Shattered Hearts (Ashwood Creek #2)

Prologue

FOUR-YEARS-OLD

“Lunch time, everyone!” my teacher announces from the middle of the room.

Sitting on the rug with weirdly shaped blocks that I’ve been asked to fit inside of a plastic cube, I toss it aside, happily getting to my feet and running over to my lunchbox. Mum always makes me a jam sandwich with fruit and biscuits, which I’m always excited to eat.

I want to be like her when I grow up.

Taking my lunchbox outside in the warm sunshine, my eyes glimpse the other preschoolers scattered around the playground. The boys are always playing something sporty or hitting each other. The girls sit in pairs, and I oddly feel left out because I don’t have anyone to sit with.

“Laynie.” My teacher comes up behind me. I forgot her name again this morning. She’s nice, with short brown hair and long fingernails. I know because she has them painted a deep red, and they almost look like cat claws. “Who are you going to sit with today?”

My gaze whips around again, trying to find a spot as that awkward tight feeling starts in my chest. My toes wriggle in my sandals as I shrug.

She smiles kindly, and I smile back, hoping maybe she’ll sit with me. Unfortunately, she doesn’t.

“Why don’t you sit with Grayson? He needs a friend too.”

“My cousin is my friend,” I admit quickly, my smile widening.

My teacher sniffs a laugh, bending to look me in the eyes. “We can have more than one friend, Laynie.”

I shrug again.

Standing, she takes my hand in her clawed one, leading me towards a large black tyre that’s used as a seat in the play yard.

There’s a boy sitting on it with a crummy-looking sandwich and yoghurt, with bright gold hair that’s long enough to cover his ears and wearing a dinosaur top. I let my teacher walk me over to him.

“Grayson, this is Laynie. I thought you two could sit together.”

Light blue eyes peer into mine, and I feel a giggle come out of me before I can stop it. He frowns, making him look like a cuddly lion, and I jump up onto the tyre without his permission.

“There you go,” our teacher says before turning to break up a fight between some of the other boys.

I take a bite of my sandwich before looking at Grayson. “Why don’t you play with them?” I ask, pointing to where the boys are yelling and laughing and running around.

Grayson quickly looks before shrugging. “I don’t want to.”

Blinking back at him, I shrug. They look too energetic for me, and possibly Grayson too.

“Do you like dinosaurs?”

Again, he shrugs. “Reid does.”

My face scrunches at his answer. “Who?”

“It’s my brother.”

My shoulders slump a little and I finish my sandwich before pulling out my biscuits. They’re yellow and topped with sugar. Going to take a bite, I feel Grayson watching me and look at his rounded eyes. I go to offer him one.

“Do you want—hey!”

Grayson snatches it out of my hand, swallowing it in two bites.

I stare at him with an open mouth as he giggles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You took it!” I snap at him.

He shakes his head, eyes alight with mischief. “You asked.”

“That was mine!”

“You have more.” He looks down at the two in my hand. I clamp my hands over them, protecting them as he laughs. It’s bubbly and warm. I like it.

“Not fair.” I frown, taking one of them and shoving it in my mouth before he has the chance to steal it.

Grayson chews on his bottom lip, shrugging. “Are you going like them?”

I stare at him, wondering what he means when I hear the other boys shriek with happiness. Grayson flinches a little, and I slump again.

“Going where?”

“They didn’t want to play with me,” Grayson grumbles, and I look back at the other boys playing together.

Frowning, I look back at Grayson and put the last biscuit in his hand. “I’m staying here.”

A genuine smile pulls in his rosy cheeks.

TWELVE-YEARS-OLD

“Laynie!”

I look over my shoulder as Grayson comes running towards me from the porch. Jumping down all the steps at once like he’s a superhero or something (imagine a cape tied around his neck), he runs towards Mum’s car.

“Hi, G,” I say, unable to control my excitement.

A little out of breath once he catches up, he grins and pushes my door closed for me.

He has swept his hair out of his eyes, possibly with hair gel from Reid, which I will definitely be teasing him for later tonight, because it doesn’t really suit him.

I like his wild look more, not that I’d be telling him that anytime soon.

It’s not something that needs to be public knowledge.

Mum walks around the car with my backpack, gleaming at my best friend with her braided hair and paint covered overalls. “Hi, Gray,” she says calmly, giving him a once over and shaking her head. “You should have put your shoes on.”

Grayson snickers, shaking his polished hair that might just survive a nuclear bomb with how stiff it looks. “I hate wearing them. The ground is so much nicer.”

I glance down to catch his toes wriggling against the gravel dirt. “Until the prickly season rolls around,” I murmur, and he pinches my arm. “Ow. What was that for?”

Glaring up at him, Grayson’s crystal eyes shimmer with amusement and something deeper… tenderness, maybe? Unlikely.

His mouth twitches, his tone matching the intensity of his irises. “You deserved that, Biscuit Girl.”

My eyes roll, ignoring the way my skin fizzles like soda water, knowing that I’ll always love his nickname for me, even if I need to take that secret with me to the grave.

“Whatever, I’m starving.”

“Hi starving, I’m Grayson…”

Now it’s my turn to pinch him, hard.

Before I get the chance, Grayson takes off, laughing his way inside the front door as Mum hands me my backpack. “You two have fun. I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up, then you and I have a date with a rolling pin and the oven.”

A giggle bubbles out of me, knowing that our baking time is my favourite time of the week. It’s really the only time I have to spend with my mum, so I make it count.

Throwing my arms around her, I ask, “Can we make jam-filled ones this time?”

“Sure can. I’ll go to the store tonight before closing. If my girl wants jam-filled, then that’s what we’ll make. Now go inside and pinch that boy before he remembers why he ran away from you.”

I don’t miss her wink before she watches me dash into the Lawson’s home without a second glance back.

FOURTEEN-YEARS-OLD

I have boobs.

They’re small, but they’re there. Popped up overnight, and now they’re visible through my tank top.

Oops.

I cup my hands over them to keep them concealed.

Grayson sits beside me on the couch as Sawyer and Cole wrestle on the floor.

Reid is out with his mates, and Holden is outside with Ryder, Jackson, and Brydie.

I think they’re horse riding or something.

I’m not really sure, but one thing that’s certain is that I’m going to need to buy a bra tomorrow.

“Give me my hat back,” Sawyer snarls.

Cole hits him in the face, and Grayson gets off the couch, pulling them apart.

“Stop it. Laynie doesn’t want to see you throwing hands. She’s a girl.”

Sawyer looks my way, and I give an embarrassed smile as he stands and saunters outside. Cole scampers to his feet and runs after his brother, leaving Grayson and I alone in the living room.

Sinking down beside me again, Grayson rubs at his hair that’s now long enough to tickle his lashes and ears. It looks soft. I wonder if it is.

“Promise me we’ll never fight like them,” he mumbles.

Arching a brow, I give a small snort, turning my body to face him, hands gripping the couch. “I would never. Sure, we argue, but it’s never like that.” I sigh, turning back to face the empty fireplace. “Besides, you’d never beat me in a fistfight.”

He lets out a sharp chuckle. “Wanna bet?”

My head shakes. “No, because we’re not doing it.”

“You’re right.” His grin grows when he holds out his pinkie. “Best friends who never fight?”

My gaze drops to his finger for a moment before looping my own around his. It’s smaller and thinner, less wrinkled and suntanned, but feels warm against his skin.

“Best friends who never fight,” I repeat, sealing the promise.

Grayson smiles, holding his finger around mine for a long minute before dropping his hand and biting his lip, averting his gaze.

My brows pinch. “What?

“Umm…” He looks away and murmurs, “I can see your chest.”

And my hands cover my boobs again, My face heats as if I’ve fallen asleep in the sun.

SIXTEEN-YEARS-OLD

“Reid mentioned that Hazel will have a stall open at the festival this weekend. Are we going?”

My eyes meet Macie’s curious green ones as she bites down on her lip, her English notebook open and pen ready to be used.

Her knee jiggles below the desk as we wait for the rest of the students to find their seats.

I can tell there’s too much going on in her mind right now, and I want to help her, but I have no idea if there’s anything I can do.

Last night she told me that her aunt, Lucy, didn’t come home from a trip to Sydney for the weekend, and my heart sank for her faster than a coin in water. She’s too young to worry about school, her younger brother Axel, and where Lucy has skipped off to this time.

Reaching out, I still her knee with my hand, giving her a small smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I try to steady my voice, even though all I feel inside is pity for her, but she’d hate me if I told her that, so I steel my face for her sake. “For sure, we can’t miss it.”

Macie’s smile grow.

My lips pull into a smirk, a brow twitching with amusement. “So… Reid, huh?”

Her face falls instantly. She hits my arm and grumbles, “Shut up.”

I chuckle lightly.

Grayson swings through the doorway, a hand effortlessly running through his dirty blond hair, and I catch a glimpse of the vein popping in his bicep. He grins, making me blink quickly and clear my throat. Was I just eyeing off my best friend?

He drops into the chair beside me, notebook slapping against the desk. He leans over, arm hanging on the back of my chair. “Did I miss anything good?”

“Macie and I are coming this weekend,” I answer quickly, not bringing up anything about his older brother, Reid. Macie would definitely twist my neck if I ruined her secret, especially with Grayson. He already has some problems with his brother, so why make things worse?

Grayson’s easy grin forms again, and I feel the racing in my heart pick up.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

My eyes widened. What just happened?

“Great, it’ll make the festival a bit more bearable,” he chimes, leaning back in his seat casually. I can’t help but look over his tight sports tee, loose trackpants and backwards cap that he usually gets told off for wearing in class. But I have to say, it definitely suits him.

“Mum is worried about her new homemade honey, so you’ll have to try it and say that you like it.”

“Whoever doesn’t like honey is insane,” Macie blurts out, and I snort a laugh.

Grayson’s eyes roll. “No, you’re insane for always needing it in your coffee, M.”

Macie shrugs. “It makes it taste better, and sugar is overrated.”

My eyebrow lifts at her.

Mr Smith walks in, silencing the classroom.

After assigning us the task of reading another chapter and answering questions, I open my tabbed copy of Pride and Prejudice.

I feel Grayson poke at my ribs. Eyes sliding sideways, he smirks before leaning in.

I feel a flicker of warmth in my stomach, butterflies erupting, and my cheeks flush pink as his warm, spicy cologne surrounds me.

I’ve smelt it so many times, but why is it different now?

“Can I borrow a pen?”

Grunting softly, I reach for one from my pencil case and hand it over. His fingers touch mine, and I almost drop it at the sensation that’s oddly more satisfying than it has ever been before. My heart shudders again, sending a rush of warmth over me.

I force down a swallow as Grayson leans his lips on my ear and whispers, “Thank you, Biscuit,” before smirking and opening his book.

My face feels like it’s on fire as I look at my book open at the current chapter.

Cheeks burning, chest tight and fingers tingling, I give my head a small shake to hopefully clear it.

Pushing away these stirring feelings that I have definitely not felt before, I reread the same sentence three times, acutely aware of how close Grayson is.

His hand taps against the wooden table in a steady beat as he reads silently, and I watch him.

He keeps the beat, tapping in rhythm, and I’m wondering what song he has stuck in his head.

There’s dirt under his nails, and my eyes track the rough skin of his hands, knowing how much they work in the mornings before coming to school.

Suddenly, I’m envisioning what those rough hands might feel like on me, and I catch myself, forcing my eyes back onto my book as my face erupts into flames.

What just happened?