the ambulance, but I couldn't remember any of it, the adrenaline masking the pain in
my body, and worried only about the blood on Charlie's face, Ryan's scratched arm and my impending imprisonment.

  A few hours and an X-ray later, I was allowed home, my left arm in a splint, a bandage on my forehead and my nerves completely shattered. Mom helped me into my pajamas, but I couldn't sleep. She let me stay in her bed with her, making Dad take the spare room.

  I slept till midday, waking up to find Hayley lying next to me, the two of us surrounded by every soft toy she owned. She patted my forehead and stroked my hair and whispered that she loved me. Then she leapt off of the bed, yelling as she ran down the stairs, "Sleena's alive! She's alive!"

  Mom, Dad, Charlie, Grandma and Grandpa all crowded into the room. I'd moved a fraction, trying to sit myself up, as I desperately needed to use the bathroom. Each movement, from straightening myself, to shifting my legs reminded me that I'd been in a car accident. The crowd parted as Mom supported me in walking. In the mirror I could see my grazed forehead, my split lip, my bruised upper body. I looked, and felt like I'd been twelve rounds in a boxing ring.

  Grandma brought up a breakfast tray and urged me to eat and drink. Mom plied me with painkillers and I sipped on orange juice, not sure that I was even hungry.

  It seemed my side of the car had taken the brunt of the force, which is why Charlie and Ryan had escaped with superficial injuries. Charlie recalled seeing a car come through the intersection oblivious to the red light, smashing into Doris.

  That made me gasp. "How is Doris?" I asked, "Will she be okay?" In the aftermath I hadn't thought to inspect her damage.

  Dad's solemn face said it all. "I'm afraid she's totaled sweetheart," he said. "The insurance assessors have written her off."

  "Am I getting charged?" I asked.

  "It wasn't your fault," Charlie said, quite animatedly, "the other driver crashed into us. Luckily you were driving slow, or it could've been much worse."

  "Maybe you'll get a penalty on your licence, but it's nothing to worry about," Dad said. "And I don't want you to worry about Doris. It's covered by insurance."

  "Don't worry, I won't be needing another car. I'm never driving again," I said. And at that moment, I meant it. If I ever got into a car again, it would be on the passenger side.

  "Now, now," Dad said, "in time, but let's rest and recover now."

  I slept for another few hours, then Mom helped me into the shower, and clean pajamas. Everything was difficult, and I was given a glimpse into the reality of Dominique and Malachi's world. Malachi, with burns to the left side of his body, was permanently scarred. My broken bone would at least heal in a month or so. And regular medication was keeping the pain at bay.

  Millie and Ryan came over to visit, bringing me a big bunch of flowers. Any animosity between the families was quickly forgotten, at least temporarily, as she expressed eternal gratitude that I’d helped Ryan—when his own brother hadn’t shown up. She kindly praised me for my safe driving and quick thinking, but I was unsure how I could be seen as any kind of hero. In my eyes I'd created havoc and I'd put her son in a perilous situation and couldn't express enough apologies. I didn't deserve to ever drive again. She refuted that a thousand times—I was nothing less than an angel in her eyes.

  My phone had been smashed up in the crash, so I used my iPad to contact my friends. They were desperate to visit and within an hour had arrived with flowers, chocolates, and coffee and cupcakes from Mooki's Cafe. The living room looked like a florist shop.

  They set up a roster to drive me to school, but I said this was the perfect opportunity for me to get serious about walking the marathon with Malachi and Dominique, which was just over two months away. Now that I had no car, it would force me into training. Malachi walked every day, sometimes up to ten miles. School was less than a three mile walk. And I was obviously not going to be able to play the piano or do yoga for a while.

  "Well, I should walk with you," Dominique said, "if I drive here, we can walk together."

  "Me too," Trieste said, though she lived on the other side of school, and would just be making things difficult for herself.

  "Ahem," Mom coughed loudly at the door. "Honey, you have a visitor." Her eyes rolled to the side where I saw the looming figure of Cole Parsons.

  He looked like he'd been the one in the car wreck. His usually well styled hair was disheveled and his eyes were tired and hooded. His clothing seemed crumpled, as if he had slept in them.

  He scouted the room, taking in my friends, then his eyes rested not on my face, but on my arm.

  "I just heard about the accident," he said, somewhat breathlessly, as if he'd literally run from his house. "I'm so sorry. I totally forgot about picking up Ryan." He ran his hand through his hair in an anguished way. "I'm really, really sorry."

  The girls looked at him, then they looked at me. For a split second I felt sorry for him, he looked like he was hurting, he sounded genuine.

  "You forgot to pick up your brother and Selina was made to drive across town," Dominique accused, addressing this boy she'd never met before.

  "Yeah, and Selina's never driven there before," Ainsley added in support. "And she would have been freaking out."

  I cringed at having my private, irrational fear disclosed to Cole, but Dominique piped up again, her stance fierce and immovable, "That's unforgivable."

  Cole floundered. The usually unflappable, dominating alpha male looked meek, and mild. "I know, I'm sorry..." he offered. "I really..."

  "You're lucky your brother wasn't badly hurt," Trieste cut him off, "or killed. Selina could've been killed."

  The force of her words brought about a moment of horrific reality—that if it wasn't for seat belts, airbags, a myriad of conditions aligning at the exact right time, either me, Charlie or Ryan could've died.

  Doris certainly had.

  The girls were all nodding and glaring in glum agreement. Cole Parsons had every reason to cower, to look afraid. I loved the loyalty of my friends.

  And then Ryan, who was behind us, gaming with Charlie, piped up. "He was drunk. He was partying with his friends. That's why he forgot."

  A stunned silence hit the room like a laser. Cole sheepishly covered his face with his hand. "I said I was sorry..." he started to say, but Ella didn't let him finish.

  "Okay, I think you're done here," she said, with a defiance I'd never witnessed before. Ella was all about saving the planet, and creating music, not reprimanding people. "Selina needs to rest, so I think it's best if you go."

  Cole gave one last sorrowful glance at his brother, and then to me, a plea for forgiveness. With a short embarrassed nod, he again repeated the phrase, “I’m really sorry," then brushed by Mom who had reappeared at the door.

  She smiled at us as the door closed. "Wow," she said, "you girls were harsh."

  They all spoke at the same time. "He deserved it!"

  "He was partying all day and night."

  "What an idiot!"

  "It's a shame he's such a jerk, because he's cuuuuute," Ainsley said, raising her eyebrows at me. "Selina, you never said he was cute."

  I felt my cheeks burn and was rendered speechless. I didn't want to admit that I thought my neighbor was hot, especially when he had zero personality.

  "Good looks are nothing if a boy doesn't treat you right," Dominique said, saving me.

  I nodded in agreement; everyone did.

  Without warning I let out a yawn, suddenly feeling totally exhausted. The girls hugged me goodbye, and I took myself back to bed. Mom said it would take a few days for my body to get over the trauma, so she was making me take a few days off of school. I didn't even try to protest, my wrist and chest were both hurting.

  The next morning she took the kids to school, unable to persuade Charlie to stay home with me. He couldn't wait to share his story with his classmates, which would likely give him celebrity status for a day. His resilience made me feel positively ancient, and he wore his scabbed forehead like a proud warrior. Mom was reluctant to leave me for even an hour, but I assured h
er I would confine myself to the couch and not move a muscle.

  The bruising had come through in full technicolor, my ribs fifty shades of gray and purple, but they looked worse than they felt. Every so often taking a deep breath or coughing reminded me of what had happened.

  Mom worked on her computer in the den. Her job as a geologist for an engineering company meant she could work from home, unless it was necessary to go on a field trip and test soil and rocks, which is what she did. Despite sounding nerdy, it was quite a cool job, going out and about and studying the terrain. That's why Mom loved taking us hiking, talking about rocks was one of her favorite things.

  I wished I had a favorite thing—Ella had her music, Dominique her gymnastics, Ainsley her dancing and YouTube channel, Trieste her newfound passion for design and Felix Northcott. Me, I hadn't found mine, though I was enjoying yoga more than I thought I would. But with a broken wrist it was now off the activity list. Maybe binge watching television shows was going to be my forte in life. And walking.

  The doorbell chimed and I heard Mom's footsteps scurrying to answer it. Probably a parcel delivery. There were voices and I muted the television.

  "Shouldn't you be in school?" Mom said.

  "Uh yeah." Cole Parsons? What was he doing here? "I wanted to apologize to Selina properly."

  "The girls were pretty brutal with you yesterday," Mom said, her tone tinged with amusement.

  "Uh, yeah, a little," Cole replied with an uneasy laugh.

  "She's on the couch," Mom then said, making me quickly unmute the television. I surveyed my situation: covered in a SpongeBob blanket, broken arm elevated on Hayley's llama pillow, my hair unbrushed, my half eaten bowl of cereal on the coffee table.

  "Selina," Mom said, and I looked up in fake surprise, as if I hadn’t heard a thing.

  Cole stood behind her, dressed in his school uniform, carrying the largest bouquet of flowers I'd ever seen. I gasped, genuinely shocked.

  "I don't condone missing school," Mom said, addressing Cole, her arms crossed in authoritative mode, "but you can stay for a few minutes."