Glass Heart Hero: A Dark High School Romance by Lindsey Iler (read with me .TXT) 📗

in that pussy any fucking day of the week, but I want to know that when I’m in there, when I’m tasting you, that it’s me you’re thinking about. That you’re fucking present.”

“What are you saying?” Delaney asks.

What am I saying? The bullshit with Marek and Dixon this morning has gotten in my head, twisting between what I thought I understood and what’s actually happening.

“I’m saying that I won’t be your fuck buddy. You don’t get to be emotionally available to that douchebag and then come to me when you want your box eaten the right way.”

“Breaker!” Delaney shouts, her eyes cutting to the audience my voice has drawn. “Is that really necessary?”

“It actually is.” I shove past her and head in the direction of my first class, needing to put distance between us.

I open the door and see Byron behind the desk. He stands as I approach, tugging me in for a brotherly hug.

“Let me guess, what’s bothering you just walked in the door.” Byron’s eyes flash behind me. I don’t need to look to know it’s her.

“Where have you been?” I ask, skirting his question.

Byron disappeared after the first of the year. We celebrated New Year’s Eve together, but the following morning, his room was packed up. He didn’t answer our calls and sent few texts to let his brother know he was okay. No one held it against him. Everyone was dealing with the aftermath.

“The interim dean asked me to take some time off. The university agreed it was for the best, but I’m back now,” Byron explains, picking up a stack of papers and handing them to me. “Do me a favor and pass these out.”

“Does Dix know?” I ask, taking the stack.

“He’s not happy with me, but he knows.” Byron shrugs. “Rumor has it you got yourself into a little gauntlet situation? Tell me about it later, at home. I may be able to help.”

“Good to have you back.” I nod and turn to the class.

Everyone is already in their seats, Delaney right in the front. She peers at me through her eyelashes, a somber smile on her face. I make my way through the rows, handing each student a sheet while Byron begins his lecture.

“Take a seat, Breaker.” He gestures to the seat next to Delaney.

Asshole. What is he trying to do, play matchmaker?

I choose a spot down the row, leaving two seats between us. She rolls her eyes and groans out loud, not bothering to hide her disappointment. Byron chatters about different literature in our history, reminding me why I shouldn’t have chosen this as my English class for this semester.

“What is the main theme amongst most, but not all literature we see being called the classics?” Byron asks, skimming his eyes over the classroom. They land on me, and he grins. This fucker is going to call on me. “Breaker, what do you think it is?”

“Love,” I say without hesitation.

“And why do you think that is?” His grin grows wider.

“Because human beings are fucking idiots, as a whole,” I blurt out.

“That may be, but I think there’s more to it than that.” He pins Delaney with his stare. “What about you, Delaney? What do you think?”

“Love fuels emotions, Byron.” The class snickers at her use of his first name. “I’m sorry, Mr. Decatur.”

“You’re fine, but let’s elaborate on that idea.” He walks backwards and sits on the edge of his desk. “What other emotions are fueled by love, and what are some examples of that in real life and fiction?”

“Well, for starters, hate is fueled mostly by love,” Delaney says. I hiss in a breath, feeling hatred right now. “Most people once loved those they hate, or at least had a deep admiration for them.”

“Can you give an example?” Byron asks.

“I can, but I’d rather not.” Her head drops, hiding her eyes from anyone willing to look into them long enough.

“Okay, that’s fair, but let’s say that love fuels hate, and vice versa. How do you combat one without destroying the other?”

“You don’t,” I interrupt. “Sometimes they have to learn to co-exist.”

Byron lunges from the desk, excitement written in his expressions as he comes to address the class. “Precisely my point. Our emotions are allowed to co-exist. We see it in every piece of literature. Love and hate. Sadness and glee. Anger and remorse. These emotions are meant to move the story along. They are tools to tell the story. You may not even know it, but every day those emotions are writing your own story.”

He beams with pleasure, happy with himself. For the first time, Byron sounds like a real teacher. Whatever happened to him while he was away, it was good.

“Okay, assignment time.” Byron nods as if he’s having a conversation with himself in his head. “Take out your writing notebooks and describe how your emotions control your experiences. Could be a memory or something current, but the only thing that matters is you’re writing and trying to understand the emotions. This will help you as you read literature, although I’m sure some of you will never open another book once you graduate.” The class laughs at his joke and does as he says.

I grab my black notebook and flick my pen against the blank sheet of paper, thinking about the assignment. Emotions aren’t easy for guys like me, yet somehow, they fuel my actions.

Movement catches my eye. I glance up and see a junior girl with long blonde hair approaching Byron. She leans down, whispering in a hushed voice. When she stands and walks away, exaggerating the sway of her hips, his eyes stay plastered on her ass. Thinking he’s not being watched, he bites the corner of his mouth, clearly happy with the view from his desk. He must sense my eyes on him because they dart up and catch me, catching him. He wiggles his brows, silently laughing.

Byron Decatur is proof not everyone is capable of fully changing. Events have molded him into who he is. The