Not My Heart to Break (Merciless World Book 3)

by W. Winters

  Setting my apple down on the rather full tray of food I probably won’t be able to stomach, I make a mistake and I look over at them. At the table of boys who are trouble at best, dangerous at worst.

  I just miss making eye contact with Seth’s right hand man, literally sitting to his right. Derek’s good looking; I get a glimpse of him first before cowardly looking back down at my tray. He has the same dark brown hair as Seth does, but his is longer, swept to the side. He actually styles his hair. Seth’s is shorter, but still long at the top. Long enough to barely grip maybe, but not much longer than that. Short enough not to have to style.

  I’ve been doing that recently; I think with a touch of humor as I tap the plastic fork on the tray. I’ve been comparing every man I see to Seth. I always come to the same conclusion: they can’t light a match to Seth.

  It’s his eyes though and his dominating air around him that draws me into Seth. The piercing blue gaze, the broad shoulders and that strong jaw line. Everything about him radiates power and sex appeal.

  One more glance, just one, and I drink him in. Even though Seth’s not overly muscular, he’s toned and has enough of an etched lining of muscle that anyone who sees him knows he works out, or rather, that he could hurt them easily enough. It’s what keeps his jaw sharp I think. It’s a clean line, severe like his gaze can be.

  Apart from that, he’s charming, classically handsome. When he smiles, God when he smiles, I inwardly sigh, his pale blue eyes brighten, shining with humor, and his cheeks soften in a way that makes him more than approachable.

  He doesn’t smile much, though. Not recently.

  I peek up, trying to disguise my curiosity as just coincidence that I’m looking his way again to see if he’s smiling now.

  My breath is stolen when our eyes lock and my heart does a weird thud, maybe it’s pretending to be dead just like I am. To no longer exist since he caught me in the act of daring to look his way.

  Fuck, I’m shit at this. I’ve never been a good liar and I don’t hide a damn thing well. I can’t look away though, not when he’s still staring back at me. I’m caught, literally and figuratively, stuck right where I am, feeling my skin tingle and my cheeks burn.

  My heart’s caught too.

  It only beats again, when he nods to the right, his head tilted, almost unperceivably, motioning with it to come to him.

  I can see myself doing it, walking over to him. I’d leave my tray though, there isn’t a place for me. There isn’t room there. What would I do? Stand there like an imbecile waiting for his next demand? I’m foolish enough as it is.

  What if when I got there, he hadn’t called me over. What if all of it is all in my head?

  I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking by just looking at me. I think he does because the corners of his mouth slip down as my lips part. As if I’d spoken the excuse. As if he could hear it from all the way over there.

  “Hey,” the word comes with the short clank of a tray hitting the cheap table. It jostles as Cami sits, her blonde hair bouncing with tight curls as she tells me, “Sorry I’m late, fucking algebra.” Picking up her apple she asks me, “You doing alright? You look a little flushed.”

  Emotions swarm up my chest and my cheeks heat even more. “Fine,” I answer her without looking in her eyes and refusing to look Seth’s way again. “I’m fine.”

  I hate lying, but I’d rather do that than admit how irrefutably not fine I really am.

  Seth

  Derek shuts his steel locker door and it bangs louder than it should. I don’t care; I keep the back of my head resting on the cool metal of the lockers and stare down the hall at room 4W with my hands in my pockets. I’ve never had a class in that room, but Laura has two of them every day in 4W.

  “You really that pissed over her not coming to sit with you?” Derek sounds exasperated and I turn back to him, not bothering to move even though the warning bell rings. The halls are far from vacant, I have plenty of time to get to the other wing of the school.

  “She doesn’t listen,” I bite out the complaint lowly, although there’s not much emotion in my comment. Laura Roth has a bad habit of doing what she wants, when she wants. And the bottom line is that she doesn’t want me. Which is best, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want her.

  “She’s mourning,” he reminds me and I give him a glare that would shut anyone else up. “You don’t have to remind me.” I don’t hide the anger in my tone as I make my way passed him and down the corridor. I have nearly every class with Derek. Thank fuck. I don’t know how I’d get through the day without him there. I’m not a scholar, I’m not book smarts. With the life I lead, none of the curriculum taught within these walls means a damn thing.

  “Get to class you two,” Miss Talbot calls out to a couple, kissing in the corner. She’s a nice enough lady, married with kids of her own in college. Even her reprimand to those students sounds motherly. Her voice carries over to us as does her gaze and the moment she sees us, her lips slam shut. She visibly pales and looks to her right, clapping and telling someone else, apparently his name is Steven, that he can’t be late again. She doesn’t say shit to me or Derek. No one does anymore.

  Teachers like her are simply counting the days until we’re gone and they don’t have to deal with us. I don’t blame her. I don’t blame any of them. I get it now, more than ever. Quite frankly, I’ve been counting the days for years.

  “I’m just saying,” Derek speaks beneath his breath, “She’s not trying to be a problem, she’s just out of it.” My gaze narrows as I take my friend in. We’re nearly the same height, but I’m still just a hair taller than him.

  “Who said she was a problem?”

  “Cut it the fuck out. You know what I mean.” The last student in front of us shuts her locker and practically runs with two thick text books in her arms. Derek gives her a tight smile, that she returns with a blush and a sped up pace to get by us. “You’re getting all pissed off because she didn’t come over to sit at the table, but why would she? She makes it obvious she’d rather be alone.” He continues, and the two us stand outside of our class room sooner than I’d like. The door is still open and Derek places his shoe deliberately against it, keeping it open. “You’re letting her get to you. … that’s a problem whether you want to admit it or not.”

  I catch Mr. Chasting’s, our English teacher, gaze and he stares back at me, before looking back at his notebook and greeting the class. Not bothering to say a word to the two of us. He knows we’ll come in, sit down, and deal with this last year just like he deals with us. Quietly, causing as few problems as possible and simply sliding by until we can walk across the stage and everyone can be done with this charade.

  My response to him is firm. “She’s not a problem and it’s not a problem.”

  “You’re right,” he agrees with me, catching me off guard. “You’re the one with the problem. She’s just a sweet girl you can’t seem to leave alone.”

  “You know why.”

  “I do and I think it’s fucked. My advice?” he offers although I don’t want it. “Let it be,” he hisses and I look over his shoulder to see a girl watching us from inside the class. I think her name is Sandra or maybe Susan. She’s quick to avert her eyes and pretend like she wasn’t trying to listen.

  I barely react to Derek’s comments. I’ve heard it all before. I know how he feels and I don’t give a shit. I can’t stay away from her. I’m just walking her home. That’s it. I owe her that at least.

  “You’ve made your opinion known,” I remind him, turning around to lean my back against the wall outside of the class room. Seems like I need anything and everything to hold me up lately. It’s fucking draining, dealing with all the shit that’s gone down.

  Derek sighs audibly, as if I’m the worst thing he has to deal with. God knows that’s not the case. Letting the door go, he stands beside me. The door shuts softly with a click and it’s quiet for a moment before a resounding bell rings through the hall.

 
Now we’re late. No one cares, though.

  “I’m just saying,” he continues. “She lost someone and maybe you should just leave her alone.”

  “Everyone lost someone.” The words are lost in the vacant hall. “Including me,” I turn to look Derek in the eyes. Slipping his hands into his pocket, he nods solemnly. “I haven’t forgotten,” he answers.

  “It’s all different now, and if I want to deal with it this way, I need you to back it up.” I feel tense and unsure, knowing everything has changed and I need Derek there. I won’t survive without him.

  “I back you on everything, but you’re supposed to trust me, and you know that means telling you when I think something’s fucked.”

  A thin smirk graces my lips but it comes with a humorless huff of a laugh that sounds sick to my ears. “Everything’s fucked.” The past weekend was the hardest and the only bright light I had was knowing, come Monday, I’d have Laura to look out for again. Even if for only a moment.

  I can hear him swallow thickly, and it’s quiet for a moment.

  “People mourn differently, yeah?” I ask him, although it’s rhetoric. They’re his own words given back to him. Words he gave me when we stood over the ashes this past weekend.

  His sneaker kicks against the cheap linoleum floors and I feel like a prick. “Sorry, I’m just being a dick now.” I tell him and close my eyes, pushing down the pain of the brutal truth we’ve been hiding.

  “No, you’re right.” He brushes it off but his voice is tight. “I like the way I handle it better.”

  “We should get to class,” I speak when neither of us says anything for a long moment. His words stop me from moving more than inch though.

  “We’re all dealing differently and when the news breaks, I know it’ll be easier in some ways.” I hate that he’s talking about it at all. We made a pact, not to say anything. A cold prick travels over my skin. Starting at the back of my neck and working its way down slowly. My hands form into fists and press the right one against the wall, letting my knuckles turn white.

  The story is that our Dad’s took off and we didn’t want to file a report. We don’t need the police getting involved. Death is a part of this life. So is getting even.

  I don’t look at him when I speak. “It will get easier,” I answer him, feeling my throat get so tight the words almost don’t make it. “This is what we signed up for. We knew what we were doing.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince anymore.

  “I know. And I’m here with you. Your right hand man. I just feel like…” he scratches his jaw, staring down at his feet instead of meeting my gaze.

  “Out with it,” I bite out the words.

  “Everyone lost someone and we’re all dealing with it differently. But I don’t get why you won’t leave her alone.”

  “I’m just protecting her.” The answer slips out easily enough. It’s what I’ve told everyone.

  Derek scoffs. “Don’t bull shit me.”

  “Fine,” I answer him, unconsciously nodding as I tell him, “You’re right. I want her and it’s fucked. But I’m just being there for her, I’m not pushing anything.”

  He shakes his head slowly, his eyes pinned to mine. “You’re waiting. You know it’s going to happen. She wants you, you want her. It’s going to happen and you’re making sure it does.”

  “It will be her call if it does,” I answer him, at peace with that decision.

  “You can never have her. A lot of shit went down and more is coming. You really want to drag her into it?”

  “She’s already a part of it and you know it.”

  “Don’t do this to her. You want to feel better, and I get it. But this? This is wrong.” His conclusion is spoken hard and clear.

  “Are you going to stop me?”

  “No.” His tone drops as does his gaze. “I’ll still be here. I won’t stand in your way.”

  “Good. Drop it.”

  On some level I should feel relief that he’s going to drop it, but I don’t.

  I don’t think I can stop myself. And he’s right; I don’t deserve her after what I’ve done. But I can’t help myself.

  Laura

  My shoulder’s sore. I carried around all my books today rather than going to the locker and the damn strap has been digging into my shoulder. It hurts more than I try to show.

  Secretly, as I make my way through the thinned crowd to the open double doored exit, I hope Seth asks if he can carry my bag for me. I’m not a damsel in distress, but my pride is kind enough to acknowledge that it hurts. He always asks, and with my luck, I think: today will be the day he doesn’t ask and I’ll have to ask him.

  I swallow the thought the moment the chilly November air hits me. Everyone disperses in front of me, but I stay where I am, my feet planted on the asphalt just outside the doors.

  “Oh, sorry,” I mumble when someone behind me brushes past and I realize I’ve been blocking the doorway.

  A nervous heat ricochets through my body, from my tip toes all the way up to my ears which turn red hot. I imagine they’re about as red as my nose must be when I shiver and a cold gust of wind smacks me right across the face.

  Unwilling to stand here any longer, growing colder by the second, I force myself forward towards the field.

  My heart drops with each passing second. I have no right to be upset. This raw tightness in my throat can get the hell out of here. And it can take my insecure thoughts with it. One step. He’s not mine. Therefore, there is no loss. Another step. I knew this wouldn’t last.

  Another step and I whirl around at the sound of my name.

  Seth’s face is flushed as he jogs to catch up to me. Tall and handsome, and literally running after me. Blip. My heart does a thing that feels like a mix between a sink and a flip.

  “Couldn’t wait for me?” he asks although it’s obviously rhetoric, stopping just in front of me. His heat is immediate, he’s so close, and with another gust of wind, I’m hit with his heady masculine scent.

  “Sorry,” I apologize and that makes him noticeably flinch. With a tight smile, I shift my weight and adjust the strap of my bag.

  “Let me get it,” Seth tells me, he doesn’t ask, and he reaches for my bag before I even have a chance to hand it over.

  “Thank you.” Relief is immediate.

  “No problem.” All sorts of emotions threaten to show themselves, and instead, I bury them down. I shouldn’t be this happy that he’s here. We’re still nothing. I’m just getting used to it. I look forward to it even. I don’t know what I’ll do when he stops, but I don’t want to think about that either.

  “Are you still stalking me?” I manage to ask, even as the gratitude fills me.

  “Of course,” he answers with a cocky, asymmetric grin. “Technically,” he starts walking, his stride long enough to quickly put distance between us. He turns around to walk backwards just as we get to the open gap in the fence. I’m faintly aware of the eyes on us, but I ignore them all. “Since I’m in front, you’re the one who’s stalking me,” he teases with that handsome smile and my God, I laugh. It’s genuine and loud enough for him to hear it.

  “You wish,” I tell him with a smile and feel the heat in my cheeks when he slows down so I can catch up. He made me jog a little to do it, maybe he wanted to make this chase even.

  It will never be even though, I’m certain of that. As the days blend together, the tension between us changes into something warmer, something closer. It’s easier and lighter.

  Day 1: He told me he’d walk me home and that day I held his hand.

  Day 24: He called me Babygirl.

  Day 36: he started meeting me outside my classroom and immediately takes my backpack.

  Day 45: It’s too cold to walk, so Seth insists on driving me home. That’s the day the news broke about his father. I hugged him and refused to let go for the longest time. And he let me, holding me back.

  Day 46: My hand brushed his more than once in the car and I swear I couldn’t breathe beca
use of it.

  Day 50: I thought he was going to kiss me over the console. But he didn’t.

  50 days with Seth King so close. 50 days of subtle touches and longing glances. It’s not in my head. I know it’s not. I just want him to kiss me. I’ll be the one who loses in the end of whatever game he’s playing. Because I’m already falling. I’m tired of fighting, though. I don’t know how I can stop myself.

  Seth

  “You’re a bad influence,” Laura comments as she picks at the hole in her jeans. There’s a broad beautiful smile on her face though and a tempting tease in her tone. I fucking love it.

  “Yeah,” I answer her, grabbing another beer, “I know.” The football game is on in the main room of The Club, so I invited her back here, to the backroom.

  Weekdays are no longer enough. I need her on the weekends too. Derek warned me it’s mixing business with personal life, but I can’t tell the difference between the two anyway.

  There’s a pool table in front of us, and then there’s only this amber brown leather sofa. Just those two pieces of furniture in the dimly lit back room, and just the two of us. The strong girl I know Laura to be is suddenly shy, whenever I meet her gaze. Shy looks damn good on her. It only makes her look that much more fuckable.

  “I don’t really drink.” The chilled beer in her hand moves to the other. Her thumb drags up the side of it, leaving a trail in the dew against the cold glass.

  “You have to at least try it,” I brush my shoulder against hers, inching closer, and then shrug, “Or not,” and take a swig of my own. Resting my elbows on my knees, I lean forward and tell her, looking over my shoulder, “You’re right, I’m a bad influence. I’ll drink it. I just didn’t want to be rude and not offer you one.” I want to ease all of her nerves, but I know part of the reason she’s nervous is because she’s waiting for me to make a move. She’s getting bolder with every passing day. It’ll happen soon; I know it. I’m fucking dying for it.