Table of Contents
Title Page
Torn Hearts
Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
My Best Friend’s Wedding
Paper Hearts
Torn Hearts
A Novella
By Claire Contreras
Torn Hearts
Copyright © 2015 by Claire Contreras
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-except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews-without permission in writing from its publisher, Claire Contreras.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s awesome imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Formatting: Champagne Formats
*Torn Hearts is the PREQUEL to Paper Hearts. Paper Hearts will be released on all platforms on SEPTEMBER 10, 2015.
This story is meant to be read between Kaleidoscope Hearts and Paper Hearts, but may be read on its own.
Chapter One
“WHOA. A DATE?” my mother asked as I stepped into the kitchen.
“Yeah, a date.” I picked up my long, damp hair and wrapped it into a bun as I weaved my way toward the fruit.
“Hm,” she said. My eyes snapped up at her non-committal statement. She was leaning back in one of the wooden chairs in our breakfast nook, a newspaper in hand, looking at me like I was wearing a bikini, not skinny jeans and a floral top.
“What?”
“No. Nothing. You look beautiful,” she replied, going back to her paper.
She looked like a sexy schoolteacher. That was what all the kids I grew up with said about her—that she was a MILF, in a sexy schoolteacher kind of way, with her long, wavy blonde hair and her librarian glasses.
“Spit it out, Bettina, you know you want to,” I said, turning to get myself a bottle of water. I smiled when she groaned. She hated when I called her by her first name. At the sound of the newspaper folding, I knew I had her attention. I turned around and took a seat across from her. I had fifteen minutes to kill anyway.
“I haven’t seen you date anybody, or even heard you mention any guys, for that matter, since Jensen left,” she said, cutting straight to the chase. My mother was no-bullshit like that.
My gaze fell to the paper on the table, away from her questioning blue eyes. The headline story was about the Clark Estate . . . again.
“Maybe I hadn’t met anyone worth mentioning until now,” I said, bringing my eyes to hers again.
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? So who is this guy worth mentioning?”
I bristled, feeling like she caught me in a lie. “What does it matter anyway? You guys hated Jensen and me together.”
“Nobody ever said we didn’t like you guys together,” she said.
“You didn’t have to. It was pretty clear. Dad didn’t like him because he’s broke, and you didn’t like him because you knew he’d never be a doctor or lawyer or whatever other fantasy man you envisioned me marrying.”
“Mia, that is simply not true!”
“Really? Because I clearly recall you saying, ‘He’s not good for you Mia. You can do better than that’,” I countered.
She looked at me for a long moment, releasing a long breath. “He used to pick you up on a motorcycle, looking like he rode straight out of a Sin City movie. What was I supposed to say? Besides, I know his reputation; I hear the way he and Victor talk when I’m over at Hannah’s house.”
My nose scrunched up. I looked away, not wanting to hear what was said in those conversations. I knew Jensen’s reputation. I’d known him my entire life. I didn’t fault him for the man he was or the past he had. He was a good person and had a good heart, despite his asshole tendencies and the bad boy appeal, which drew me to him in the first place.
“He’s a good guy,” I said, feeling the need to defend him, as usual.
“I agree. He is a good guy, and I will admit I pegged him wrong before. So why did you break up?” she asked. I felt myself heat beneath her stare.
“Because, Mom, he went off to school in New York, and I hate long distance relationships.”
“Do you hate long distance relationships, or do you dislike the idea of him being surrounded by women and you not having control over what happens?” she asked as I stood to grab my purse.
“I . . .” I stopped short. She’d hit the nail on the head, and it made me fume. “I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me, thank you very much. If you’re that bored with being a housewife, maybe you should go back to work,” I said as I walked away from her. “Thanks for the pep talk,” I threw over my shoulder before I walked out of the house.
It wasn’t until I got in my car and drove a couple of blocks out that her words hit me. I slammed my hand on the steering wheel and screamed. By the time I got to the movies, I was calm. I’d sent Max a text and asked him to meet me there to avoid the awkward pick up at my parents’ house. I needed to speak to Rob and convince him to let me move in with him. I didn’t think I could deal with another one of those pep talks, though they didn’t happen often. If it were up to my mom, I would get my degree, meet a rich man, and become a housewife, dedicating my life to having babies for her to dote on.
Things with Jensen were complicated. We spoke almost every day in one form or another: text, email, or phone call. We agreed that we would see other people while he was away, but I didn’t feel like I needed to date somebody else. And he never mentioned anybody else to me, but I wasn’t an idiot. I figured he was seeing other people since he would occasionally throw in the, “So, met anyone lately?” to probably lessen the blow of his telling me if I ever asked him the same.
I was sitting in a dark movie theatre, about to watch Inception, when I got a text from him saying he was in town and needed to see me. My insides flipped. I tried to focus on the movie, but my mind was elsewhere, which was a pity because I loved Leonardo DiCaprio. When the movie was over, I had no idea what I’d just watched. Max, on the other hand, was “mind blown” by it. He kept saying, “Oh my god. Mind blown!”
“Want to grab dinner?” he asked when we got outside. I automatically clutched my phone tighter. I hadn’t put it away since I got Jensen’s text, just in case.
“Maybe another time. I have to do a couple of things,” I said.
“Mia, you know I like you, right?” Max asked in a soft voice.
“I like you too,” I said, looking up at his bright blue eyes.
“But,” he said, chuckling as he ran his hand through his blond wavy hair.
“It’s just . . .”
“You’re still caught up in Jensen.” Max and I hung in the same crowds—the artsy types—as did Jensen.
“I’m . . .” I took a deep breath and smiled at him. “Can we still be friends?”
He nodded, smiling, then shook his head. “I can’t believe you friend-zoned me on our third date.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve always known it would be hard to get you to stop think
ing about him. I mean, he’s all you talk about when we’re together anyway,” he said with a shrug that made me frown.
“That’s not true.”
“Hey, I’m cool with it. I get it. He has the motorcycle, the cigarettes, and the aviator shades.”
I smiled. That wasn’t why I liked Jensen, though the appeal wasn’t lost on me, but that was why I fell in love with him. I gave Max a long hug and made him promise me we’d still hang out, because I truly did like spending time with him. Then I got in my car and headed toward Jensen.
As I drove to Patty’s house, where I knew he’d be, I thought about all of the things I loved about him: the way he looked at me; the way he spoke to me; the way he listened; his brokenness; his hands; the way he made me feel when he touched me; the way he made me laugh; the way his hands were always stained from the charcoal he used to draw. The more things I cataloged, the bigger my smile. Our story wasn’t always pretty. Some would argue it was quite the opposite, but it was beautiful to me.
Winding down that road brought back memories of my first glimpse of the teenager who made girls’ heads turn—myself included. Growing up, I saw him around a lot, and he intrigued me like crazy, but Jensen wasn’t a chaser, and I wasn’t up to doing the chasing. I parked my car in front of the house and closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the stupid game, during spring break my freshman year of college, that changed everything.
Chapter Two
2 years prior
“DID YOU PACK your bathing suit?” Estelle called from the bathroom stall beside me.
“Yeah, didn’t you?” I replied and groaned, looking beside me. “Do you have any toilet paper in your stall?”
She handed me the paper under the partition as she flushed. “I did. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t the only idiot thinking we were actually going to use the hot tub.”
I laughed as I opened the door and stood beside her to wash my hands. “I doubt it. Corinne said she got ten confirmations—four guys, six girls—and that’s only people who are actually staying over.”
Estelle’s eyes widened, her smile matching it soon after. “This is going to be insane.”
“Spring break, baby,” I said.
We originally planned to go to Cancun, but Estelle’s dad ended up in the hospital, and she didn’t want to be too far from him, just in case. Everything turned out fine, and he went home with a high cholesterol warning, but by then it was too late to book Cancun, so we opted to go to Malibu for the weekend. Our friend, Corinne’s, family had a huge empty house there, and it was a hop away, so it was perfect.
That night, after we got the house and helped set everything up—towels in every room, more alcohol than a sports bar, and enough chips and salsa to supply a Mexican restaurant—I decided to take a short nap.
“Who’s coming?” I asked Corinne, stretching my hands over my head as I woke up and saw her doing her make-up in the Jack-and-Jill bathroom.
“Well, Fern, obviously,” she said with a huge smile.
“Obviously,” I said, smiling back at the mention of her new boyfriend, who she’d crushed on all through high school, despite the fact that he always had a girlfriend.
“I think Carlos, Logan, and Jensen, too, and as far as the girls go, you, me, Elle, Pamela, and Danica.”
I blinked a couple of times. “Jensen Reynolds?”
Corinne stopped applying her liner mid-lip as her eyes snapped to meet mine in the mirror. “Yeah, why? Oh my God, you don’t hate him or anything, do you?”
“Hate him? No!” I said, frowning. “I’m just surprised. I mean, I’ve seen him hanging around Carlos sometimes, but I didn’t realize they were that close. I know his best friends,” I explained. “Estelle’s brother and their whole clique—that’s who he usually hangs out with.”
“Oh,” she said, back to applying her make up. “I think Estelle mentioned her brother coming by later, so I guess that explains it.”
I nodded and waited for her to leave before getting ready. I’d been seeing Jensen more and more around campus, and every time he looked over and smiled at me, my insides flipped. I couldn’t understand why I was having this sudden reaction to him, but I was, and I wasn’t thrilled about it. I’d had three cups of beer from the keg one of the guys brought before Jensen finally arrived, and when he did, Estelle kicked me—very obviously—under the glass table.
I glared at her, which made her laugh (she was already drunk).
“What?” she said, shrugging and hiding a laugh behind her hands, which were small, but she had a ring on every single finger, and that managed to actually hide her face.
“You’re an idiot,” I muttered. “Oh, look, there’s Oliver!” I said brightly and laughed when her face morphed from amusement to complete composure in less than two seconds. She turned around slowly, as nonchalantly as possible, and shot me a murderous glare when she realized I was kidding.
I shrugged. “What?”
“Not funny,” she said, trying to contain her lips from smiling.
I looked over her shoulder and saw the back door open, and laughed again when Oliver really did step in. “Okay, this is awkward, but Oliver really is here,” I said.
Estelle rolled her eyes. “Sure.”
“I’m serious,” I said, still laughing.
“I’m sure you are, Meep. I’m sure you are.”
“Man bun, check. White Nirvana shirt, check. Damn, he makes those cargo shorts look so fucking good,” I said. I could tell she was straining not to look over her shoulder, so I kept going. “Huh. He’s wearing flip-flops. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear flip-flops . . .”
“For the record, fuck you,” Estelle muttered before she finally conceded and looked over her shoulder.
“I told you!”
She smiled when she looked back. “So you did. You want to move in that general direction?”
I laughed. “Nope. I’m going to sit right here and drink my next beer.”
“You’re going to get a beer belly,” she said, making a face at my red cup.
“Well, what the hell are you drinking, Almighty One?” I asked.
“Vodka, obviously,” she said, raising her cup as she stood. “Want some?”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug and let my eyes drift over the party once more. Oliver was talking to Victor, who’d just walked in, and some girl who looked like she was ready to take her clothes off for him. I glared at her extra hard, hoping to catch her eye. Better me than Estelle—not that she cared much about the girls who flirted with them. I guess it was better that way since I seemed to feel enough rage for the both of us. I finally spotted Jensen walking outside, and stood, grabbing the cup from Estelle’s hand and pulling her along with me.
“I thought we were staying in place?” she asked. I heard the smirk in her voice but chose to ignore it.
We said hi to the guys and stood around listening to Victor talk; it seemed like he was always droning on about something. I walked toward the back door before I could give it much thought.
“Hey Jangles,” I said as I stepped outside.
He grinned, looking up from his phone as he flicked his cigarette. “What’s up, Road Runner?”
I smiled a little too widely. “Funny how you gave me the nickname and couldn’t seem to stick with it.”
Jensen shrugged. “I swim against the current.”
“Is that from one of your poems?” I asked.
“It’s not,” he said. “But . . .” he let the words hang as he put out the cigarette, reached in his back pocket for the torn up little black Mead notebook he carried around, and wrote something down.
“Do you buy your notebooks like that?” I asked.
“Like what?”
“All ripped up. I’ve seen you with a million different little notebooks, and they always look like they’re on the brink of falling apart,” I said, nodding at the one in his hand.
He chuckled. “They’re kind of like baseball gloves. The more beat up, the bet
ter.”
I nodded and gave him a once-over. He was wearing dark jeans, boots, and a white shirt that read, “I am.” You couldn’t see the tattoos I knew he had because of the quarter sleeves of his shirt, and I was dying to pull them up to see if he’d added any new ones. His face was closely shaved, and his hair was mussed, from the wind or his motorcycle helmet, there was no telling. What mattered was that he looked good—better than good—and I was ogling. I needed to stop ogling.
“Hey Jensen,” a group of girls said as they walked by. His eyes left my face for a second, just to acknowledge them with a nod, but he looked right back at me.
“You want to come drink with us? We’re going to play a game,” one of them said.
He was still looking at me, and my heart felt like it was having a seizure. “I’d rather stay right here,” he said, finally, not taking his light brown eyes away from me.
“You can go,” I whispered when the girls were out of earshot. “I don’t mind.”
“And lose track of my muse? I don’t think so Road Runner,” he said, smiling, as he flapped his notebook in the air.
“Afraid you can’t keep up with me?” I asked.
His chuckle warmed me all over, and when his expression turned serious as he searched my face, I felt a shiver spike through me. “I am, actually.”
Chapter Three
Present
THE LOUD KNOCK on my car window snapped me out of my reverie. I gasped and sat up straight, looking out to find Jensen standing there with a confused look on his face. From the look in his eyes, I knew something was wrong. I stepped out of the car, closing the door behind me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. He didn’t respond—just pulled me into his arms and held me in a tight hug.
“I’m not going to slither out of your arms, you know?” I said jokingly against his chest. He breathed heavily against my head and held me tighter before finally letting go.
“Yes, you are,” he said, his words muffled.
Torn Hearts (Hearts #1.5) Page 1
