The Hearts We Break: A Sweet YA Romance (Young Love Book 4)

by Kylie Key

  "Thanks Mrs Brown," Cole said. "Uh, can I put this here?" He stepped forward to the coffee table. "It's kinda heavy." The flowers were a mix of pink and yellow blooms and came in its own ceramic vase. There was a little stuffed sloth in the middle of the bunch.

  "Yes," Mom said, removing my breakfast bowl and shifting the coasters, "they're absolutely beautiful."

  A sweet fragrance filled the air. Cole held up a Mooki's bag that had been swinging off of his arm. "I brought some hot chocolate and cupcakes, too," he said, "I noticed your cups yesterday, so I thought Mooki's might be your favorite cafe."

  “Yeah. It’s our hang out.” The sarcastic undertone slipped out accidentally.

  "Yeah," Cole’s head dropped in embarrassment. “Uh, I hope you like salted caramel."

  "She loves salted caramel," Mom said, too enthusiastically. I'd forgotten she was still floating around. She plumped up my pillows as I attempted to sit up.

  Cole lifted the tray of drinks out of the bag. "Mrs Brown, would you like a hot chocolate?" Wow, he was so polite. He looked at me. "I wasn't sure what kind of coffee you liked, so I thought I'd play it safe with hot chocolate." Was this really Cole Parsons? Or was it an imposter? It looked like him, but he was speaking so...normally.

  "Hazelnut latte is my favorite but I like hot chocolate, too," I squeaked.

  Mom shook her head, ”No, you have it Cole, but thank you.” She was beaming like he was her best friend. Had she been sucked in by his gifts and his dazzling smile? "I'll leave you to it. But don't stay long, you need to get back to school." She waved a finger at him.

  "Yes ma'am," he said.

  It had to be an act! As soon as Mom disappeared he'd probably blast me and my friends, slam me for involving his brother in a car crash, spill hot chocolate over me.

  I reached for the drink before he had the chance to, but stretching out my right arm was the wrong thing to do. Every fiber in my body felt it, making me groan. I recoiled back onto the couch in pain.

  "Here, let me," Cole said, swiftly moving to my side. He pushed aside the blanket and pillow and sat himself next to me. "I dislocated my shoulder once. In soccer," he said, handing me the cup. "You shouldn't overdo it."

  "Thanks," I whispered, trying to erase the grimace from my face. It was only pain. Only fleeting. I wouldn't die from it. Malachi lived a life of pain. Every step he took was a battle, yet he marched on. I needed to toughen up.

  "Selina," Cole said, picking up his own drink and holding it between his hands. "I'm really sorry. Like, truly. I feel so bad."

  "It's okay," I said, because what else could I say? I could hardly not forgive him. And his scent was distracting me. Fresh, spicy, manly. "You didn't need to bring me flowers. Your Mom already did." Why was he sitting so close to me?

  "I know she did," he said. He looked up, his dark eyes soulful, full of sincerity. "But this is from me. I stuffed up. I know I did. I need you to know that I'm really sorry."

  I took a sip of my drink. It was perfect, sweet and chocolatey and it swirled down my throat with ease. "This is good," I said, trying not to be affected my his leg that was now touching mine. I looked down at the pointed black shoes he wore. I'd always thought uniforms were nerdy, but Cole couldn't have looked more dashing in the black pants, burgundy blazer and striped tie.

  "How long will it take to heal?" he asked.

  "About six weeks. I have to get a cast put on when the swelling goes down."

  "If you need a ride anywhere, or if I can help out..."

  What? Now Cole Parsons was being nice, offering to chauffeur me? This was confusing, but it seemed callous to outright refuse, so I changed the subject, "Ryan was really upset, you know? He thought you might've been in an accident."

  Cole sniffed and hung his head. "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have freaked out the little dude." His tortured eyes showed a mirror to his inner turmoil. "I should've gone to watch his judo. He asked me to." He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "He won a medal and all, and no one was there to see it." I knew I didn't need to say anything. He was in enough self-inflicted pain. "We went up to Kaedie's family's cabin in the mountains," he said. "There were twelve of us."

  "You don't have to tell me that," I said quietly. I didn't want to be his confessor. And I certainly didn't want to hear anything about his weekend with his beautiful, blonde, Mercedes-driving girlfriend.

  "I didn't take my car," he carried on. "And I knew I had to get Ryan, but nobody would lend me their car to drive back. So I ended up drinking. It’s a lame excuse, I know."

  I clenched my teeth, nodding in agreement.

  He huffed out a laugh. "Your friends hate me."

  "Hate is a strong word," I said with an embarrassed smile, but he was right—they unanimously thought he was a jerk.

  He let out a sigh, and placed a hand on my knee. My heart beat sped up. "I'll let you get some rest," he said, flicking his head towards the couch. I wanted to tell him I didn't need to rest, I was wide awake, perfectly happy sitting next to him, talking to him. He stood up, putting down the hot chocolate cup. The air around me grew denser.

  "Text me if you need a ride," he said, "or anything."

  I smiled tightly and nodded. It was a polite gesture, nothing more. We didn't have each other's numbers. We weren't connected on social media.

  "Thank you for the flowers," I said, "they're really beautiful."

  I didn't hear his mumbled response, because he made a quick exit, not even stopping to say goodbye to Mom.

  CHAPTER 9

  I spent a restless afternoon, reliving the trauma of the accident every time I dozed off. A bright light and a feeling of being crushed would wake me. The second time it happened, I ended up punching the llama pillow off of my chest and entangled in the blanket.

  I was scared to sleep after that.

  Mom dropped Hayley to her art class, but brought Charlie straight home. The day had tired him out and he didn't think he could go to his swimming training. He was fine to play video games though.

  I remained in an anxious state for the rest of the evening, until Dominique stopped by on her way home from gymnastics training. Since her knee surgery she was on light training, but her dedication was resolute. If she couldn't train, she helped with the junior gymnasts. Whereas, with a broken wrist I was looking for ways to get out of doing things. Despite saying I would walk to school, pulling out of the marathon had crossed my mind.

  "These are gorgeous," Dominique said, stooping down to sniff Cole's bouquet. "Your grandparents?"

  I shook my head.

  Dominique's expression turned into a teasing smile. "Oops. Well, who loves you the most then?"

  "What?"

  "If they're not from your grandparents, who's your secret boyfriend?" She fingered the little blue sloth, unclipping it from a stake. "This is cute. Daniela loves sloths." Daniela was her six year old niece, the one who played tennis better than me. "Oh, there's a card here." Her fingers slid down into the middle of the bouquet.

  I took the sealed miniature envelope tentatively, wondering how I'd missed it. "It's from Cole," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  "Next-door-neighbor Cole?"

  I nodded.

  "Hot-bad-boy Cole?" Her mischievous eyes were on stalks.

  "He felt bad about not being there for his brother," I said, my heart pounding in anticipation at what was written on the card.

  "Wow, he must be guilt tripping pretty bad." She raised her eyebrows. "That is one expensive bunch of flowers. Are you sure he doesn't have a crush on you?"

  "He has a girlfriend," I said dismissively, willing my cheeks not to betray me. "She drives a Merc and wears tiny dresses."

  "You've met her?"

  "Yes." I rolled my eyes in disapproval. "She's not a quiet person."

  "Hmmm," Dominique prodded the envelope. "What's it say?"

  I had hoped I wouldn't have to open it in front of her, but why? It was probably going to be a generic, obligatory Get well soon message. After a
ll, he'd departed faster than a speeding bullet.

  Dominique peered over my shoulder and read aloud, "Thanks for being there for Ryan, and if you ever need a ride call me." We both stared at the number. "Cole." Dominique grinned. "Guess he does have a crush on you!"

  "Whatever," I said. "Like you said, he feels guilty." I tossed it on the coffee table, pretending it wasn't important, though I'd already mesmerized the number. "Hey, what's this I hear about Malachi working?"

  Felix Northcott, who worked at Mooki's, had made some inquiries and asked if Malachi wanted a job, as they needed someone to work in the kitchen for a couple of hours a day. It was Malachi's goal, in addition to walking a marathon, to be able to work again. Prior to his accident he'd worked in a warehouse. Since Mooki's had become our preferred hang out, Malachi had become a bit of a connoisseur of coffee and cupcakes. He had dreams of being a barista, but was too shy to work in the public eye. Dominique said they were looking into laser removal for his facial tattoo, which is where most of Malachi's confidence issues stemmed from. It was amazing how eagerly people judged by appearance and never considered the impact of their nasty, derogatory comments.

  I wonder how they’d react if they knew Malachi had spent eight months in hospital, been in a coma twice, battled death and won. If they knew the pain he endured on a daily basis. If they knew the fight and determination it took to be where he was today. Or how being alive was a gift he treasured.

  Talking about Malachi motivated me to walk Dominique to the door, assisted by Hayley, who was my new guardian angel. She hadn't let me out of her sight since she'd come back from her art class, proudly presenting me with a big Get Well card.

  As we waved to Dominique, Cole Parsons' car stormed up the driveway. On seeing it approach, Dominique stopped, turned her head and prepared to reverse back to where she'd been. But, in the shock of all shocks, the big black vehicle started to back up, all the way to the street!

  Domi lowered her window, staring at me in disbelief.

  "He must have forgotten something," I said.

  "You mean, like his brother?" Domi retorted.

  "He probably saw daggers in your eyes." I laughed. "I think you scared him yesterday."

  Domi raised her eyebrows and grinned wickedly. "Good!"

  COLE BROUGHT ME OVER a hazelnut latte and a cupcake.

  Everyday.

  For the rest of the week.

  He knocked on the door and left it with whoever opened it, saying, "This is for Selina."

  He never asked to see me.

  I was still resting.

  Recovering.

  Confined to the couch.

  I hadn't bounced back as quickly as I'd hoped, but Mom had no qualms about me taking the whole week off of school. A cast had been put on, making my hand feel more stable, but it itched like crazy at times. Mom returned to work, but only doing part time hours. She didn't want to leave me alone for too long, even though I insisted I was fine.

  It was Friday when she arrived home at lunch time, bringing fresh donuts as a treat.

  "What are you doing to me?" I lamented, "I must've put on five pounds already this week!"

  Mom gave a wry smile. "Guess that will happen when you have a cupcake and latte daily."

  "Mmmm," I mused, "why do you think he's doing that?" The first day had been a surprise, the second amusing, the third cute, the fourth unbelievable. And now, today, I was strangely nervous.

  "His way of asking for forgiveness?"

  "He could just ask," I said, "he doesn't have to buy me stuff."

  "I have to admit, it's kinda sweet," Mom said. I rolled my eyes—a few days ago we were all hating on Cole Parsons, and now he was practically a saint. Even my friends were going gaga with it.

  We ate our lunch out by the pool, soaking up the sun's rays, while looking online for prom dresses. Still months away, Ainsley was about to buy hers, taking being organized to new extremes.

  The darting figure of Millie caught Mom's eye, and she dashed over to the pool gate to wave her over to the swing.

  Millie carried a plastic container, our plastic container, the one that had been filled with gingerbread and candy.

  "I saw your car come home," she said to Mom, though not making any eye contact, "so I thought I'd pop in and check on y'all. And return this." Usually impeccably groomed and made up, Millie was in jeans and a loose tee, with a scarf tied through her hair, like she was in the middle of spring cleaning. Yet, I was sure they had a cleaner come in weekly.

  "Thank you," Mom said politely, as she took the container back. I could see Mom was treading carefully, unsure if the ice had thawed between them. "How's Ryan doing?"

  "He's great," she gushed, "he's doing great. But what about you, honey?" She turned to me, "How are you doing?"

  I told her how my ribs were a little tender and how I had random bouts of nausea, which is what people are happy to hear. They don't want to know about your mind constantly replaying the crash, your sleep broken by nightmares, the fear of ever being in control of a car again.

  Mom told Millie how Cole had bought me coffee and cake every afternoon. Millie's eyes popped, she looked stunned, and she turned to Mom, taking a deep, wavering breath.

  "He's a good boy," she whispered, "he has such a good heart. He's always been a sweet, loving son, but...but, now he's so bitter and angry. So angry."

  Millie's revelation was heart breaking. She had found out that her husband, the boys' father, had had an affair a year ago. He told her he'd broken it off and she'd agreed to forgive and forget and not tell the boys. Keeping the family together was her number one priority. But a few months ago, she found out he'd continued the affair, and this time she was not so forgiving.

  Her husband promised he would end it once and for all, pleading that they could reconcile and carry on.

  "But I couldn't do it, I made him leave," Millie said, tears trickling down her cheeks, "It devastated the boys, they love their Dad. But Cole, he blamed me. He said I broke up the family. That I didn't try hard enough."

  Mom and I looked at each other, stunned, saddened, heartbroken.

  Millie had been battling Cole ever since, and they'd both gone off the rails in their desperation to deal with the situation. She admitted she'd been drinking as a way to numb the pain, and knew Cole was, too. She felt powerless to do anything about it, weak, incompetent and clueless as to how to address it. She felt like a failure, as a wife, as a mother, as a woman.

  "But I can't tell the boys the truth. I don't want to demean their father, they idolize him." She took more tissues from the box Mom handed her, dabbing at her eyes and nose.

  "But this is hurting your relationship with Cole," Mom said gently.

  "I know," Millie said, "he hates me. And he should. I'm letting him take the fall for the accident." Her face was a picture of pain, contorted in anguish. "He's taking the blame, but it's not his fault. He shouldn't have to be responsible for his brother." Her tears rolled faster than she could mop up. "I went sailing with some friends. It was a day out on the water, champagne and cocktails. When I should've been at Ryan's tournament.” She sucked up a sob, “That's how despicable I am. I was out getting drunk, leaving Cole to pick up his brother." She buried her face in her hands, full of shame.

  Mom reacted quickly, beside Millie in a flash, taking her into her arms. No judgment, no blame, just unconditional comfort and support.

  “You don’t have to do this on your own,” Mom said. “You’re not alone.”

  “Thank you,” Millie whispered, and she looked up at me. “The accident was the catalyst, the wake-up call. I promise, I’m going to do better.”

  My heart ached for her, a woman who despised herself, when she was trying to protect her sons. She wasn’t weak or incompetent, I saw a woman who was strong and valiant and supremely loyal.

  Mom took Millie inside and made her a cup of tea. It was easier to understand Cole’s actions now, knowing that his anger was from a place deep inside. It didn’t seem righ
t that he was denied the truth of his father’s behavior, but it was hardly my place to express an opinion. There was a fine line between being a neighbor and a busybody, as we’d previously discovered.

  My nerves kicked in from late afternoon, anticipating Cole’s latte and cupcake delivery. I wanted to be there, to see him and thank him in person. With Millie’s disclosure, I saw everything in a new light, I saw him in a new light.

  I hung around the kitchen, helping with chores, listening for the door. Dinner time came and went. Bed time came and went. My heart flopped. I berated myself for being so presumptuous, why would he come on a Friday night, when he was probably out partying, or on a date with Kaedie? The novelty of his injured next door neighbor had its limits—did I really think he’d be giving me coffee and cake for the rest of my life?

  I was tucked up in bed, trying to fall asleep when Dad tapped on the door. He crept over, switching on my bedside lamp.

  “He just dropped this off,” he whispered, depositing a coffee cup and a paper bag on my table. “He apologized for being late. Maybe keep it for the morning?” Dad winked and placed a kiss on my forehead.

  I waited until he had left before sitting up. I wrapped my hands around the warm paper cup. I’d never drunk coffee at ten thirty at night, but if Cole had made the effort, it would be bad-mannered not to drink it. I peeked in the bag, seeing a chocolate cupcake. Now, to eat that, would be pure indulgence—and madness!

  I sipped on the latte, unable to explain the feeling of happiness inside. I pulled out my phone from under the pillow and put in his number, ingrained in my memory.

  I only typed two words: Thank you, then pressed send.

  Then I doubted myself. I should have added an emoji, or at least my name. A random number saying Thank you could be anyone.

  My phone pinged: You’re welcome, sorry it’s so late, just got back from a soccer trip. Mookis not open

  I read it once, twice, my smile growing wider. He did know it was from me! He was apologizing for the gas station coffee.

  Another text came through: Hope you’re feeling better