Glass Heart Savage: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Glass Heart Academy Book 1)

by Lindsey Iler

  “We go home.” I pat him on the back as the elevator doors open. “Attempt to clean up the pieces.”

  A nurse with blonde hair pulled back in a low, loose ponytail steps off the car. My shoulder brushes into the bill of her baseball cap. She grabs it, shielding her face so fast, I barely see her move.

  “My bad,” I apologize, steadying her. She jerks away, nods, and hurries down the hall.

  I hold the elevator doors open, my mind a million miles away.

  “You going to get on, or should I have Byron bring me a sleeping bag?” Breaker jokes, pushing the Close Door button, and I get inside. “What has you looking like a scared cat?”

  “Palmer said someone cornered her before she went into the woods, and since it wasn’t any of us, it has me reeling the fuck out.” I run my hand over the length of my face, fatigue finally setting in.

  “Isn’t this what we wanted? To use her to draw him out?”

  He has a point. She may not see it now, but if we can get closer to finding out what happened to her sister, Palmer may understand everything a little more.

  “He said he wasn’t after her money, but that she had something worth far more. What if whoever hurt Reed doesn’t want to hurt Palmer, but use her?”

  “For what, though?”

  “That’s what I don’t know, but I do know that someone who’s out for blood doesn’t try to murder a girl twice and fail both times.” I gulp at the thought.

  “You sure you want to leave her alone tonight?”

  The elevator stops at the parking deck, and we step off, checking the area before we get into the truck.

  “Not at all, but she needs space. If I can’t sleep, I’ll just camp out in the parking lot. Just in case she does need me.” I shake my head, hating the idea of leaving her. A quick scan over the hospital exterior, and I find what I believe is her room. “We could have hurt her, like the no going back kind of shit, Breaker.”

  “But we didn’t,” he contends.

  “Do you think that makes a difference?”

  I don’t.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Palmer

  I wake with a startle. The sun shines through the cheap curtains. My body lurches forward, and I immediately regret the sudden movement.

  “I’m in a hospital,” I say, clutching my hand over my stomach. I lift the gown and see a white bandage wrapped around my middle, right below my ribs. The cloth is tinted pink. Blood. I’m bleeding.

  Slow as a turtle, I lower to my pillow, staring into nowhere, the space between me and the ceiling. Something pinches my palm, and I look down. My hands are clenched tight, leaving my knuckles white.

  My fingers unfold, and the source of discomfort shows itself. My necklace. The sharp edges of the key have left indents in my skin. I run a finger over the marks to alleviate the pain. How long have I been clutching it?

  Memories of last night spin like a tilt-a-whirl in my head. Up and down, round and round. Marek and me in the woods. Him warning me. Dixon kicking me in the ribs. Byron slicing the knife into my abdomen and thigh. Falling towards something and reaching nothing.

  The bed whirs as I move it to sit a little straighter, my eyes cutting around the room. My clothes are folded and inside a plastic bag, abandoned on the windowsill.

  Pain shoots through my thigh and abdomen as I scoot off the edge of the mattress. My knees wobble and shake. My balance makes it difficult to get to the bag, so I hold tight to the railing to keep from falling. A few more inches, and—

  “What are you doing out of bed?” The stern, female voice startles me. A middle-aged nurse stands at the open door. “You cannot be out of bed, Miss Weston.”

  I grab the bag and fling it onto the mattress, shuffle my body around, and climb in bed. I shoot the nurse a bashful smile, silently apologizing for disobeying orders. She checks my IV fluids, asks me about my pain level, and tells me to order lunch. Eating is my last priority, but I’m not going to tell her that. I order something simple, knowing food is necessary, even if it’s only a small bite.

  Once she finishes double checking my bandage, she offers me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Officer Striker is waiting out in the hallway. They need to get your statement.”

  “You can tell him to come in whenever.”

  Once she’s gone, I empty the bag. There isn’t much, and I’m flabbergasted to see my folded dress. The sequins and beads are missing in spots and dangling by a thread in others. I run my hand over the now-dried blood, and the rip where the knife sliced like butter through the fabric.

  “Miss Weston?”

  The young officer I had hoped to never see again walks into my room. A flood of memories takes over my mind. Georgina Matthews on the forest floor. Alone. Dead.

  “Do you care to talk to me for a minute?”

  “That depends,” I sigh. “Is anything going to happen with this report, or will it be buried like everything else on campus?”

  “I can assure you our department takes these things seriously.” He sits in the chair across from the bed and pulls out a tiny notebook. His presence says caring, but his body language says otherwise. “Can you tell me everything you remember from that night?”

  For the next twenty minutes, I tell him everything, well, almost everything. I don’t tell Officer Striker who was on the rooftop with me. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t drag their names through the mud, down in the fucking dirt where they belong. Something stops me, though. So, I keep their secret, a secret I don’t deserve to be buried with.

  Officer Striker and I shift our attention to the door when it opens. Marek stops dead in his tracks, startled by my company.

  “Mr. Hawthorne,” Officer Striker stands, tucking his notepad into his pocket. “Where were you the night of Miss Weston’s attack?”

  A sudden, icy contempt flashes over Marek’s face. He thinks this is a trap, that I ratted him out. If only there was a way to make him sweat a little longer.

  “The bonfire, sir,” Marek fibs.

  Officer Striker watches him, gauging his demeanor and body language. I want to laugh when his eyes narrow on Marek but manage to hold myself together.

  “If you think of anything else that may help us, please call the station.” He stops next to Marek and glares at him. “Mr. Hawthorne, try to keep a better eye on her.”

  Once the door closes, I ease out of bed and toss the garment bag back onto the windowsill. I glare at Marek as he takes up the seat Officer Striker has vacated.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Keep an eye on me like I’m some damsel in distress?” I turn my aggression on him. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I figured, since I haven’t heard from you for the last two days, I’d walk the line of caution and give you some space. But when I woke up this morning, and I still hadn’t heard anything . . .”

  “You decided to do what you usually do”— I glare at him as I pull the covers over my legs— “and do whatever you want.”

  Marek runs his hands over the back of his head and down his neck. “When you put it like that, Palmer, it makes me seem . . .”

  “Abrasive? Overbearing? Psychotic? Unrelenting?”

  “Tell me how you really feel.” He kicks his feet up on the bed, looking entirely too comfortable after everything. I nudge them off.

  Neither of us says anything. There’s nothing to say. Every couple of minutes, one of us will break and look at the other. We choose silence over actual words.

  “I don’t feel unsafe, and I hate you for that,” I blurt out, shaking my head as I look at him. “You’re so damn charismatic, that it makes it almost impossible to feel what I’m supposed to feel.”

  “Who says you’re supposed to feel a certain way?” He’s kidding, right?

  “I don’t know, Marek.” I shake my head and then slowly turn my head to gawk at him. “Society?”

  A belly laugh spits out of Marek’s mouth. I sit in awe as he struggles to get himself under control. At some
point, he clenches at his stomach. Suddenly, he stops, sits up a bit straighter, and looks at me.

  “You aren’t kidding,” he deadpans.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Come on, Palmer.” He leans back in the chair, appearing far too at ease. “We don’t fit into society’s expectations on any day. This is no different.”

  “You tried to kill me, Marek.”

  “Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong.”

  A knock on the door silences our conversation. My doctor walks in, a disgruntled and unsettled expression painted on his face.

  “You’re requesting an early discharge, I’ve been told.” He stops at the foot of the bed, clapping rolled up papers against his hand. “And while I understand, I don’t advise it.”

  “So, I’m stuck in here?” My eyes shift to Marek, his face stoic and unchanging. I turn back to my doctor. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

  “Actually no.” He shrugs, handing me papers. “Sign these. They’re saying you’re leaving against our best medical advisement, and you’ll be free to go.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re eighteen years old. An adult. We can’t hold you hostage. But I will tell you, I want you to call me if you have any questions. If those wounds don’t heal correctly, you could find yourself with an infection you don’t want, so be sure to follow my at home care.”

  “Yes, Doc.” I smile at him.

  He must feel my relief because his own lips break into a smile. “Sure thing, Miss Weston.”

  Once he’s out of the room, I sigh in relief. This hospital bed might as well be made of cinder blocks. The staff is doing nothing different than what I can do at home. Rest. Change my bandages. Rest. Sleep. Eat.

  “Do you think leaving the hospital is a good idea?” Marek questions, resting forward, his forearms flexing as he clenches his fingers together. “And when did you turn eighteen?” He shakes his head, surprised that I didn’t roll out a banner when it was my birthday.

  “I turned eighteen before school started.” I slide my legs over the side of the bed. “And here’s the thing. You don’t get to have an opinion on what I do and don’t do, Marek.” I stare at him, hoping he sees the sincerity in the words I’m about to spit at him. “You lost that privilege the moment you decided my safety no longer concerned you, when you dangled me over the wolf pit. So, you can either sit there and look pretty as fuck and shut up, or you can walk your ass out of this room.”

  The nurse strolls in, fully aware of the tension between us. She flies through the process of taking out my I.V., needing to get away from our energy.

  Once I’m free from the shackles, I stand.

  “What’s this?” Marek leans towards the bed and reaches out.

  I swipe it before he can touch it. “It’s my necklace.” I toss it into the hospital bag. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” He stands, getting to my side in a split second.

  “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

  “I can go grab you something.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I brush him off, pulling my phone from the bedside table drawer. Curiosity flashes across his face. “Delaney brought it to me last night, so I could talk to my parents.”

  “Speaking of, where are the parents of the year?” Marek sits on the foot of the bed. I sort of resent the hostility in his tone. They’re my parents. Only I can call them on their lack of empathy.

  “They’re flying back today,” I answer to appease him and maybe get him out of my room sooner.

  “Didn’t want to cut that vacation short, huh?”

  Kids at Glass Heart Academy are basically born parentless. They may be physically there for you to call Mom and Dad, but they aren’t really present for you. It’s why we are shipped off to private schools, out of their hair.

  “No, I guess not.” I shrug, finishing and sending a text. I toss the phone into the bag. Its meager contents tell quite the story.

  Hospitality knocks, then rolls in a tray of food. Marek snatches the apple from it and tosses it to me. “Eat up.”

  “Did you poison it, one last chance to get rid of me?”

  “I’m glad we can make jokes about this now.”

  “If I don’t, I’m positive I’ll crumble, so yeah, if joking makes this any bit easier for me, then consider me a fucking comedian.” I ease down onto the windowsill, looking out at the town below.

  Everything appears normal. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. The gates of Glass Heart Academy are closed. School is in session.

  “Wait, how are you here? Don’t you have class?” I point at him.

  “Some things are more important.” He shrugs, watching me swing my bare leg.

  He sits in his spot, and I stare out the window. Several times during the almost fifteen minutes of pure, uncomfortable silence, I can feel us both ready to crack, but it won’t be me. He owes me more than he’ll ever be able to fork over. If I have to endure a little awkward silence to hold my ground, then so be it.

  Breaker barges in with a tote bag from my dorm room. “I brought you everything you wanted.” He stops short when he spots Marek.

  They have a little showdown right here in my hospital room, like they’re about to duel, draw their weapons, and shoot.

  “What are you doing here?” Marek stands. His presence is strong, all-consuming.

  Breaker laughs at his intensity, patting him on the chest. “Calm down. She asked me to bring her clothes.”

  “I see that.” He pokes the bag in Breaker’s hands.

  “Here, Palmer.” Breaker offers it to me.

  “I’m going to get dressed,” I say to no one, because these two are far too enthralled with each other to notice me hobbling between them to get to the bathroom.

  When I step out of the hospital socks, the tiled floor is cold on my feet. Reaching behind to untie the gown is difficult, but I manage, allowing the grotesque, stiff fabric to pool at my feet.

  I stare in the mirror, the evidence like a road map on my body. Purple and black bruises paint my skin with angry designs. White bandages cover the real wounds, the ones that cut deep and will leave the lasting scars. The mirror shows the real scars. The ones that go unseen unless you take a minute to see me.

  Needing an escape, I dress as quick as I can and walk into the hospital room. Marek and Breaker’s heads are tucked close together. Seeing me, Breaker grins. Marek’s lips stay in a flat line.

  “I’m ready to go,” I announce, pushing past them and flinging the flimsy, plastic bag over my shoulder by its string.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Breaker and Marek say in unison.

  Marek laughs hysterically as if something is funny. I step up beside Breaker, hoping he gets the hint.

  “You’re fucking with me, right?” Marek snaps. The veins in his neck start to pulse with his anger.

  “Listen, man.” Breaker presses a hand to my chest to keep me from strangling him. “You have practice anyway. You can’t miss anymore, or else Coach will have your ass. I promise I’ll get her safely to the dorms, and once practice is over, you can walk over there to check on her.”

  “Or not, that’s fine, too.” I walk to the door, leaving Marek and Breaker behind. Seeing the nurse pushing the wheelchair towards my room fills me with relief.

  “Stay with her, please,” Marek whispers. “We don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t like the idea of her being by herself in the dorms.”

  “I can take care of myself,” I say, not knowing if he’ll hear me.

  “I know you can, Palmer, but unless you want me sitting in your dorm with you, then it’s going to be Breaker.” He holds the chair arm as I sit. “You clearly trust him.” His eyes dart away, and he heads towards the elevator.

  Breaker joins the nurse and me in the hallway. Marek is in front of the bank of elevators, tapping his foot and watching the lights above the doors. When the nurse starts pushing me, I ask her to wait a few seconds. Riding down in a small, steel cage with Marek i
sn’t something I want to do right now.

  The doors slide open. The tightening in my chest makes me realize I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for him to glance at Breaker and me. When he does as I expect, he shakes his head, disappointment sculpting his features, then steps onto the elevator and disappears.

  “He’s missed practices this week?” For certain, I shouldn’t be asking questions. The problem is, I’m curious.

  “Marek doesn’t care about much.” He shrugs, and when another elevator opens, he steps back so the nurse can push me inside. “Football is on the top of that list. Or at least it used to be.” Breaker winks at me. “Now, how about some drive-through tacos? I’m starving. Are you starving? You look like you’re dwindling down to nothing.”

  “Breaker, just get me out of here.”

  The elevator doors open, and right outside, in the fire zone, is Breaker’s truck. I force a smile for the nurse and carefully slide forward and stand.

  “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

  In under an hour, I’m showered and at my desk, enjoying the best tacos I’ve ever had. Breaker sits at the small table, not willing to get too close to me and thankfully more than happy to eat in the quiet.

  Every so often, he glances up after taking a larger-than-life bite. Unease wraps around his eyes, darkening them from their usual green.

  “What?” I ask, dropping my taco into the to-go container. “Do I have something on my face?” My napkin comes out clean after wiping it over my mouth.

  “Sorry.” He shakes his head, glancing away.

  “No, tell me. I need the honesty.”

  His features soften. “Why did you call me today? Out of everyone, why me?”

  “Delaney had a huge test, and I didn’t want to bug her.” Okay, that’s only half the truth.

  “Okay.” He shrugs, disbelief in his smile, but he allows me to get away with it.

  I stand, pointing at him. “That right there.”

  “What?”

  “You just let me lie to you, because not having to tell you the whole truth made me feel better somehow. That’s why I called you today.”

  “So, what’s the whole truth?” He wrestles his hands together and fidgets side to side. A nervous Breaker is endearing.