My Clueless Broken Heart (School Dayz Book 3) Read online

  MY CLUELESS BROKEN HEART

  Jennifer DiGiovanni

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer DiGiovanni

  MY CLUELESS BROKEN HEART by Jennifer DiGiovanni

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Swoon Romance, Raleigh, NC 27609

  Cover design by Danielle Doolittle

  MY CLUELESS BROKEN HEART

  Chapter One

  “That’s it? We’re done?” Will cuts off my short speech. Every tired muscle he pushed to the limit at football practice tenses when he realizes this is for real.

  I’ve never broken up with someone. Never had a lasting relationship. But I can’t take back what I just said to him. We both knew it was coming, but neither of us would admit it. So, I force myself to stand firm, rather than give in to the urge to pace jittery circles around the parking lot.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice creaks like a rusty door hinge. “But we never felt … right.” My throat squeezes shut, pinching off any attempt at a further explanation.

  Will steps away and tosses his equipment bag in the trunk of his car. “I guess this isn’t another one of our meaningless fights.” He slams the lid hard enough to make me flinch.

  Behind him, my soccer teammates are working through our cool down drill. Coach Dani hasn’t bothered to look for me or wonder why I never returned from the bathroom.

  “No, it’s not. I’m sorry, Will.” I wonder how many times I’ve apologized to him in the last two months. Not enough to make things right. He wipes mud-caked sweat from his forehead and drains his water bottle. Then he leans forward and brushes his lips over mine, a light, goodbye kiss. I push back the tears threatening to fall. I have no right to cry. This was my decision.

  “See you around, Becca.”

  He leaves me standing there. Alone.

  Watching his car peel out of the lot, I breathe a shaky sigh of relief. As far as breakups go, it could have been a whole lot worse.

  ***

  I text Melinda and ask her to meet me for an after-practice drink at Smoothie Shanty. She’s the only person who comes close to understanding what I’m going through. She knows what it’s like to break up with the guy you thought would be perfect for you. Over a pair of Strawberry Banana Chillers, she asks if there’s someone else. I tell her no. Because the someone else is an impossibility. I can’t even go there right now.

  ***

  But later that night, the impossibility rolls back into town. Travis Brennen’s white pickup truck is parked in the driveway of the carriage house that sits on the edge of my grandmother’s estate. He’s home from college. It must be fall break.

  Mr. Brennen works for Gran as a caretaker and all-around maintenance man. His son Travis and I sort of grew up together. Really, Travis is just a guy who never pays much attention to me. Or if he does acknowledge my existence, it’s in a “you’re a nuisance but I have to look out for you because we’re neighbors” sort of way. For the last five years, maybe more, I’ve had an unshakeable crush on him. I try to ignore it. I tell myself he’s not the one for me. But my stubborn, clueless heart knows the truth. Travis is the reason why I can’t seem to fall in love with anyone else.

  Chapter Two

  At the tail end of Friday’s soccer practice, a gale-force wind rips across the field, pummeling us with the ugly side of October. Coach Dani still makes us run one last shooting drill, our punishment after yesterday’s game ended in a 1-1 tie—our first non-win of the season. When we finally wrap up, I fly through the parking lot, hoping to escape without a Will sighting. In the three days since our breakup, I’ve managed to avoid him completely. But he’s always around – bopping down the halls, shaking hands with teachers, fist bumping his teammates.

  As I drive through town, the wind storm kicks into high gear. Traffic lights flash red, swaying from the overhead lines. A broken tree limb blows by and batters a stop sign.

  Around the halfway point between school and home, my car grinds to a halt. Just shuts down without warning. Darn clunker.

  “This cannot be happening,” I say, picturing Will’s brand new SUV parked front-and-center in the school lot. Not the best reason to regret a breakup, but now I’m kicking myself for not holding off until after soccer season.

  I twist the key in the ignition and stomp on the gas. A shrieking gust of wind rattles the car windows. The dashboard lights flicker and I notice the needle on the gas gauge dropping below the letter E. I’ve been late for school all week and never stopped to fill up. Gran is going to kill me.

  When I power up my phone, the words “no service” appear on the screen. The wind must have taken down a cell tower or two. I lean back in my seat, and squeeze my eyes shut. Think, Becca. Who lives in walking distance?

  Something knocks against my window. I scream loud and hard.

  “Becca!” Travis taps the window again and gestures for me to open the door. His pale blue eyes gleam brighter against the backdrop of gray clouds swirling in the sky.

  I hit the power lock.

  Travis pops the door open. “Are you just going to sit there?”

  I hear laughter in his voice.

  “My car sort of … died.”

  He glances at the bumper. “Did you hit something?”

  I lock my grip on the steering wheel as if it were a life raft saving me from drowning in a sea of embarrassment. “No. I’m out of gas.”

  His mouth twitches. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

  I push back from the wheel. “I didn’t ask you to drive me home.”

  “Right.” He grips the open door as fast-moving air threatens to take him down. “Or you can walk.”

  With a huff, I slide out of the driver’s seat and brush by him, slamming the door shut behind me. He follows me over to his truck. We jump in and Travis clicks the locks. Seconds later, the engine turns over effortlessly. When I dare to look his way, his expression burns with what I presume is a mixture of superiority and disapproval.

  “Yeah, so, I was busy this week,” I explain, glancing back at my car.

  “Too busy to fill up?”

  My chin drops. “I had … stuff going on. I wasn’t paying attention to the gas gauge.”

  He flips on the radio. “It happens. Not to me, but I guess it happens.”

  Annoyance ticks through me. “Aren’t you supposed to be at college?”

  “Fall break. Dorms are closed. I’m spending a few days with my dad.”

  So, I was right. Why else would he come home? When I steal a glance at Travis, I realize for the millionth time how incredibly good-looking he is. Not that it matters. He only talks to me when he’s helping his Dad fix something I broke. Like the time I dumped eggshells in the garbage disposal. And the time I put dish washing soap, not dishwasher soap, in the dishwasher. The kitchen floor was a sea of suds. Who knew?

  “Are you going out tonight?” I ask. “With friends from school?”

  His
eyes slide from the road to me. “No. Why?”

  I lift a shoulder. “What else does one do on fall break?”

  He pauses, like he needs to think about his answer. “Sleep. Eat. Maybe you and I can hang out. If you’re not busy with homework.”

  My jaw drops. Because I’m speechless. Is he joking?

  First, Travis has never once involved me in his social life. I’m two years younger than him. He goes to college. He hung out with the popular people at Harmony High. Because he’s Travis. And he’s still looking at me, expecting an answer.

  “You’re different, Travis.”

  “I haven’t changed, Becca. You just decided to pay more attention to me,” he answers mildly, like’s he got all the answers to the mysteries of the world figured out. The light blinks green and he hits the gas, cruising through another intersection.

  We ride the last two miles in silence. Travis steers the truck around to the front of my house and throws the gearshift into park. The engine growls like a tiger waking from a deep sleep.

  He turns to me. “If you give me your key, I’ll grab a gas can and have my dad follow me back to your car.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Mrs. Davis would only call us for help, anyway. I’ll bring your car by later tonight. Good seeing you again.”

  I dig the key from my pocket and pass it over to him. He holds my hand a second too long, and electricity seems to pour from his slow, lingering touch. Every drop of blood in my body rushes to my face. The thudding of my heart pounds in my ears. I leap out of the truck and run into the house without even saying goodbye. Or thank you.

  Chapter Three

  Everyone knows my parents. They’re animal scientists who make blockbuster documentaries about cute baby monkeys. This means that they spend more time with baboons than they do with my sister and me. Sad, but true.

  Since Mom and Dad left for Africa to work on their latest film, my left-foot kick’s been off. I absolutely hate how much they affect my game. Lots of kids don’t see their parents much, right? My teammate Val—her dad works for some big software company and he’s always at the office. And when my parents are home between films, they devote most of their free time to messing up my life. They squeeze a year’s worth of lecturing into two weeks of misery.

  After Coach Dani tore me apart in practice one day, I broke down and mentioned my kicking issues to Gran. She asked Mr. Brennen to set up an Olympic-size soccer goal in the backyard. For the last month, I’ve spent an hour every day working on my technique. I repeat practice drills, dribbling and shooting until the ball goes in every time. Slowly, the late-autumn sun bakes my skin. My cheeks flush pink and I can practically feel the zits popping from my sweaty forehead.

  To top off this particular Saturday morning, Travis is providing an added distraction. We haven’t spoken since the car incident yesterday, but he’s here, in my face, raking our leaves during his fall break.

  Scrape, scrape, scrape. The sound curdles my blood and breaks my concentration. I kick the ball from midfield distance, miss the goal by a hair and throw up my hands in exasperation. Behind me, the rake clatters to the ground.

  Travis marches past, claps his hands and stands in front of the goal, arms flexed over his chest. “Launch it.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Oh, it’s on.”

  He must know that I’m not some wimpy girl who puff kicks. Determined to show off my skills, I dribble right at him. At the last second, I pivot and boot the ball toward the upper right corner of the net. He dives left and hits the ground hard. Damn, the boy was going all out.

  “Ohmigod. Are you okay?” I rush over to his unmoving body.

  He opens one eye and grins. “Knew you could do it.” Then he stands up, walks back to his rake and hefts it in the air before disappearing inside the garden shed.

  ***

  Avery looks away from her math homework when I enter the kitchen, trailing grass clippings in my wake.

  “Gran! Becca’s making a mess,” she hollers.

  “Shut it, Avery.” I kick off my cleats and toss them in the mud room.

  “Oh, Becca, there you are.” Gran sticks her head out of the walk-in pantry. “Travis stopped by to earlier to ask about your car. He thought the battery tested weak and should be replaced. Did you see him?”

  “Who, Travis?” Typical. He’s more concerned about my car than me. “I ran into him in the yard now. He didn’t say anything about a battery.”

  “I told him I would call Triple-A. They’re sending someone out to replace it.”

  “Gran, can you check this?” Avery passes Gran her worksheet. My grandmother pretends to understand pre-algebra.

  “Thank goodness Travis was there when you ran out of gas,” Gran says, her sharp green eyes studying me from above Avery’s homework.

  “Yeah, I was lucky, I guess.” But I’m beginning to believe that Travis’s appearance was too convenient to be blamed on luck. “Thanks again for the net, Gran. It’s helping a lot.”

  “I don’t get why you need to play soccer so much,” Avery grumbles.

  “Maybe I like it?”

  She twirls a blond curl around her finger. “Whatever. Kicking a ball is fascinating.”

  I laugh. “So is dancing around on your toes.”

  She thrusts her bare foot out from under the table. “I wonder which one of us has uglier feet.”

  Gran holds out her stockinged foot and the three of us compare callouses. “I hate to say it girls, but I think I win the ugly foot competition.”

  As we laugh together, I wonder if I should ask Travis about my car. When I was younger, I always found excuses to talk to him and then chickened out. Now, after his suggestion that we hang out, I feel like the earth has shifted beneath me. Trees have been uprooted. The ground has been torn wide open. And I’m afraid to open my eyes and deal with the aftermath.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday night, the odor of burning leaves lingers in the air. Travis’s truck is still parked in front of the carriage house.

  I step into my rain boots and squish through the muddy backyard to the treehouse my grandfather built for me. Because Grandfather never did things half-way, the structure is closer to a two-level wooden palace, framed within a huge, gnarled oak jutting out from the tree line marking the end of our property. I scale the rope ladder and spread a beach towel over the pine boards, settling in to watch the stars turn on, one at a time. A rustling movement below startles me away from the nighttime show.

  “Who’s there?”

  Travis hikes the top half of his body up to the second level. “Want company?”

  I lift a shoulder. “You don’t need to ask for permission.”

  The rope ladder sways as he finishes climbing. He takes a minute to perform a stress test by tapping his boot and shifting his weight on the creaky floorboards. Once he’s satisfied the structure can hold our combined weight, he leans against the far wall, keeping distance between us.

  “How are the stars tonight?”

  I smile. “Amazing, as always.”

  A silver moonbeam sparkles through the open roof, filling the space between us.

  I hug my knees to my chest, feeling the weight of Travis’s eyes fixed on me.

  “Do you miss this?” I ask him. “Is it hard being away from your home and your dad?”

  “I was ready to leave, but …” Travis pauses. “I knew I’d miss you when I left for college.”

  His words seem to bounce around the small enclosed space.

  “You miss … me?”

  He ducks his head and passes through the glimmering light of the moonbeam. When he lowers himself on the blanket next to me, our shoulders bump. The warmth of his body runs through my jacket as we watch the clouds dance around the moon. The flap of bats’ wings stirs the peaceful night air.

  His jaw shifts back and forth. “The first month of school, I kept feeling like I’d forgotten something. Then it hit me. We never said good-bye.”<
br />
  “You didn’t need to say good-bye to me. I knew you’d come back at some point.” Did I really know that? Or was I just hoping he’d return? “And we never really talked much before you went away. Why is that?”

  He stretches his long legs in front of him. “Did you want to talk to me?”

  “Isn’t that how humans typically communicate?”

  His mouth twitches into a smile. “Yes.”

  “Why did you help me when my car died?”

  His eyebrows lift. “I don’t think your grandmother would’ve appreciated my leaving you on the side of the road.”

  “Thank you, Travis,” I whisper, remembering the words I should have said earlier in the week.

  “No problem. You can owe me a favor.”

  “Sure. I can live with that.”

  Travis wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. His touch sends a wave of heat through my body.

  I shift around, but his arm stays put. I don’t understand what’s happening between us, but all I know is that being this close to him is killing me. “So, Travis Brennen, let’s talk. Tell me about yourself.”

  His eyes search mine. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. What’s your major?”

  “General Biology. I’m thinking about med school.”

  “Really? When did you decide you wanted to be a doctor?”

  He turns back to the stars. “After my mother died.”

  I’m not sure exactly when that was—sometime before I moved in with Gran. But I know Mrs. Brennen had cancer and was sick for a long time.

  “I’m sorry, Travis,” I say, because I have no other words to offer. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”