Dark Hearts

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “What happened?” I ask, because it’s clear something happened. Nova doesn’t act irritated for no reason.

  She shakes her head. “Just some guy that’s in almost all of my classes.”

  I stiffen. “Did he … try something?”

  She looks up at me, her eyes wide with horror. “Oh, God, no. I mean, he flirted a bit, sure, but nothing like that. I just don’t like him.”

  “But he likes you?” And why the fuck do I feel mad about that possibility?

  “I guess.” She shrugs, taking a sip of her beer. “I was pretty blunt that I’m not interested, but something tells me that didn’t faze this guy a bit.” She sighs heavily. “Then, I got stuck beside him in my advanced photography class and Professor Blake says whoever you sit beside is your partner for the year on any projects she doubles us up on. No exceptions,” she mimics what I assume is her professor’s tone. “I can’t work with this guy all year—because yeah, of course this class lasts all year and isn’t just a semester.” She covers her face with her hands and groans. Letting them fall, she continues, “I know I shouldn’t let this make me so mad, but I can’t help it.”

  “We’re all allowed to get mad. It’s what makes us human.”

  “I guess so.” She sighs again, and I can tell she’s unconvinced.

  “You want something to eat?” I ask. Maybe if she gets food in her stomach she’ll be less grouchy. I always turn into an asshole when I’m hungry. Food makes everything better.

  “Yeah, I’m hungry,” she admits. “And drinking on an empty stomach isn’t smart when I have class in the morning.”

  “What do you want?” I ask. Nova spends a lot of time at W.T.F. with me, so she orders a variety of menu items.

  “Surprise me,” she pleads.

  “What if I get it wrong?”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “You won’t. I’m not in the mood for any certain thing so you’ll be fine.”

  “Suit yourself,” I say, and flip around to place her order.

  I order myself something too, since I can take my break any time—perks of days I come in earlier. Most days, I work the late shift and there’s no time for a break.

  While I wait for our food to be done I tend to the other people at the bar and get caught up on drinks I need to make for the other tables in the restaurant.

  Every time I glance at Nova she has a sullen expression on her face. Something tells me it has nothing to do with that guy, but I can’t be sure of what it might be. Nova is a hard nut to crack—harder than me. I know she’s told me more about herself than she has the girls, but I still don’t know much other than she’s from Texas and her family was really strict. She doesn’t talk about them much, though—at all, honestly. Like, I don’t even know if she has any siblings, and I don’t like to pry, because if I pry then she’ll think she has the right to know more about me, and I’m not going down that path.

  Our food comes up and I grab it, telling my manager, Bethany, that I’m taking my break. She waves me off, unbothered since we’re not that busy now and she knows I wouldn’t be taking a break if we were.

  I come out of the kitchen and around the bar, setting Nova’s food down in front of her—the grilled chicken sandwich—and mine at the empty spot beside her. I slide pull out the stool and sit down.

  “You’re eating with me?” She sounds surprised, because it’s not often that I do this.

  “Yeah,” I say. I point to my nachos. “Have some if you want any.”

  “That’s your dinner?” She raises a brow.

  “Yup.” I grin, shoving a nacho into my mouth.

  She shakes her head. “How you’re skinny as a rail is beyond me.”

  “Height, genetics.” I tick them off on my fingers. “And gym time.”

  “You go to the gym once a month when Xander and Cade force you to go,” she snorts.

  “I know.” I grin back. “And I look this good already. Imagine if I went every day. I’d blow minds.”

  She shakes her head and picks up her sandwich. She takes a bite and lets out a soft moan. I don’t think she even realizes she’s made the sound.

  “That’s good,” she says, wiping a bit of the sauce from the corner of her mouth. She takes another bite and then reaches for one of my nachos, dipping it in sour cream.

  “So …” I begin, and then trail off. I want to ask her about what else is bothering her, because it’s obvious something is, but I can’t pry. Instead, I ask, “Football game this weekend?”

  “Yeah,” she says forlornly. “Confession …” Her voice grows quiet, and I tense with anticipation at what she’s going to say. “I hate flying,” she admits. “I vowed after I flew from Texas to here that I would never fly again.”

  I chuckle. “I would’ve never guessed that the great Novalee Clarke would be afraid of flying.”

  She shrugs, unbothered by my poking. “We’re all afraid of stupid things.” She’s right. Of course. “What stupid thing are you afraid of?” she asks. “There has to be something.”

  “Rodents,” I answer without a second of thought. “Mice, rats, that kind of thing.”

  Her lips twitch with the threat of laughter. “And you made fun of me for being afraid to fly.”

  “In my defense, I had a friend growing up with pet mice—they got out of the cage, and it was a fucking nightmare trying to catch them. I got bit so many times I was convinced I was going to get rabies. My mom had to take me to the doctor because I was so freaked and nothing she said would calm me down.”

  “You don’t talk about your mom or dad much,” Nova remarks, with wide open eyes, begging me to open up.

  “Neither do you.” My voice is firm and rather rude, and I flinch because I sound exactly like my father—a man I vowed to never become.

  “Touché,” she mutters and lets the conversation drop, wiping her hands on a napkin.

  “How long is the flight?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” she admits. “We’re flying to Florida, so I figure it’s a long one. I haven’t checked for sure because I don’t want to know yet. It’s best if I’m kept in the dark until we’re in the air.”

  I laugh—for some reason finding that hysterical. “I’ll hold your hand,” I tell her, half-joking and half-serious. If she’s that scared and wants to hold my hand, she can consider it hers.

  “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

  And that’s when I know that Nova really is afraid of flying. I mean, I didn’t doubt her before, but now it’s obvious just how bad her fear is. Nova avoids physical contact like it’s the plague. At least with me.

  “Are you mad about missing class Monday?” I ask her. Xander’s game is Sunday and we’re flying in Friday night, but our flight out isn’t until Monday morning. I know how Nova feels about attendance. For someone that screams rebel with her appearance, she really hates breaking rules.

  “I’m a little irritated, but it’s the beginning of the semester so it should be fine.” She finishes her sandwich and starts on the fries. That’s one thing that fascinates me about Nova. She has to eat everything on her plate one at a time. So, she’ll eat her whole sandwich first and then eat her fries or whatever else might be there. I, on the other hand, go after everything like I expect someone to snatch the plate out from under me.

  “Florida,” I repeat. “Should be fun.”

  Hot girls. Bikinis. Ass. Boobs. Skin.

  She shrugs. “I suppose so.”

  I glance over at her, and in that moment, I make it my mission to make sure she has the best damn time of her life.

  Jace

  “I can’t feel my hand,” I hiss.

  “Do I look like I fucking care?” Nova snaps back. She’s white as a sheet. So white that I can count each individual freckle speckled across her cheeks and nose.

  We took off two hours ago, but it’s been a bumpy ass flight and poor Nova looks like she wishes she could jump out the window to her death. She’s that miserable.

  “We’re
almost there,” I lie.

  “Liar,” she hisses immediately.

  I sigh. I tried.

  Behind us is Cade and Rae and then on the other side of the aisle beside us is Thea and Xander’s mom. His dad wanted to come, but couldn’t make it work today so he’s flying in tomorrow with their daughter—Xander’s older sister.

  Xander still doesn’t know that any of us are coming.

  I think he’ll be happy, but on the other hand it might make him more stressed.

  Guess we’re going to find out.

  We hit another bout of turbulence and Nova turns green.

  “I’m going to be sick,” she cries suddenly, wrenching her hand from mine. My hand immediately goes numb from the sudden return of blood flow.

  I watch Nova hurry down the aisle to the bathroom instead of reaching for a barf bag.

  “Go after her,” Thea hisses. “Make sure she’s okay.”

  “You do it,” I snap.

  She shakes her head. “She likes you more. She’ll bitch at me if I go.”

  She’s probably right.

  I sigh and push out of my seat following Nova to the bathroom.

  I can hear her inside, running water.

  I knock on the cheap door. “Nova? Are you okay?”

  The door slides open, and I find her leaning against the small sink with her face damp like she’s splashed it with water.

  “I thought I was going to throw up,” she states the obvious, “but I didn’t. I think I’d feel better if I did, but my body is rebelling against me.”

  I chuckle. “Or maybe the sickness is in your head.” I tap the side of her forehead.

  “I wish it was made up.” She inhales a deep breath. “Can we drive home?”

  I chuckle. “Nice try, Clarke. I like you but I don’t want to take a whole week to get home. Besides, think of all the classes you’d miss.”

  She crinkles her nose. “Yeah,” she mutters. “I suppose flying is better. I still hate it, though.”

  “Can we go back to our seats?” I ask her. “Or are you still worried you might get sick?”

  She hesitates for about ten seconds, gauging the way she feels. After a moment, she nods. “Yeah, I think I can.”

  I guide her back to our seats, and on the way, I ask the flight attendant for a ginger ale, or something like it, and crackers. She takes one look at Nova and hurries off. I’m sure the last thing she wants to do is deal with a sick person on the flight.

  I take the window seat again, since Nova most definitely didn’t want to sit by the window, and then she sits down beside me.

  The flight attendant drops off the soda and crackers and is gone before I can even say thank you.

  I open the soda and hand it to Nova. “Drink,” I command, and then open the crackers.

  She takes slow sips and smiles gratefully. “Thanks. This helps.”

  I nod in acknowledgement and hand her a cracker.

  She takes small bites of the cracker in-between sips of soda and the color slowly begins to return to her cheeks. I think if anything it’s helping her by focusing on the task of eating and drinking instead of thinking about being however many feet in the air.

  I spend the rest of the flight distracting her in any way I can. I tell her stories about the guys and me in high school which are mostly stupid and funny and then I move on to singing softly under my breath so I don’t disturb anyone else on the flight.

  I think Nova likes it best when I sing, which fills me with some sort of sick satisfaction, because for some strange reason I love singing for her.

  When the flight lands, we all grab our bags from the overhead compartments—we all only brought carry-on since we’re not staying long—and head outside to grab taxis to the hotel.

  It only takes us twenty minutes to get to the hotel, even with traffic.

  It’s already grown cooler back home, even though it’s late August, but not here. Even at night it’s hot enough that guys walk around shirtless and girls are in bikini tops and shorts. The palm trees blow in the slight wind and a guy passes us on his skateboard.

  It’s been years since I’ve been to Florida. My dad preferred to vacation in exotic locations, like Bora Bora and Costa Rica. My mom brought me to Orlando once, when I was about eleven, because I’d been begging forever to come to Disney World and we’d never gone.

  It was just me and her, and for a while, it was the best trip of my life.

  Until the last day, when she sat me down and told me she was dying and only had six months max left to live.

  I’ve hated anything to do with Disney since then and I guess this place too.

  I haven’t been back to Florida since and until now I didn’t realize the disdain that had grown in my heart to this place.

  It’s funny how the human mind attaches certain emotions and feelings to a place or object.

  For me, Florida will always represent the loss of my mom, and that’s not something I ever like to think about.

  We arrive at the hotel and file out of the car.

  We’re responsible for our own rooms so Nova and I decided to bunk together to save money and we have an unspoken agreement not to tell the others.

  We head inside to the front desk. Nova and I purposely choose to be last in line, in the hope that the others will get their room keys and go on up.

  Sure enough, our plan works and the others head off to the elevators once they have their room keys.

  “Name?” the receptionist asks, smiling pleasantly even though she’s probably bored out of her mind. I would be bored if I had to do her job.

  “Kensington,” I respond.

  She types a few things and hands me two keys. I promptly hand Nova the extra one.

  We head up to our room, and as soon as our bags are placed on the floor, I announce, “We’re going out.”

  Nova’s halfway to one of the beds, and she turns back to glare at me. “No.”

  “No?” I repeat with a laugh. “Come on. We need a night out. We’re in Miami. There are clubs on every block.”

  “I just want to go to bed,” she grumbles.

  “Nuh-uh.” I shake my head. I refuse to let her mope. “We’re going out, for at least an hour.”

  She groans, and I know I’m wearing her down. “I just want to shower and go to bed. Aren’t you tired?” she counters.

  “I am,” I agree. “But we’re here and we only have tonight and tomorrow to do something for ourselves and we’ll probably have to do something with everyone else tomorrow, which leaves right now for me and you,” I ramble.

  “All right,” she agrees. “Let me change, though.”

  “As you wish.”

  I step out of the way as she grabs her bag again, her messy bun bobbing, and locks herself in the bathroom.

  I flop on the one bed and turn on the TV.

  Twenty minutes later she steps out of the bathroom with her hair down and changed into jeans, a black and white striped top, and a leather jacket. She looks bad ass, like she’s ready to take on the fucking world, and I find myself licking my lips.

  Down, boy.

  I’m attracted to Nova, I can’t deny that, and I’m not stupid so I know she’s attracted to me too. But I think we both know we’re different … damaged … and that makes a relationship impossible. Nothing good can come from something so broken.

  “Ready?” I ask her, and I hate how annoyingly high my voice suddenly sounds.

  She nods, slipping her feet into a pair of boots.

  I’m sure ninety-nine percent of the girls at the club will be half-dressed and in high heels, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but I find myself intrigued by how different Nova is. She doesn’t try to be like everyone else. She is who she is.

  I shove the room key in my jeans pocket and tug on her blue hair as I pass.

  “Let’s go, Clarke.”

  “You look miserable!” I yell to be heard above the music.

  “I am miserable,” she shouts back. “This isn’t my
thing!”

  I take her hand and drag her to the bar, trying not to be blinded by the flashing lights.

  I haven’t been to a club in nearly a year. I was busy finishing school, working, and playing my music anywhere I could.

  Now I’m realizing why I haven’t missed this scene. It seems that I’ve outgrown it.

  Regardless, we’re here, and I want to do what I can to make sure Nova has a good time—which means, not letting on that I’m just as miserable.

  We reach the bar, and I guide her to the lone empty stool. I motion to the bartender that we want to order and then wait for him to have time.

  Which might be never, since everyone is clamoring for a drink.

  Nova huffs out a breath and her hair swirls around her face.

  “Hi,” the guy beside her says, leering at her.

  I lean around her and give him my best glare. “Goodbye.”

  “Sorry, didn’t know she was taken.” He raises his hands in defense.

  Nova lets out a soft laugh. In fact, I can’t even hear it, but the shaking of her shoulders gives her away.

  The bartender finally makes it over to us and I shout my order. He returns with two beers and plops them down, some of the liquid sloshing out and onto the counter.

  I hand him cash. “Keep the change.”

  Nova sips at her beer, looking more miserable by the second.

  Fuck this.

  I down my beer and let her finish half of hers.

  “Come on.” I tug her off the stool.

  “Wha—?” She gets out as I drag her onto the dance floor.

  Dancing with Nova is probably a very bad, bad idea, but bad ideas are usually the most fun.

  The music changes and the song oozes sex.

  I don’t allow myself to care.

  Nova looks up at me with wide, shocked eyes, picking up on the tone of the song.

  I lower my head so my lips graze her ear when I speak. “Dance with me.”

  It’s not a question, or even a command, simply a statement.

  She’s dancing with me.

  She shivers as I draw away.

  I lead her into the thick of the people and then wrap her arms around my neck, my hands fall to her waist, my fingers grazing her ass.