Broken Hart: The Hart Duet Book One

by Bo Reid

  “Hart, this is... wow!” I sit down on the bed.

  I’m in shock. The whole day is catching up to me, along with everything that Hartley has done for me. It’s all just a lot to take in.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks and sits next to me, tucking one leg under her. Her hand rests gently on my arm.

  “Hart, nothing's wrong. This is amazing. Your house, this room. It’s more than I’ve ever had, and you’re opening it up to me. I’m just a little overwhelmed by your kindness, is all.”

  She smiles and wraps her arms around my bicep, leaning her head on my shoulder. It's comfortable, as if we've been here before, like we've done this a hundred times.

  “Do you want help sorting your stuff, or do you want to leave it for now?” she asks quietly.

  “Can we leave it?” I request.

  She nods her head, standing and tugging slightly on my arm. “Help me make lunch?”

  “Of course.” We get up and leave the room, leave my room.

  I leave my bags sitting on the bed and follow her into the kitchen. Hartley pulls out stuff from the pantry to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I smile.

  It’s the best PB&J I’ve ever had.

  Chapter 11: Oak Tree

  Hartley

  “Come on, I want to show you something,” I tell Kasen as he helps wipe down the counters after we finish our PB&Js. We head for the back door and down the path that leads to the woods.

  “I own five acres, but the forest around my property is BLM land. It’s public, but no one can ever buy it to build on it. I’ll always have access to it. It’s one of the main reasons I bought this parcel,” I explain as we head for the trees.

  “What's BLM land?” Kasen asks. I’m going to have to keep reminding myself that not everyone knows my lingo.

  “The Bureau of Land Management is an agency within the government that administers public land in the US. It’s basically government owned land that is open to the public, but that isn’t designated as something like a national park,” I explain.

  “So, is this the part where you kill me and bury me in the woods? Was that your whole plan?” he laughs, and I shoot him a fake glare.

  “Don’t test me, Kingston,” I say, trying to fight my smile as we enter the trees. I take a deep breath. This place soothes my soul.

  The forest is dense, blanketed with grand redwood trees that tower over the world. The trail is packed down with thick roots popping out and spreading across the ground before diving back under the surface and intertwining like a web system under the ground. They hold on tightly, connecting each tree to its neighbor. There are massive old redwoods and smaller young ones. Those will never get as large as the ancients. There isn’t enough room for them to grow or enough light reaching them through the canopy.

  There are countless trails in the forest. I’m sure even I haven’t found them all. I have secret paths that are smaller and not used as often, trails that lead down to the river, and ones that lead up the mountain.

  We take the trail to the left, and almost immediately it starts to climb. It’s not a hard path to follow because it's been so well traveled. I’ve been walking it almost daily since I bought the land a few years ago. Kasen is breathing a little heavily, though. I guess all those muscles are hard to drag around. We’ll have to work on his cardio. A small smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I imagine Kasen all hot and sweaty from a workout.

  A mile into the incline we crest the hill, and when Kasen looks up, he sucks in a deep breath.

  “Wow,” he whispers.

  I know how he feels. No matter how many times I see this view, it always steals my breath.

  “This is where I come when I need a little peace or if Brooks is extra cranky. Something about this place just soothes us,” I tell him as we look out over the valley of trees.

  We can see the river winding through the forest in the distance and snow capped mountains further away. The sun is high in the sky. Sunset or sunrise is more ideal, but this will work to show him one of my favorite places.

  There are hills with higher peaks throughout the forest, some with better views, but neither of us are dressed for those hikes. No matter how much I like Kasen, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to share the cliffs with him.

  “If you ever can’t find me and I’m not answering my phone, I’m probably here.” We sit in silence and take in the scene.

  My soul is at peace here. Here, there are no bad things. Here, the monsters can’t get me, my demons can’t find me, and neither can he.

  Here, I am free. I hope Kasen feels the same way.

  After spending a silent hour up at The Point, we climb back down the trail to the house. Kasen thanks me for showing it to him. He seems calmer now, less overwhelmed by the new situation we’re in here. I show him the refinished barn, which is part garage and part gym. I tell him he’s welcome to use the gym anytime.

  I make a mental note to investigate the status of his license. Once he has a valid driver's license, he can have the freedom to drive one of the cars too.

  When we make it back to the house, Kasen says he’s going to take a shower, then put away his stuff. I decide a bubble bath is what’s needed for me, but I’ll wait until after Brooks is asleep tonight for that.

  Grabbing my phone, I see I have a few texts from Sol. I grab my laptop and check through my emails, spreadsheets, and reports from the store. I start to schedule meetings and add more classes into the schedule. I survive best when I’m kept busy. There is less time to think about everything if I only have time for work and Brooks.

  I start to go over the PCT trail map, deciding to plot a six-day hike. This is the first time I’m adding this to our list of offered activities for the winter season. We’ll travel to the lower section of the trail. If I plan this right, I can offer a broken-up hike, sectioning it off doing week long hikes, then breaking for a few weeks. We’ll then go back and pick up where we left off.

  It would take a while, but that would give different groups the ability to pick the section or time that they want to hike it. Since I will have plenty of time to keep training, I can take Brooks with me. That will be a challenge, but I’m up for it.

  Chapter 12: Sedum

  Kasen

  I think I just got the best night of sleep in my entire life; this bed feels like I’m sleeping on a goddamn cloud. I feel so good that I don’t even care that my clock says it’s 5 a.m. If I’m quiet, I can creep out to the home gym Hartley has set up in the barn and get a workout in. Pushing out of bed, I make my way into my attached bathroom. I still can’t believe I have my own bathroom.

  While Hartley’s home doesn’t even begin to display her fortune, it’s still the nicest house I’ve ever been in. I’m pretty sure most middle-class Americans would agree.

  I put on my sweatpants and a t-shirt, grabbing my shoes so I can put them on once I’m outside. I don’t want to wake Brooks or Hartley. Slowly and very quietly, I open my door and make my way down the hall. As I’m about to pass Brooks’s room, Hartley walks out with him in her arms.

  “Morning,” I whisper, and Zombie Hartley grumbles something that could possibly have been "morning" or "fuck you," I’m not really sure.

  Note to self: Hartley is not a morning person, but Brooks is a very-early-morning baby. If this is a normal thing, and I keep waking up this early, maybe I could help her with him at some point. I’m not sure what I would do, but she could give me instructions. Unless he eats this early. I don’t have the right equipment to accommodate that.

  Zombie Hartley -- yes, I am calling her Zombie Hartley in the mornings from this point on -- shuffles her feet down the hall and disappears into her bedroom with Brooks. I chuckle to myself, making my way out to the barn to get in a great workout.

  Hartley’s home gym has everything: free weights, machines, a squat rack, a leg press, a treadmill, an elliptical, and some kind of breathing mask by the treadmill that I’m not going near. Yesterday, Hartley mentioned something ab
out it having to do with training.

  I spend the next hour lifting weights and working up a sweat while thinking about how much has changed in my life in just the last forty eight hours. They say timing is everything, and I think for the first time in my life I was in the right place at the right time--on the side of that highway in an orange prison jumpsuit.

  Do I wish that Hartley and Brooks were never in that accident? Of course. I never want anything bad to happen to either of them, but am I also glad that I was there? Hell, yes. And not because of my own good fortune that has come out of that day. Hartley is the kind of person who sticks with friends for life, the type who never quite leaves their minds, the type who is always there to remind them to be better.

  I hope I never have to let her go, even if I only ever get to have her friendship.

  After I’m dripping in sweat and my mind is filled with thoughts of a sleepy, blue-eyed girl, I call it quits and make my way to the house. Instead of the darkened windows from 5 a.m., there are lights on.

  When I open the back door I hear music coming from the kitchen. I make my way past the laundry room to see a much livelier Hartley dancing in front of the stove to a Kane Brown song playing from the Bluetooth speakers on the counter.

  She turns to Brooks sitting in his high chair with what looks like apple sauce all over his face and starts to sing -- completely off key, by the way, but she’s still adorable.

  Hart turns back to the stove and flips pancakes, bacon, and eggs. She’s wearing a loose tank top, no bra, and a pair of boxer briefs. Her hair is wet from a shower and braided down her back.

  “Are you going to join the party or just stand in the doorway like a stranger?” she calls over her shoulder.

  Busted.

  “I haven’t decided yet if I want to join in these shenanigans,” I tell her.

  She clicks the volume down a few notches before turning to place another pancake on the mile-high stack.

  “Well, go take a shower. Breakfast is almost ready, and I can smell you from here,” she says, scrunching up her nose grinning.

  “Watch it. If you’re not careful, I might come over there and give you a sweaty hug,” I threaten her.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  I take one step towards her. She holds her spatula up like it’s a weapon that could stop me.

  Glancing at the island in the middle of the kitchen, she quickly darts to the other side so I can’t get her.

  “Stop messing around, Kasen. You’re going to make me burn the pancakes!” she yells, pointing the spatula at the stove for dramatic effect.

  “Then come here and get this over with, Hart,” I tell her.

  “I’ll never surrender.” She crosses her arms.

  “Fine, they’re your pancakes that will burn.”

  “I’ll just give you the burnt ones,” she quips and sticks her tongue out at me. My smile spreads even wider.

  “Oh, fine, you win this round, Montgomery, but I’ll get you back,” I say and walk around the island.

  She watches my movements and rounds the island back to the stove as I disappear down the hall. When she clicks the volume back up and changes the song to “Ice, Ice, Baby,” I peek around the wall and see her at the stove with her back to me.

  Slipping my shoes off, I slowly creep up behind her. When she’s a safe distance from the stove, I wrap my arms around her and press her into my sweat covered chest. She yelps in surprise and then chuckles.

  “Damn it, Kasen!” she yells as I put her down and dart quickly back down the hallway before she can smack me with the spatula, which she totally tries to do. I think she even throws it at me just before I make it around the corner.

  Note to self: Hartley at five in the morning is a zombie. Hartley at six in the morning will threaten my life with kitchen utensils.

  After a quick shower, I get dressed in jeans and a dark green t-shirt. Grabbing a white hand towel and going down the hall, I wave my “white flag” around the corner, peeking to look in the kitchen.

  “I accept your surrender, for now,” Hartley says. “Come on and fix your plate. We gotta leave for the farmers’ market in an hour.”

  “Uh, Hart?” I ask, looking at the clock.

  “Yeah?” she asks, putting pancakes, eggs, and bacon on her plate. There is no way she can fit all that into her tiny body. There’s just no way.

  “It’s six thirty in the morning,” I tell her and point to the clock on the stove. She rolls her eyes.

  “I’m well aware of the time, Captain Obvious. The farmers’ market opens at eight, and we have to be there early to get the good stuff before the best vendors sell out,” she tells me very seriously; as if farmers’ markets were a cutthroat situation.

  “Should I be preparing to battle little old ladies for the best jam?” I ask her in an equally serious tone. She is not amused, which she makes obvious by smacking me across the chest.

  “You're worse than Sol. Just eat.” She rolls her eyes as we sit at the island instead of the table.

  I take my first bite of fluffy pancake. It’s probably the best I’ve ever had.

  “Holy shit, Hart, these are amazing.” I shovel more into my mouth. Living with her is going to make me fat if she keeps cooking like this. I guess I better commit now to early morning workouts.

  “Glad you like them. They’re protein pancakes,” she says, taking another bite of bacon.

  Brooks throws his bottle on the ground. Hartley reaches over to pick it up. With a huge grin on his little face, he slaps his hands down in the mess of apple sauce. Who knew babies could have so much fun with applesauce?

  “Protein pancakes?” I ask with my mouth full of food. She giggles and throws a napkin at my face.

  “Yeah, like with protein powder instead of boxed pancake mix so they’re a little better for you. Although that was before you drowned yours in syrup and I slathered mine with butter,” she chuckles.

  I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. She has that effect on me, and I hope it never changes.

  Chapter 13: Gerbera Daisy

  Kasen

  We finish our breakfast and I clear our plates. I rinse and put them in the dishwasher -- to give Hart time to take Brooks and get dressed. I’m not sure what I was expecting Hartley to wear to a farmer’s market. Maybe some flowy hippie skirt? Aren’t farmers’ markets for old people and hippies? Shit, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure they’re not for felons, though.

  Instead, she comes out with her hair re-braided into two braids that flow down her back; no makeup--she doesn’t need it;tight, gray workout leggings; and a loose t-shirt with the neckline cut out so it slouches over one shoulder. Brooks, the little stud, is sporting sweatpants and a shirt that says, I get milk drunk daily. I feel overdressed in jeans and a t-shirt for this farmers' market adventure.

  “Come on, let’s get moving. Kasen, will you grab those bags by the door?” she asks, pointing to the pile of canvas bags at the door.

  I grab the cloth shopping bags and hold the door open for her and Brooks. Hartley grabs her purse, diaper bag, and some baby contraption. I take the diaper bag from her, making sure she has her keys, and lock the door behind us.

  We head towards her matte black Jeep Wrangler. Hartley might not spend money on flashy sports cars, but she put some time and love into her Jeep. Even I can tell that almost nothing on it is stock anymore, including the color, the lift, the tires, the light bar, and the speakers. This is clearly her other baby, and for good reasons. For the amount of time she spends outdoors, considering where she lives and the different seasonal weather, what better thing to drive?

  She buckles Brooks into his car seat. Then she double checks that she has everything, and I do mean everything. For being so small, babies sure need a lot of stuff. We don’t even make it to the main road before Brooks is asleep in the back. I smile to myself when I look back at him, then over at Hartley.

  They already feel like family, and that’s a little scary. I never had muc
h of a family growing up. Friends were just whoever was around at the time instead of in the system. I don’t understand how she was able to break down my defenses in just a few month. I’ve always been alone and I have always managed to take care of myself, now she feels like all the pieces I’ve been missing. I want to keep Hartley and Brooks as my family; I hope she lets me. But I know that eventually she will give up on me and walk away; just like everyone else.

  Hartley turns on some rap music, I’m talking straight up gangster rap, and her ability to keep up with the lyrics is impressive. She pulls into a small coffee hut and orders, you guessed it, a caramel latte. She also gets me one, swearing it’ll be life changing. I'm used to the shit I could sometimes get inside prison, so yeah, it is pretty life changing.

  When we pull into the market, I’m surprised to see there are actually other people here, a lot of them. Maybe Hartley wasn’t being dramatic.

  As we look for a parking space, I learn what it takes to turn heads in my new town. Hartley pulling up to a farmers’ market -- where, yes, there are little old ladies and hippies in flowy skirts -- in a matte black lifted Jeep, playing Tyga with the bass hitting so hard it sends a vibration through the windows. She doesn’t seem to give a single fuck.

  She hops out of the Jeep and starts pulling on the baby contraption she grabbed. Then she pulls a still-sleeping Brooks from his seat and buckles him to her chest, without him even waking up. She looks over and sees me staring at her.

  “Baby carrier,” she explains, lifting both hands away from Brooks, “so I don’t have to bring the car seat and I’m hands-free, see?”

  I smile at her and take a moment to look around the parking lot of the farmers’ market. There are all types of people piling out of their vehicles. I don’t miss the looks they shoot our way.