Glass Heart Hero: A Dark High School Romance

by Lindsey Iler

  “Well, let’s go get a sweet treat for my sweet treat.” Tripp places his hand on my waist, guiding me through the foyer and into the kitchen. He barks an order at Ginger, which she takes in stride, hiding her eye roll until his back is to her.

  With a sliced apple in hand, I sit in the dining room, watching the staff work. They set the table with military precision. By the time dinner is plated, my stomach is growling again. Bridgette is grinning at my father as if he’s hung the damn moon. She has no idea what she’s in store for.

  “Did the apple help, sweetie?” Ginger asks as she pours me a cup of wine, customary in the Chambers’ household.

  “It did, Ginger. Thank you. You can go.” Tripp shoos her away.

  “That’s your future,” she whispers. “Make your decisions wisely.”

  Ginger has been a part of our family for as long as I can remember. She saw my parents’ marriage through several separations and late-night arguments. If anyone knows what a marriage to a man like my father looks like, it’s her.

  I offer her a sad smile. Tripp’s irritated eyes are directed at me. I’ve been caught.

  “This is delicious,” I say as soon as I take the first bite, avoiding looking up. I know what will greet me.

  “The chef is fantastic. I don’t think there’s anything he can’t whip up,” Bridgette says.

  The happy, giddy tone in her voice has me placing my fork on the plate. When I lift my head, Bridgette nods, waiting eagerly for me to agree with her.

  “Yeah, I know, Bridgette. He’s the chef who cooked me every birthday meal since I was this tall.” I hold my hand up to table level. “You’ve been here for, what, three months, and you think you know shit about how this house is run? News flash, Barbie, you don’t have a fucking clue how you’ve trapped yourself.”

  “Delaney Elizabeth,” my father’s voice echoes through the formal dining room. “That’s enough from you.”

  I stand as he does, challenging him under his own roof. “Actually, Daddy, I’m only getting started.”

  “Gary, it’s okay.” Bridgette puts one hand on my dad’s to calm him and the other on her barely-there belly.

  “If you think a baby will keep him locked down, you have another thing coming, sweetheart. He’ll always put his own needs and desires above yours and that kid’s.” I wink at her then walk away from the table.

  I’m at the door in a flash. “Let’s go, Tripp.”

  “Learn to control her or else.” The threat falls from my father’s mouth.

  “Yes, sir,” Tripp answers, rushing out of the dining room to catch up to me.

  “Oh, and, Dad!” I scream. “Your wife, you know, the one you left for this tart, she’s the one who taught me to never be controlled by anyone. Even you.”

  “Your mother is an alcoholic. I wouldn’t use her as someone to idolize.”

  Tripp blocks me from going in there to confront my father. “Stop, Delaney.”

  “And I wonder who we have to thank for that.” I fight against Tripp’s chest. “At least she didn’t sell her daughter up the river for her own benefit. You’re a worthless piece of shit, and everyone knows it. No amount of money will keep this family’s secrets hidden.”

  Wood scratching on tile is the sound of my win. He knows my threat is true. Tripp releases me as my father approaches. I know what’s coming. Once he reaches me, he swings his hand. Tripp doesn’t try to stop it. Bridgette lurks in the doorway, disbelief in her eyes and worry in her trembling hands. This is your future.

  “Does that make you feel good, Dad?” I reach up, rubbing the sting. “Whatever mess you’ve made of my name, you will fix it, or else.”

  “No daughter of mine will threaten me.” He shakes his hand, feeling the effects of the slap on his own skin.

  “I’ve looked in the eyes of true evil. Don’t think for a second that you scare me.” I grab Tripp’s arm and yank him outside.

  The tears don’t come right away. They stay at bay where I prefer them. Tripp, once again, remains silent, solidifying what I think I’ve always known. He’s a coward.

  “I’m going to assume you don’t want to come back to my place,” he finally mutters as we get closer to town.

  “You assume right,” I whisper, drawing my legs up on the seat and staring out the window.

  “There’s nothing I could have done.” He stops at the Glass Heart campus gate. The security guard looks inside, notices me in the passenger seat, and waves us through. “You know that, right?”

  No, I don’t know that.

  “No explanation needed, Tripp. You didn’t think it was your place.” I open the door as he slips into the parking spot. “I’d say this was a fun day, but I’d be lying.”

  “Are we okay?” he asks. Worry flickers in his eyes as he waits for a response.

  “If you’re going to be someone in my life, you have to learn to stand up to my father. He’ll bulldoze over you every chance he gets because that’s the type of man he is,” I urge.

  “Our families are so linked together, I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “Then I’m not sure I can do this.” I shake my head, putting a foot on the ground.

  Tripp’s hand wraps around my bicep. He squeezes it harshly, as if he doesn’t already have my attention. “This shit with your father isn’t my problem, Delaney. I can’t jeopardize the relationship I have with him, so that you can act like a child.”

  My eyes shift between his and his vise grip. My body wiggles to find relief. “You’re hurting me, Tripp.”

  He drops his hand as if he’s been burnt. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “That makes two of us.” I slide out, escaping into the cool air.

  I run inside the dorm without a backward glance. There’s no reason to look because there isn’t anything left for me there.

  The silence in the hall is shattered when my phone buzzes with an incoming text. I don’t care who it is. A quiet dorm room is what I need right now, a place to clear my mind and decide what I want in life.

  I fall on the mattress and cover my eyes with my arm, blocking out the light. When I move it away, a piece of paper on my refrigerator, held up by a magnet, catches my eye. Rolling off the bed, I walk over and take it down.

  Thought you could use this. Check your freezer. Love you! Palmer

  I open the door and see pint after pint of my favorite ice creams. I wrap my hand around the chocolate chip cookie dough and grab a spoon, prepared to drown my sorrows in milky deliciousness.

  Chapter Nine

  Breaker

  “Where’d you disappear to after the party?” Palmer catches me in the kitchen before I can sneak out. This is the exact conversation I’d hoped to avoid. “You disappeared Saturday, too.”

  Palmer is too inquisitive. She knows when something is off with one of us. I used to be able to slink through the house, moping around, and none of the guys would notice my change in mood. Then we forced our way into her life, and now, she won’t allow anyone to leave an emotional stone unturned.

  “I’m running late,” I lie, pointing toward the front door.

  “Where you going?” She smiles.

  “To study.” Again, another lie.

  Palmer looks at the watch Marek had forced me to help him pick for her. “Delaney usually goes for a run this time of morning.”

  Her eyes slip down my body, checking out the gym shorts and hoodie I’m wearing. They finally land on my tennis shoes.

  “Your point?” I shrug, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

  “It’s an observation,” Palmer scoffs. “After the way she stormed out of the party the other night, I figured things didn’t end well with you.”

  “Oh, they didn’t.” I smirk, gloating at the fact that I’d managed to dig under Delaney’s skin.

  “Breaker!”

  “You know how you and Marek are a little fucked up?” I nod, understanding my logic and not caring if anyone else does. “You’re
cruel to each other, or at least you used to be, and find some kind of comfort in torturing the other.”

  “Your point?” Palmer leans on the counter.

  “Delaney and I are kind of like that, except we aren’t willing to acknowledge it. Instead, we play tit for tat. She pretends to not want me. I pretend to hate her.”

  “But you don’t hate each other, and she sure as hell wants you.”

  “It doesn’t matter because we’re like oil and water. She’s Stepford Wife material, and I’m the gardener looking into her life.”

  “You’re richer than most, Breaker. You aren’t exactly the help.”

  “My pockets are lined with money. My soul, though, it’s filled with dirt.”

  “So, how long are we going to be experiencing the two of you and this little dance?”

  “I’m going to break her.” I wink, leaving Palmer in the middle of the kitchen.

  “Thought you’d like to know she texted me last night. Seemed awfully upset!” Palmer yells before I’m too far away not to hear her.

  Instead of acknowledging her, I head outside to my car, my mind wondering over what made Delaney so upset.

  When I get to campus, a welcomed silence moves with the air, rustling the leaves. The snow has already started to melt. The nip in the air proves it’s going to be short lived. I park outside the gymnasium. My head falls against the leather headrest, and I listen to the quiet music on the radio.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I grin as soon as my eyes hit the window. Delaney is on the other side of the glass, her arms crossed over her chest and the cutest grimace on her face. She slashes her finger down, a demand to lower my window.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks before it’s fully open.

  “Thought I could use some extra conditioning,” I respond, killing the engine.

  Before Delaney can protest, I roll up the window and climb out. She shuffles backwards, giving me space. For several minutes, we carry on the most ridiculous standoff. I start to stretch, enjoying the burn of my muscles.

  I pretend I don’t see the red-rimmed eyes she’s sporting, already knowing she had a rough day yesterday, according to her best friend.

  “I don’t have to justify why I’m here. You don’t own this campus, so if I want to run, then I will. If you have a real problem with it, then I suggest you use the indoor track.”

  “Whatever,” she groans.

  I jog around her, heading towards the west part of campus. Tennis shoes hitting pavement echo behind me. With my eyes locked forward, I smile.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” She settles into a pace beside me.

  “I’m running. Lacrosse is kicking my ass. I’d like to not be panting down the field.”

  “Try not smoking. That should help.”

  “Well, then, how will I survive our blessed little encounters?”

  “You need to get high to talk to me?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, it helps. You should try it sometime.” I laugh, veering off on one of the trails that loops around campus.

  “I don’t smoke.”

  “Add that to the list of reasons why we aren’t a match. Let me guess, Tripp also doesn’t smoke?” My animosity towards the plaid wearing douchebag is loud and clear.

  “This isn’t a competition,” she says. It doesn’t go unnoticed how she tenses up at the mention of Tripp. Maybe he’s the cause of the sad and distant eyes.

  Delaney can say it’s not a competition, but it’s funny because that’s exactly what this feels like. I’m trying to prove myself every chance I can, justifying my decisions and actions at the crossroads, while Tripp DuPont gets to waltz in the door and chase the welcome wagon attached to her ass.

  We run the path, taking each crossroad the same as if we share a brain. A steady rhythm sets in between us, and in what feels like minutes, we’ve run six miles. We breach the course entrance with our breaths heavy. Delaney halts, dropping her hands to her thighs, then springs up and grabs at her side.

  “Put your hands over your head,” I instruct. “And don’t stop moving. You’re going to cramp even more.”

  Delaney paces, a deep pink hue on her cheeks. Her breaths start to steady, but there’s pain on her face as she attempts to stretch out her overworked muscle.

  “Lay down,” I say. When she doesn’t listen right away, I laugh. “Seriously, lay down. It will help to stretch the muscles you need worked but can’t do on your own.”

  She does as I say, finding the cleanest part of the cement. “Seems you’re doing this for your own benefit.”

  I bend down and grab her leg, lifting it and placing her foot tight against my stomach. “If I wanted you on your back, I could have you there whenever I want.”

  “So sure of yourself.” Her grin widens when I apply a little more pressure, stretching her hamstring.

  “You saying it’s not true?” I grin at her lack of response.

  Her face stays flat. She’s unwilling to give me an inch of acknowledgement, and even goes so far as to glance away, forcing her attention to the parking lot.

  “Help me up.” Delaney shakes her hand, and I yank her to her feet. “Well, this was . . . This was something.”

  The loneliness in her eyes as she walks away has the familiar pain in my chest returning.

  “You hungry?” I shout before she makes it to the parking lot.

  “I could eat,” she answers, waiting for me on the curb. “I’m driving.”

  “I’m not riding in your Barbie car,” I protest.

  “That’s good because I don’t have it anymore.” She clicks the fob on her keychain, and the lights on a sleek black Range Rover blink. “Get in.”

  I circle the rear of the beautiful piece of machinery, admiring the candy gloss and black rims. I slide into the passenger seat, unable to stop from gawking at her behind the wheel. The creamy leather interior is sleek and sophisticated compared to her custom Mini Cooper.

  “It fits you,” I say, hating the quiet tension between us.

  “You think so?”

  No.

  “I think you can be whoever you want to be. You love to be the girl with the pink, gawdy-as-fuck car, then be her. You want to be this girl, then be her.”

  “It’s so easy for you.” Delaney drives off campus, waving at the gate attendant that’s permanently placed there, and merges into traffic. “You know who you are. Even during the chaos of this year, Breaker Davenport was unmovable. Even with everything that was thrown at you, you somehow stayed true to yourself.”

  “That’s not true. This year, I was tested more than I’ve ever been before. Half the time I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing or for the right reasons.” I run my hands over the dashboard, enjoying the buttery material under my fingers. “So, this a new start or something?”

  “Tripp thought . . .” Her words trail off. Did she catch her misstep? “I don’t know why I even care. This car isn’t me.” She scrubs a hand down her face.

  “You can say his name, Delaney. I’m not stupid enough to think you’ve suddenly ditched him.”

  “During the summer, he thought it would be a good idea to get a new car, so he helped me pick it out and customize it. It arrived on campus yesterday.”

  “She’s a beauty.” This is my best attempt at pretending him helping her do this doesn’t fucking sting like a thousand dull knives to my chest. “So, where’re you taking me?”

  “Dotty’s.” She grins at me, knowing damn well how I’d feel about going to the diner.

  “You trying to make me fall in love, Delaney?” I laugh.

  “I go there when I want that feeling.”

  “What feeling is that?” I ask as the trees fly by as she races down Highway Twenty-Seven.

  “Comfort,” she finally says.

  “Dotty’s greasy food is comforting to you?” My brows pinch together. The idea confuses me. “Oh, baby, we need to teach you what that word means.”

 
Delaney falls silent until we’re in the parking lot. The diner’s silver exterior makes me feel as if we’ve walked into a time warp. The windows are small and evenly placed. Through them, I can see they’re busy today.

  “Hey, you two,” Dotty calls out when we walk through the door. “Long time no see.” She circles the counter and draws Delaney into a hug, whispering something in her ear. As she draws away, Delaney’s face falls. “Oh, stop that right now. You’re alive, so go be it, and while you’re at it, go sit your cute butt in the corner booth, and I’ll be over in a few minutes to take your order.”

  “You already know what we’re ordering, Dot,” I say.

  “I know, but I like to pretend, so I can see your tattooed up, pretty boy face.” Being winked at by a sixty-something year old lady with a southern twang never grows old. She somehow makes me feel important with a simple look. She bustles around the room swamped with other patrons.

  I follow Delaney over to our booth. Made for six, it swallows her up as she scoots to the furthest spot. I rest on the edge, far enough away to keep distance between us.

  “I don’t bite.” Delaney smiles.

  I slide closer and settle in next to her, handing her a menu. It’s precautionary. More like a distraction. We stare at the words. I don’t need to see her face to know it’s blank. She could recite this menu backwards and forward for me if I asked her to.

  “You two done pretending to decide what you want?” Dotty’s voice is music to my awkward-moment ears. Delaney and I lower the menus to see her full smile. “Let me guess, biscuits and gravy to share, two sides of bacon, and scrambled eggs for you”—she takes my menu before shifting her attention to Delaney—“and eggs over easy for you.”

  “We aren’t . . .” Delaney points between our bodies, attempting and failing to say we aren’t together anymore.

  “It’s biscuits and gravy, sweetheart. Not an arranged marriage. I think you two can handle eating off the same plate, am I right?” Dotty snatches the flimsy menus out of Delaney’s hands and goes to put our order into the kitchen. Before we can ask, two cups of orange juice arrive, Delaney’s with ice and mine without.