Glass Heart Hero: A Dark High School Romance

by Lindsey Iler

  He’s kissing me. This tattooed, pretty-boy asshole knows damn well I won’t be able to push him away. Where it started out harsh and tight, everything in his body mellows, relaxing us both.

  When Breaker slips away, the corners of his mouth twist into a sweet smile.

  “Why’d you do that?” I whisper, dragging the pad of my thumb over my bottom lip, feeling the warmth of his lips.

  “Kissing you is my favorite thing to do.” Breaker shrugs, spins on his feet, and jumps down from the bleacher and onto the field. “Consider it for good luck.”

  I watch as he jogs to join his team. Right beyond them, Tripp sways, his feet planted, fury written over his face in bold letters.

  “Shit!” I whisper-yell.

  “Trouble in paradise, sweet cheeks?” Palmer says.

  Marek and Palmer cuddle under a blanket. Dixon sits directly behind them, completely oblivious to what has happened.

  “Fuck off, love birds.” I reach behind me and grip their blanket, yanking it off them.

  I wrap it around my body and slump down. Palmer rests her arms on my shoulders, bringing her face directly next to mine.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “My life isn’t some romance novel. I didn’t sign up to be in a love triangle.” I grab her forearm and hug her tighter.

  “A love triangle might be fun,” Palmer says.

  “I heard that. Over my dead, cold corpse, Palmer, will we ever have a fucked-up love triangle situation,” Marek growls, making Palmer and me laugh. My thoughts scatter as my amusement melts away.

  Those two boys couldn’t be more different if they tried.

  One is perfect in every way. Crisp clothes, shiny smile, and a set-in-stone future. Somehow, I am drawn to the imperfection of the other. Tattooed covered skin, pain masked in humor, and a smile that can shave away every bad thing I’ve ever seen.

  My heart is telling me one thing, and my mind is running in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Three

  Breaker

  Lacrosse is the one thing I have where anger is encouraged. My coach expects me to walk out on the field with blood thirst. That will be no problem today.

  Across the turf, Tripp DuPont and his teammates form a line, mirroring ours, as we listen to the National Anthem. Our bodies sway as one, preparing for a war. I’m an attackman. I’ve played this power position since freshman year and learned what lacrosse is. Most people look at me and assume I don’t have an athletic bone in my body. They see the piercings and the tattoos and immediately think I’m a musician and an artist. If bloodshed on grass is art, then sure, call me one.

  Sports have always been an outlet for me. When I was younger, my mom thought it was a positive way to keep me busy, and she made sure I was present by driving me to and from practice. As I got older, being out on a field was the only means of escape. In the world of the rich and privileged, an escape is the way to survive. Some focus their energy on drugs, others on sex, and then a select few put our shit in one basket.

  Marek and I have that in common. It’s one of the reasons why we got on so easily freshman year. Common goals and relatable expectations have a way of bonding people.

  As the National Anthem fades, Tripp’s gaze locks on me, even though his team forms a circle around him. He lifts two fingers, pointing them at his eyes then at me, grinning like a fucking lunatic. I flash him my middle finger and glance away, not caring to give him another ounce of my attention.

  “You’re distracted, Davenport, and I can’t have you running around with your head up your ass!” Coach Roberts yells as I leave the line. The last thing I need is a pep talk. Anger is racing through my veins, and I have one target in mind.

  “I got it, Coach.” I roll my eyes, bending down to tighten my cleats.

  In the middle of the field, I stretch my neck and legs, thirsty for a battle. Our faceoff man, a junior with killer upper body strength, is sure to shuffle the ball right into my stick.

  As the whistle blows, Hollow Hills’ faceoff man lunges forward, fighting for the ball. Glass Heart gains the upper hand, and the ball flies in my direction. I catch it with ease and run down the field. Tripp is on me like a hawk stalking its prey, gliding in and out of my men, making it hard to clear a path to their net.

  With no other choice, I barrel forward and deliver a clean strike to Tripp’s shoulder on my way to the goal. I lunge, thrashing the ball and earning the point.

  In celebration, my team picks me up, making a show of our goal. Below me, Tripp curses, swatting his stick against the ground. The team lowers me right at his feet.

  “Better be careful! There’s plenty more where that came from, DuPont!” I yell over the crowd’s cheers. “Don’t want to break your stick and prove to Delaney what a real hot head you can be.”

  Tripp has no idea that I know of his past. He assumes I’m completely in the dark. I have it on good authority that he has a bit of a temper. I’m about to make him show his inability to keep his cool tonight.

  The entire first half, we continue this charade of cat and mouse, and end the half with our team ahead two to one.

  Coach pats me on the shoulder as we huddle on the sideline, preparing to switch goals and enter the second half.

  “You trying to piss off one of their players, Davenport?” Coach Roberts asks. “Because if you are, it’s working. He’s sloppy as soon as his cleats land in front of you.”

  “He’s out of shape. There’s no chance he’ll keep up with me.” I squirt water into my mouth, cooling off.

  “That’s what I’m hoping for. Go out there and embarrass him. Show him you won’t be fucked with, Davenport, and get us this win.” Coach Roberts reaches his hand in the middle of the group. “On three, go Bulldogs. One. Two. Three.”

  “Go Bulldogs!” the team shouts.

  We disperse on the field, taking our positions. Once I’m in place, I point my stick at Tripp. He’s right over the line of scrimmage, bouncing on the balls of his feet to prepare for his move.

  “See that girl up there?” I shift my head to where Delaney is sitting with Palmer and Marek. “Her lips will be happily wrapped around my dick in no time.”

  The whistle blows, and I shift, spotting Tripp stuck in his position. His coach yells from the sidelines, bursting him from the restraints my words have him tangled in.

  For the remainder of the game, we take turns threatening the other. It becomes a team sport, each of us talking shit to the other team. At some point, everyone is laughing, but Tripp and I have the same stone-cold, ready-for-blood look in our eyes.

  By the end of the game, the score is five to two in our favor. Shaking hands is a time-honored tradition after games. Excited energy courses through me from the three goals I’ve scored tonight. The other team slaps our hands one by one without making eye contact as we adhere to the good sportsmanship ritual no one enjoys.

  As the line grows shorter, Tripp grips my hand, holding me in place. “You can talk all the shit you want, but tonight, Laney will be in my bed.”

  Before I can respond, he walks away, proud of himself.

  What he doesn’t know is none of that matters. I’ve shared girls before. Another thing he’s unaware of is how patient I am.

  I make a point to jog in front of him as I cross the field to the bleachers. Palmer comes down and hugs me, giggling as she complains about the sweat. Dixon and Marek nod their chins and congratulate me on the win.

  Off to the side, Delaney tries to pretend she can’t see me. Her arms are crossed over her chest as if she’s trying to stop herself from moving, shuffling her feet to keep busy.

  “What, no congratulations, Delaney?” I yell, hopping the railing when she doesn’t glance in my direction. Once I reach her, I duck, forcing her to look at me. “What, are you mad at me about something?”

  “You kissed me.” Her hand touches her bottom lip. Is she imagining mine against hers? Does she feel anger and regret, or wonder?

  “And that’s a problem,
why?” I tip her chin up so I can see her eyes.

  “Tripp.”

  “I’ve never been afraid of sharing.” I grin, biting the tip of my tongue as she gawks at me. “Relax, Delaney. It’s not a big deal.”

  “I’m not being passed around.”

  “Well, that depends on how you look at it. You can think of it as being shuffled between us, used up for our sexual desires, or you can think of it as an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity for what, huh, Breaker? Please explain how this goes in my favor.”

  “Lord knows he won’t be able to sexually please you like I can, so there’s a start.” I hop up on the seat beside her, wrapping my arm around her waist to keep her from falling. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t thought about me since our last time.”

  “I haven’t,” she insists. Her eyes cut away from mine, and she swallows harshly.

  I run the tip of my finger over the front of her throat. Her entire body shudders when I grip the side of her head, lacing my fingers through her hair and drawing her closer to whisper in her ear. “Come on, honey. There’s no reason to lie.”

  “You’re not playing fair, Breaker,” she whimpers.

  “I never said I would. You don’t want fair. Fair doesn’t work for you. Like I said, you’ll figure that out, and I’m going to have so much fun showing you.” I jump down, running my hands from her waist to her hips and onto her thighs, painting a path into my memory. I catch the boys’ attention. “I’ll see you guys at the house.”

  I jog straight for the locker room. A cool shower is what I need to calm my nerves after the excitement of the game and my run-ins with Delaney.

  After a quick rinse, I toss my bag over my shoulder and head down the corridor, water droplets hitting my neck. My truck sits alone in the middle of the parking lot.

  The adrenaline rush of our victory sends a shock of excitement through my body. I’ve never doubted our ability, but I’m man enough to admit when the competition is there. Tripp is a damn good athlete. I’m stronger.

  I take the truck keys out of my bag and click the remote. The satisfaction of scoring three goals feels good. I toss my lacrosse stick in the back seat, and as I straighten, the door slams shut. The thought of crushing the fingers on my window runs through my head.

  “We need to talk.”

  I don’t need to check to know who it is.

  “Fucking Tripp DuPont,” I singsong as I spin on my heels, resting against the door his hand is pinned against. “Get your greaseball fingerprints off my windows.”

  He grins as I smash my arm against him, forcing him away from me and my truck.

  “Stay away from Laney,” he commands.

  “I don’t take too kindly to threats.” I open the door and start the engine, ready to get the fuck away from this guy.

  “Trust me when I say you have no business being around my girl.”

  “Your girl?” I laugh, enjoying the annoyance plastered over his face at my challenge. “Oh, let me guess, you caught that little kiss. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” With a pat to his chest, I square my shoulders.

  In a standoff, we stare at each other, neither of us willing to budge, like the first one to move a single muscle will have lost.

  “History doesn’t make romance.” His turning away draws attention to his cronies. Two, to be exact. They’re wearing their school uniforms, the shirts unbuttoned at the top with a loose tie.

  “Oh, did you bring your boys for muscle?” I scoff, not bothered by this show of dominance. “You’ll have to do much better than that.”

  A hand clenches my shoulder, and without thinking, I spin, ramming my fist into his jaw. Tripp groans, stumbling but not falling. The pretty boys behind him advance to me, their eyes drifting over my head, and they immediately think better of it.

  The sound of metal buckling under weight is music to my ears. Could I take these three? I sure as hell would give them a run for their money. Would they be dumb enough to try to jump me? Rich, pretty kids usually are.

  I glance back to see Marek leaning against the hood of the truck. Dixon circles the back end, proving where there’s one of us, there’s all of us.

  “Richards, shouldn’t you be tending to that pregnant side piece of yours?” Dixon questions, causing one of the guy’s mouths to drop open. “Oh, my bad. That wasn’t a secret, was it?”

  “Is that for real?” I glance at Dixon, finding him nodding his head. “Oh, shit. Only a rich mother fucker like you would knock up his whore.”

  “Like father, like son,” Marek adds, circling the truck and coming to my side. “You’re a bastard, if memory serves me.”

  “Daddy bolted the minute the piss dried on the stick, returning to his real family and leaving you and your mom high and dry.” Dixon’s laughter forces this rich prick’s face beet red.

  “And your point?” Richards bolts forward, ready to fight Dixon. He doesn’t know who he’s messing with. Nothing rattles Dixon, especially not an entitled piece of shit like him.

  I shove Richards away from Dixon as the tips of their noses bump. They can buy all the time they need, but I’m not letting them brawl tonight.

  “Do you always let your minions fight your battles?” I smile, knowing damn well Tripp hasn’t come here to get his hands dirty.

  “I came here to challenge you.”

  “What is this, medieval times? You want to joust, DuPont?” I point at him, checking over my shoulders with an amused laugh.

  “A gauntlet,” Tripp announces, amusement and excitement plastered on his face.

  The gauntlet is an urban legend, complete folklore, something upperclassmen say offhand to make underclassmen believe this is something that can be executed.

  Marek stands a few feet away, disbelief on his face. He’s worried, and if he’s worried, that means the infamous gauntlet isn’t some campfire story.

  “Fuck!” I whisper-yell.

  “So, you’ve heard of it, then?” Tripp reaches up and loosens his tie.

  “What are the perimeters? I’m not going to agree to anything if I don’t know the details.”

  “Why don’t you sleep on it? We’ll have a meeting soon.”

  “No, asshole, why don’t you tell him now?” Marek yanks Tripp to us when he tries to escape.

  “Or how about you grow a fucking pair and take the punch on the chin, or are you too afraid?” Tripp goads, knowing damn well I’ve never been one to stand down.

  “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

  Tripp and his cronies scurry away, never giving us their backs. Smart, because I’m not above sucker punching them.

  Their tires squeal as they race out of the parking lot. Confusion and uncertainty spread in my mind and is easily replaced with anger.

  “What did I just do?” I open the door of my truck and sit. Marek and Dixon close in. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

  “That all depends.” Dixon grins, leaning on the door and tapping his fingers on the metal.

  “On what?” I ask.

  “The weight will always be measured by what that girl means to you.” Dixon shrugs.

  “Is she worth it?” Marek adds. “Because if she is, then you go into this gauntlet on high alert. He’ll take her every chance he gets. Take what’s yours.”

  “And if she doesn’t want me?”

  “Well, then it’ll be super embarrassing for you.” Marek smacks my stomach when he notices I’m not smiling. “Relax, man. You got this. She’s been yours since we dragged Palmer and her into the woods.”

  The memory of us in those woods, and the events that followed, collect in my mind, punching and slashing their way forward, not willing to be ignored. A movie reel of everything she and I have been through has my heart beating like a drum. Her cuddling into my chest after we’d stopped Declan from attacking her in the club. Watching her sleep that night, too afraid she’d wake up and be alone. Seeing the hurt in her eyes when she’d learned the truth about what we did to
Palmer. Refusing to leave her side after they’d drugged her at the auction. Trying to hold her together when she’d been covered in blood.

  These moments between us have brought me here. They’ve played a part in our downfall.

  “Where’d you go, Break?” Dixon taps his nail on the window, dragging me away from my dark thoughts.

  “I’m going to kill him,” I announce, pushing Dixon away. I close the door and roll down the window.

  “Tell Delaney we said hello.” Marek grins.

  “How’d you know?” I call out as he’s about to get into his truck.

  “It’s what I’d do.” He shrugs, calling Dixon over to head out.

  ******

  Delaney opens her door.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The black silky robe, tied tight around her, shows off every perfect curve of her body. Her legs shimmer when the light catches them, and I stop myself from falling to my knees to worship the ground she walks on.

  “Can we talk?” I barge inside, forgoing the wait for an invitation. This is a conversation we are going to have.

  “Be my guest and come in, Breaker.” She leans against the closed door. “You know you aren’t allowed here, right?”

  “When have I ever followed the rules?” I grin, relieved when her lips slowly tip up. “There’s my girl.”

  “Not your girl, Barrett.”

  “Barrett now, huh?” I move about her room, checking to see if her eyes follow my movements. “Why do you switch between them?”

  “I call you Barrett when I want to piss you off. Breaker is when I’m feeling playful.” She shrugs. “Barrett is who the world wants you to be. Breaker is who you are. They’re wildly different.”

  “Which one do you prefer?” I crowd her. Her feet stay planted on the floor. Our bodies are in perfect sync, moving in exactly the right way until we are close, but not quite touching.

  “Breaker isn’t so bad,” she whispers, glancing away.

  “Look at me, gorgeous,” I goad.

  “I can’t,” she pleads.