Glass Heart Hero: A Dark High School Romance

by Lindsey Iler

  “I have my suspicions, Delaney.” He bites at the metal wrapped around his lip. “I’ve seen you turned on and there isn’t a single thing about Tripp DuPont that riles you up.”

  “Maybe I’ve changed. What used to do it for me, no longer does.” Even only my words fit my actions.

  “Is this you not being into me?” Like a flash, my wrists are locked within his hands, pressed into the mattress above my head. His nose grazes along the length of my face, starting at my jawline and moving up until his lips touch my temple.

  “Tripp and I haven’t had sex, okay? Are you happy now?” I wiggle my hands free. Instead of pushing him off, I grip ahold of his hips, tugging his pants down further.

  “You suck his dick?” Even he can’t hold back his grin, finding far too much joy in my torture.

  “Fuck off, Breaker.” I try to roll away from him, but he holds me in place.

  “Calm down, baby. I’m kidding. I don’t care what you put in your mouth, but this is mine.” He rolls his finger over my clit. There’s no apology for watching himself relentlessly toy with my body.

  Breaker Davenport is the king of seduction. Everything about him has been cultivated to attract girls. I’ve always known his charm. The first time I had a run-in with him was freshman year in the cafeteria. I was a shy, quiet student, standing in line to get food. He came up behind me, reaching for an apple. He stretched as far as he could without toppling into me and came up short.

  I grabbed the apple and handed it to him.

  I remember the way he’d said, “Thanks, doll.”

  Even then, he’d demanded attention when he walked into a room. We didn’t speak another word until Palmer gained their attention. That doesn’t mean I didn’t see him. I saw him plenty.

  “Where’d you go just now, huh?”

  I miss the feel of his fingers as he draws away from me.

  “Freshman year,” I whisper, afraid to give too much of myself away.

  “Best apple I’ve ever had.” He winks, running the cool side of his ring over my skin.

  “You remember that?”

  “Of course, I do. I may be an asshole, but I remember the shaking hand of the cute girl in the lunch line.” He brushes the hair from my face, gazing into my eyes as if he can solve my problems.

  “A heathen with the kindest soul. That’s what you are.”

  “And what does that make you?” He sits up, moving between my legs.

  I grab his shoulders and hoist myself up. Once I’m in better control, I trace the ink scrawled over his chest. I lean forward, kissing along a quote tattooed on his ribs. On instinct, his hands lightly hold onto my head, guiding me along his skin. I rise to my knees when my lips won’t reach the places I want.

  “I’m a sucker for a boy with tattoos,” I whisper against the flesh on his neck.

  “Is that the only thing that does it for you?” His fingers dig into my hair, tightly and with zero restraint.

  “For tonight.” I grin at him, seeing the protective wall he’d like to keep up but always allows to crumble for me.

  Breaker shoves me down on the bed, making an easy decision by flipping me onto my stomach.

  “Lift, baby.” He smacks my ass once. I do as he says. “Good girl.”

  His body rolls over mine, creating a second skin of his warmth and strength. His hand reaches around, running over my bare center.

  “You see what you do to me?” I whisper, harshly biting on my lip, ready for whatever he plans to do to my body.

  His hips thrust into my ass, proving he’s as aroused as I am. I reach behind my body, searching for and then feeling him through his jeans. His dick is hard. The material scratches the back of my legs as he lowers them enough to expose himself.

  “You want me, Delaney?” he groans.

  “What do you think?” I rub his length. “I want to feel you.”

  “I have a better idea.” Breaker’s warmth leaves me, and the mattress dips under his weight. I start to roll over, but another smack across my butt has me wincing in pleasure. “Don’t move. I want to look at you.” As I stare over my shoulder, Breaker eases away from the bed until he’s leaning against the wall. “You’re gorgeous, but I don’t need to tell you that because you already know you are.”

  “Breaker, what’re you doing?” I ask, feeling uncomfortable and exposed.

  “Trying to commit this image to my memory.”

  “Why don’t you come over here and take what’s yours?”

  “Oh, baby, don’t play games with me.” He walks up behind me and pats my pussy. “This is only on loan. You aren’t mine.” The smooth sensation of his tongue licking my seam has my body bucking. “Sweet as sugar, just as I remember.”

  I flip over, sensing the shift in the room. Breaker is at the end of the bed, looking at me with lust and intrigue in his eyes.

  “It would be too easy.” Breaker grins, bending down and grazing his mouth across mine, but never truly giving me his lips. He grabs his shirt and jerks it over his head.

  “You’re fucking kidding with me, right?” I pout, angry and frustrated.

  “Does it look like I’m kidding?” His arms shoot out straight from his sides.

  “I never knew Breaker Davenport said no to pussy.”

  “I’m not saying no to pussy.” He places his hands on both sides of me and leans forward, our faces inches apart. “I’m saying no to scratching the itch you feel deep inside you. The one Tripp DuPont will never be able to hit, even if you give him a road map of your body, baby.”

  “Fuck off, Breaker.” I grab the covers, instantly too exposed.

  “Keep saying that, baby, and I’ll start believing you mean it.” He grips the sheet and yanks it away. “Don’t hide now. I’ve already seen every inch of that glorious body. The next time I do, though, you’ll be begging me.”

  “You think you’re so smart and cute, don’t you?”

  “I happen to know you, Delaney Chambers. Your lust will morph into love before you fucking know it, and when it does, when you’re finally ready to admit what I mean to you, I’m going to bury my cock so far inside you, you’ll feel me in your throat.” He kisses me quickly and walks out of the room.

  My mouth opens and closes, trying to form a response, but it’s nothing but quiet noises. There are no words. There is no explaining the way he makes me feel.

  Breaker Davenport will be my undoing.

  ******

  “Where have you been?” Tripp demands, startling me as I walk out of the dorms.

  I have plans with Palmer, but by the look on his face, I’d say I’m going to have to cancel.

  “Sorry, but after seeing the fight between you and Breaker, I needed a minute to collect my thoughts.”

  “Did collecting your thoughts involve going to see Breaker at Max’s?” He tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Seeing him in a vest and long sleeve Henley rolled to his elbows is strange. Although still polished, in these casual clothes he seems more real than he does in his pressed school khakis, crisp oxford shirt, and tie.

  “Are you having me followed, Tripp?” I ask, humor in my voice but total awareness in my head.

  “A few guys from the lacrosse team spotted you. Saw you and Breaker arguing.” Tripp glances at me, a worrisome expression plastered on his perfect face. I’m not used to seeing him like this.

  Tripp and I are polar opposites. Sometimes I wonder what he sees in me. It’s not as if I don’t know my worth. My family is infamous, now more than ever. I have amazing grades and first pick of attending any university, although I’ve already settled on Hollow Crest. I’m not horrible on the eyes, and my personality doesn’t completely suck, but Tripp DuPont can have the pick of the litter.

  “Why me?” I blurt the question, surprising Tripp and myself.

  “I don’t understand the question, Laney.” He takes his hands out of his pockets and grabs one of mine.

  It’s not lost on me how I search the yard to see if Breaker is close
by. I doubt he is. He’s stayed far away from me this weekend and hasn’t read any of my texts.

  “Why did you choose me?” I ask again, better explaining what I mean.

  I bite my lip, nervously waiting for him to say something. Hand-in-hand, we walk through campus, silence enveloping our little world as I wait for the words I hope to hear. They are the words every girl hopes to hear. I’ve heard them before, uttered from another’s mouth.

  Tripp leads me to a bench next to the student lot. His legs bounce, and he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, then he jerks upright and presses his entwined hands on the back of his head. He looks relaxed and anxious at the same time.

  “You’d make a good wife one day, Delaney. Most boys our age aren’t looking for that in a girlfriend. They can’t see past next week, but I’ve been conditioned to take over my family’s business when I’m out of college. Appearances mean everything,” he says matter-of-fact.

  Dread settles into the bottom recesses of my heart. That’s not the answer I’m looking for.

  “I’m arm candy,” I whisper, staring at my hands, too afraid to look at Tripp.

  “It sounds worse than I mean it to, I swear,” he defends, lifting my chin and forcing me to face him. “I can’t handle seeing the hurt in your eyes. It’s the way things are done in my world. Marriage is a transaction, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t desire and want within the transaction.”

  I’m a result of a transaction. With Tripp, I know what’s to come. Sure, life will be easy, but will it be worth it? At least I’d know what to expect. With Breaker, I’m guaranteed a lot of unknowns, and unknowns have gotten me nowhere.

  “Want to do something fun today?” I ask, hoping to change the direction of this conversation.

  “I actually promised your dad I’d bring you home for the day.” Tripp stands, offering me his hand. I pause before taking it, unhappy at the thought of spending any time with my dad.

  After the news broke and my father didn’t answer my call, I haven’t bothered answering him when his name pops up on the screen. Distance is what a daughter needs when her own father uses her.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Tripp,” I explain, hugging myself to try to stay warm. Without asking, Tripp removes his vest and drapes it over my shoulders to help shield the brutal wind.

  “He said you’d say that, but I promised him I’d bring you. I think it would be good for you to talk to him, to hear his side of the story.” Tripp flashes his million-watt grin, and I buckle, taking his hand as he guides me to the parking lot.

  For the most part, the drive to my dad’s house is silent. I stare out the window, watching the trees rush by as Tripp drums his finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the low humming music.

  Comfortable silence is something I appreciate. This isn’t comfortable. Several times, I try to play silly games with Tripp, asking him random questions. He seems disconnected and uninterested.

  “You should lighten up every once in a while,” I say.

  He remains stoic until he parks in front of the four-car garage. After he unbuckles, he shifts to cup my cheek. His lips descend on mine, and I allow him to kiss me.

  “Let’s go see your dad. He said he has something to talk to me about,” Tripp announces, grabbing a duffle from the back seat.

  “Are we staying the night?” I ask, eyeing the expensive bag that screams rich guy.

  “Oh, no. This is for tennis.” He traces the racket’s outline, his manner exaggerated like I’ve asked the dumbest question known to man.

  “You and my dad are playing tennis today?” I follow Tripp up the walkway. For the first time, I feel like a guest in my own house.

  “Remember I said he wanted to talk to me about something?” His eyes narrow, almost convincing me I’m losing my mind.

  Tripp DuPont, the king of gaslighting.

  “Yeah, sure.” I plaster on my good girl smile and rush by Tripp, not bothering with the doorbell. “This is my house,” I remind him.

  Ginger, our house manager, greets us with a bright smile. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.” Her arms wrap around my body. “You doing okay?” she whispers against my ear.

  A hand grabs my arm and jerks me away from her. Tripp buries his mouth in my hair. “You shouldn’t hug the help. They need to know boundaries.”

  I glare at him, surprised by his ability to shift personalities. Saved by the arrival of my dad, I walk into his arms when he opens them. Old habits die hard, even when I’m mad at him.

  A bubbly blonde skips into the room, swooping between my father and me, tugging me into a embrace. I freeze, allowing her to invade my space. She brings me to arm’s length, taking me in.

  “Gary, you didn’t tell me how beautiful your daughter is.” She squeals so loud I think the windows will crack. “We’re going to be the best of friends.”

  Like hell we are.

  “Well, we are the same age, so I’m sure we have plenty in common,” I whisper the insult. Evidently, I’m not quiet enough, judging by the way everyone is gawking at me. Upset that I’ve been dragged here, I break through the small circle the three of them have made around me. “Have fun playing tennis with my father, Tripp. Come find me when you’re done.” I glance at the bleach blonde bimbo. “Nice to meet you, Barbie.” I wave two fingers at her and head up the stairs.

  “My name’s Bridgette!” she shrieks.

  Of-fucking-course it is.

  I fall onto my bed and stare around the room, half-expecting Tripp to come make sure I’m okay after whatever that was. When he doesn’t, I’m not surprised. This is what a future with Tripp DuPont will look like.

  I grab my phone and send Palmer a text.

  Me: You ever have a moment in your life where you get a glimpse of what your future will look like?

  Palmer: Are you okay?

  Me: I’m not sure.

  Palmer: Want to talk about it?

  Me: Honestly, I’m not sure.

  Palmer: Where are you?

  Me: I’m at my dad’s.

  Palmer: Oh shit, babe. I’m sorry. How are you handling it?

  Me: I’m not. Tripp said my father wanted me to come up here, but then I find out we’re here for Tripp to play tennis with my dad.

  The screen lights up with an incoming video chat. I accept, and Palmer’s face takes up most of the screen.

  “Only old men and boys with small dicks play tennis,” she says, then bursts into giggles.

  I snort, which makes her laugh even harder.

  “What am I doing?” I shake my head, frustrated with myself.

  “Remember when I shut down, cut everything off, and had no idea what the hell I was doing, or who I was? I think you’re going through something similar, and it’s okay to go through it. If you ignore it, you’ll always wonder.” Palmer’s sympathetic and understanding nature is hard not to see.

  “How’d you know Marek was the one?”

  “I’m sexy as fuck, that’s how.” Marek moves Palmer out of the way, grabbing the phone. “How’s my best friend doing?”

  “Oh, I’m your best friend now?”

  “If Breaker gets Palmer, then I get you. We have to even this shit out somehow. I’m tired of them ganging up on me.”

  I hear Palmer squawking in the background. Marek wrestles with her until she gives up trying to take the phone.

  “Fine, then I need advice.”

  “Well, fuck, I didn’t think the position would start right away, but shit. Give me a rundown of your troubles, sweetheart.” He smiles.

  “What if I don’t know who I want to be?” I ask the simplest question, leaving out most of the root of my troubles.

  “You don’t have to pick either one of them, you know? Let them play out this gauntlet. Let them get it over with, but at the end of it, you aren’t required to be with either of them. I think you know yourself best, and when you know, you’ll be one hundred percent in. If you do choose one of them, they’ll deserv
e that, at the very least.”

  “How’d you know Palmer was it for you?” I ask him the same question I’d asked Palmer about him.

  “You know, some days I’m not sure.” Marek winks, knowing Palmer is right behind him.

  “Like hell!” She tackles him and kisses him, and I’m forgotten.

  “Okay, guys, I’ll see you later.” I press the red button, hanging up on them. As happy as I am for their love, the last thing I want to do is watch them kissing on my phone.

  For an hour, I sit in my room, remembering when I was younger and happier, and things were less complicated. There weren’t so many choices to be made about who I wanted to be. I could be the girl with the red ribbon in her hair. I run my finger over the photo of me sitting on my mom’s lap, my father perched behind us. We look like a happy family. If only photographs exposed the truths.

  I roll off the bed and head downstairs. There isn’t a staff member to be seen. I peek my head into the kitchen to see Ginger directing the chef over the stove, letting him know how the steaks need to be cooked to satisfy my dad.

  Sneaking around this house used to be my favorite thing to do. When I was young, there were so many places to duck behind, going completely undetected was simple.

  Low whisper-yells come down the hallway. Tiptoeing like I’m six, I find a place to hide behind the large plant outside of my father’s office.

  “If you’re going to be taking over your parents’ business, you need to understand how things are done around here. There’s no room for error.” My father’s voice carries. A loud clatter rattles something on a hard surface. I know that sound. He’s slammed his fist on his desk. “You have one job, Tripp. Make sure it gets done.”

  The door opens, and Tripp catches me trying to scurry down the hallway. “Delaney?”

  “Oh, there you are. I was wondering if you were done with your match.” I hug him, hoping to hide my eavesdropping. “You took it easy on Father, right?”

  “If you’re wondering if he let me win, I can happily tell you, he didn’t.” My father’s nearby voice startles me. “Why so jumpy?”

  “Sorry, I think my blood sugar’s low. Feeling a little jittery,” I lie.