Glass Heart Hero: A Dark High School Romance

by Lindsey Iler

  I’m stronger than the inner workings of Henry Lexington. I’m stronger than Declan Dumas. I’m stronger than the darkness that clouded our campus. Without knowing of the boundary put in place for me, I toed the line until I tumbled right into the alligator pit.

  “Hey!”

  I jump, then break into a fit of giggles, clutching at my chest from fear mixed with happiness.

  “You scared the shit out of me, Reagan.”

  “I’m so sorry. I heard the elevator doors open, and I was throwing my garbage down the chute.” She shrugs, heading to her dorm room. “Alone tonight?”

  The question is loaded, and she knows it. She’s found me pacing the hallway in the middle of the night when I’m unable to stay inside my room alone any longer. She’s heard the screams and witnessed the breakdowns.

  “Up for a girls’ night?” she asks after the long pregnant pause I’ve created becomes too much.

  “You don’t have to,” I lie, hoping she won’t take my answer at face value.

  “I know I don’t have to, but I want to, Delaney. Grab your shit and come over. It’s early. You can tell me about that shit that went down tonight.” She grins. “I may even have snacks.”

  “Only if you tell me about what’s going on with you and Dixon.”

  “Oh, we don’t have enough time in the day for that shit storm.” She laughs, kicking open her door.

  I rush into my room and grab everything I need. Once my bag is filled with a change of pajamas and my toothbrush, I twist to grab my pillow and freeze, spotting a splash of color against the white pillowcase.

  A beautifully bloomed peony lays across the fabric. The full petals remind me why they’ve always been my favorite. A small piece of paper is attached to the stem. As I pick it up, holding the petals to my nose to inhale the scent, I know there’s no point in reading the note because I know who it’s from.

  I toss it on my comforter and head for the door. Curiosity has me pausing, taking a deep breath, and then retrieving it. Out in the hallway, I flip the ivory notecard and hold my breath as my eyes skim over the beautifully messy handwriting.

  I’m sorry about tonight.

  -B

  A single sentence has my eyes closing, fighting the emotions Breaker Davenport is capable of bringing out of me. He makes the small things feel like big gestures.

  “You coming or not?” Reagan pokes her head out of her room, her smile slipping when she sees the flower and note in my hand. “Oh, shit, girl! They like to do that, don’t they? Disappear, then barge into the chambers of our hearts when we don’t need them anymore.”

  “You better have chocolate ice cream in there.” I drop the note and flower on the floor, ignoring it on my way to Reagan’s dorm.

  We spend the remainder of the night talking so much shit about half of the Glass House Boys.

  When I wake up, I feel a little better, more grounded in my choice. The biggest problem with feeling grounded is that at any point, it can trip me up again.

  ******

  A knock on the door startles me from my half-dozing state.

  I haven’t been getting decent sleep, too consumed with memories and nightmares to find the elusive relief. I hate to admit it, but seeing Breaker at the party, and then finding the flower and note on my bed, it fucked my head up. No amount of complaining to Reagan would ever be enough.

  I slug over to check the peephole and can’t help but smile. I flip and twist every lock. Tripp grins when I open the door.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him, moving off to the side for him to enter.

  I lock the door behind us, shocked when he takes items out of the large paper bags in his hands and places them on the table.

  “What’s all this?” I gesture to the containers.

  “Your text earlier had me a little worried.” He abandons the bags on the floor and his arms encircle my waist, tugging me close.

  My hands land on his biceps, reveling in the feel of being in his arms. Sometimes being in his presence can be the simplest thing in the world.

  “There’s been a lot of things on my mind,” I admit.

  “Care to talk about it?” Tripp asks, holding me tight.

  “Sometimes I wish I could go back to winter vacation. It felt a little safer then, within the walls of my childhood home. Being here, it sends all those horrific events rushing back.” I lower my head to Tripp’s chest, listening to the gentle beat of his heart.

  His chest is familiar. It’s the one I’d laid on, staring at the stars inside a glass igloo, allowing me to look up at the winter stars. It’s the chest I ran to, scampering away from the nightmares greeting me in the middle of most nights.

  “That’s why I’m here.” He cups my face, pulling me away from him. “I brought all of your favorites.”

  Sweet Tripp. He’s always there, under the surface, willing to come out every so often, but when he shows his face, it’s a sight to see.

  I pop onto my tiptoes, dropping my lips to his. It’s soft and by the way his eyes widen, unexpected. We’ve kissed a handful of times. I’ve been trying to keep a distance, refusing to be the girl who leads someone on. Tripp and I are in a constant limbo of being something and being nothing. The kiss is tender, leaving it up for interpretation.

  “That’s nice.” His thumb ghosts over my bottom lip. He looks at me sometimes as if I’m fragile and something worthy of protecting. A loving glance here or there is why I keep coming back. I don’t know if he’s what I want, but everything gets muddled amongst what I believe I need.

  “Now, let’s see how well you know me.” I put distance between us as I always do. It’s my own way of not allowing him too close. The practice is completely unfair to him, yet I continue to do it.

  I start to open the containers. Pork dumplings and shrimp fried rice, pretzels with cheese, baked ziti, spring rolls, and molten lava cake. Everything is here, well thought out, and orchestrated.

  “How’d you manage to do this?” I ask, grabbing a pork dumpling. I bite it in half, devouring the chewy and savory goodness. I hold up the other half for Tripp. He eats it from my fingers.

  “Honestly?” He grins that goofy smile he only lets out for me, it seems. At least that’s what his father said to me. “I did most of it, but a few of them, I had one of the staff members run around town for me when I was at practice.”

  “You have a game tomorrow, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but I don’t expect you to go, if it’s going to be too weird for you.”

  “Do you not want me to go?”

  “I’d love nothing more than to look up in the stands and see you there.” He heads towards my kitchenette and grabs two plates, handing one to me. “You make that decision, and either way, I’ll respect it.”

  I grab his plate and set it on the table. Tripp’s eyes widen while he waits to see what I’ll do next. I grab his face and bring him towards my lips, pausing before I take it further.

  “Thank you for being understanding,” I whisper, pressing my lips against his.

  The kiss deepens quicker than I expect. His hands find comfort in my hair, holding on tight as if this will end as quickly as it’s begun. He’s been respectful of my apprehension to get physical. My therapist thinks I’ll know when the time is right, when I feel my most safe.

  “What was that for?” Tripp asks as I separate us.

  “Kissing you feels safe,” I admit.

  “I don’t want to be the safe choice, Laney. I want to be the only choice,” he says, grabbing his plate.

  He’s right to feel like I’m choosing him for a designated set of reasons. Most of them circle around to the fact that he’s not a tattooed bad boy.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I try to clarify. “It doesn’t scare me to be close to you.”

  “Well, that’s a start now, isn’t it?” He winks, handing me my plate.

  We spend the evening talking, shifting from the table to my bed after we eat. At some point, a movie is turned on the
television. Not recognizing the film, I lay on Tripp’s chest. The warmth of his skin heats my cheek through his shirt. I snuggle closer. He drapes his arm over my shoulder, tickling the skin on my lower back with an odd design he traces over and over again.

  Being alone in the dorms is an everyday struggle. Loneliness has a way of playing games with our heads. Alone is where the monsters find you.

  “You won’t ever hurt me, will you?” I whisper the insecurity through a lump in my throat, as if my body is trying to stop me from thinking the worst.

  “The quicker you realize I’m here for the right reasons, the better off we’ll be. I’m not like him.” The mention of Breaker nearly jerks me out of the moment with Tripp, sending me on a tailspin through my own memories.

  “I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention Breaker.” I clench my eyes shut, trying to make my brain stay in my dorm room, wrapped in Tripp’s arms. It’s no use. My eyes focus on the wall, the television completely forgotten.

  “Trust me, a world without Breaker Davenport is one worth living in.” The sternness in his voice is enough indication of the jealousy and hatred Tripp holds for Breaker.

  “What happened between you two?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  “I thought you didn’t want to mention him?”

  “Humor me.” I lift up on my forearm to gauge his reaction. His lips are flat, a distant look in his eyes that should warn me not to let this pass. I’ve never been good at staying away from the fire, though.

  “We’ve never seen eye-to-eye. My guess is that will hold true with you, too. Your history with him irritates me because that’s a competition I’ll never be able to win,” Tripp explains.

  “There it is.” I run my fingers through the hair behind his ear, caressing my thumb over his cheek.

  “What?” He glances away, uncomfortable.

  “Your stone-cold mask is gone.”

  “Just for a minute”— Tripp flips me onto my back, hovering above me and catching me off guard— “and only for you.”

  When I wake up, I’m alone in my bed. A note perched on a hot cup of coffee tells me he hasn’t been gone for long. I grab them and savor my first sip while reading his message and admiring his perfect handwriting.

  I lied. I want you to be there.

  The remainder of my day is spent avoiding everyone. Tripp has a special talent of reminding me why he’s not the right one for me. He also has a knack for grounding me.

  Nothing feels truly right. Every aspect of my being is off-kilter, kicked onto its side, struggling for stability, and searching for it in anyone but myself.

  How does one get to this place? Is it a series of choices that add up over time, proving to some silent, invisible goddess that we aren’t worthy of safety and normalcy? If there is some hot female floating above my head, choosing doom for me, then I’d give anything to wrap my hands around her throat and steal the same thing she’s stolen from me.

  Life.

  “You should try not scowling so much,” Palmer says at the lacrosse field after school.

  “It’s cold as Siberia out here,” I deadpan, moving my feet to allow her to pass. When she sits beside me, the heat of her stare is a welcome warmth. “Go ahead, bitch. Spit it out.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here.” She presses her bony elbow into my side with a forced but hopeful smile plastered on her face.

  I purse my lips, prolonging the inevitable. Once she realizes the real reason I’m here, she’ll be disappointed. Palmer Weston is good at almost everything, except hiding her feelings.

  “I’m a fan of lacrosse.” There’s never been a bigger lie uttered from my lips.

  “Go ahead and admit you’re here to check on Breaker.” She giggles. “You two can pretend if you want, but you’re end game. Have been since we found Georgina’s body in the woods.”

  I hate the reminder and try my hardest not to think about that night. One single evening shifted everything. Palmer and I had no idea, but that night forever solidified the Glass House Boys to us. From there, we couldn’t help but fall into their wicked spell. Look where that got the two of us. We found ourselves stuck under the control of others and nearly got ourselves killed.

  My best friend has drawn the long stick in this deal. She’s gotten the love of her life. A boy incapable of emotions has settled deep into her heart, proving some people aren’t what they seem to be. I’m happy for her, truly, but I’d be a piece of shit to admit the truth of my hurt. My story didn’t end with fireworks and romance. Mine ended with a bloody dress and a knife in my hand.

  “Palmer, I’m not here . . .” My words drift off when I see the truth heading our way.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Palmer groans.

  “Hey, Laney!” Tripp jumps up on the cement wall and holds onto the metal bar separating the field from the fans. “I thought you were going to sit with Trish and the girls.”

  I cut my eyes to Palmer, then inch down the bleachers to sit in front of Tripp. “Yeah, I might as well put the gun in their hands and pull the trigger for them.”

  “I plan on winning them over.”

  “Unlikely.” Marek comes up behind Tripp and smacks the back of his head. “Delaney can do better than you, and you know it, or else you wouldn’t be insecure in her presence.”

  “I’m not insecure,” Tripp counters, proving Marek’s point.

  Marek hops onto the wall next to me, leaning his forearms on the railing, looking the part of the school bad boy. “Well, my boy’s about to prove how inferior you are in life and on the field. Buckle up, mother fucker.” Marek makes a show of closing his eyes and taking a deep inhale through his nose. “Smells like cracked skulls.”

  “Okay, go sit down, Marek. I don’t need a bodyguard.” I shove him, then smile when I catch his grin as he walks over to Palmer.

  “I’m not afraid of them, Delaney. I know they’re a package deal with you. Maybe, in the not so far future, you’ll feel confident in calling me yours, and when that happens, they’ll lay off.”

  “You want to be my boyfriend?” I hate how shredded my self-worth is that I’d ever doubt someone of Tripp’s stature would want to be in a relationship with me.

  The DuPont family is old money, the exact kind of deep pockets my parents have always dreamed of me being with. Polished and refined. Cocky with a strength that goes deeper than the body. When I look at him, I see a future that’s mapped out for me. There’s comfort to be had in the life he could give me.

  I close my eyes to imagine it. As the image of me walking down the aisle at the DuPont estate hits me, I open my eyes, expecting to see Tripp wearing a navy-blue suit.

  But it’s not him. Breaker Davenport. I shake my head, trying to force myself to face a reality where my future doesn’t depend on these very moments.

  Tripp smiles like he can see my thoughts, and I reach out to grip his shoulders, tugging us close between the slats of the railing. Right over Tripp’s shoulder, I watch Breaker walk onto the field. Unlike most athletes, the uniform doesn’t wear him. No, he owns every fiber of his jersey. His eyes are glued to mine, and I’m stuck, unable to break away, watching him twist the lacrosse stick in his hand.

  “He’s ready for war,” I whisper, not meaning to. “Shit, sorry.”

  As if Tripp can sense him, he keeps an eye on Breaker strolling towards us. I beg and plead in silence for him to stop before he reaches the track. When he does, I sigh.

  “If he wants a war, Laney, then a war is something I’ll give him.” Tripp leans up, popping a kiss on my mouth. This special attention isn’t for me, though. The confidence in his walk as he inches closer to Breaker is frustrating. He thinks there’s a competition. They come shoulder to shoulder, both keeping their focus on anything but the other’s face. Breaker’s eyes are watching me.

  My breath hitches when Breaker advances away first, heading directly for me. Reality is I should go up and sit next to Palmer. Something has me frozen in place, hungry for what
ever storm he’s about to deliver.

  Once he’s at the wall, he leans against the cool cement. His arms are crossed over his chest, and the tattoos covering his skin stretch over his tight muscles. From where I’m sitting, Breaker’s profile is visible, but by tracking his eyes, it’s easy to see he’s locked in on Tripp.

  Thinking he plans on lingering here without saying anything, I open my mouth to alleviate the unnecessary silence. As I do, he spins, and his once-flat face shifts to pleased.

  “What?” My annoyance is loud and clear.

  “Wondering if he knows you hate being called Laney, is all.” Breaker swipes his tongue over the new lip piercing, caressing the metal loop.

  Dammit. I hate he knows that without me needing to tell him.

  Tripp started calling me Laney when his family stayed with mine over the New Year. Not having the heart to tell him I despise the nickname, I pretend like I find it cute.

  “I hate you,” I groan, frantically looking for an out.

  “You don’t hate me. You hate yourself for letting someone like Tripp DuPont give you some cutesy version of your name when you know you hate it. You hate that you aren’t with someone who intuitively understands that your name is your strength and who celebrates it,” Breaker says.

  “No, I’m pretty sure I hate you,” I say over my shoulder.

  “No, but if you keep letting that asshole make you feel like settling for some prissy life is what you want, then yes, you will hate me, because I’m going to prove that it isn’t what you want.”

  “What is it you think I want, huh, Breaker? Please enlighten the crowd with your knowledge.” I hold my arms out wide, making a mockery of this showdown.

  Like a rocket, he vaults up the cement wall and hurdles the railing. I take a half-step for each of his wide ones, giving him the advantage. Once he reaches me, his arm wraps around my waist and tugs me close.

  “You want me.” My eyes widen as his tongue glides over the ring in his lip.

  “It’s too late for us. There’s too many ghosts.”

  “Since when are you too afraid to fight what haunts you, Delaney?” His fingers grasp the hair at the back of my head and bring me to him. There’s nothing I can do to stop him as I watch his mouth descend to mine. I don’t want to stop him.