Heart Breaker: Heartbreaker series: 1

Chapter one

A door.

Not sure if it signifies the beginning or the end. But I’m glad to see it. It’s been too many years.  The grain is worn, the paint beginning to peel. I draw a reluctant comparison to my own life as I reach for the round brass handle and turn.

I don’t know if my father will be home. I don’t know if he’ll smile or scowl when he sees me.

There’s nothing but silence as I take my first step over the threshold to my new life, or back to my old life, whichever way you look at it.

I’m not sure where it all went wrong. Not sure if I want to keep analyzing or rehashing the details.

All I know—it did go wrong.

I twist a long strand of my brown hair around my finger and I take one more step closing the door behind me. Now I’m really here. I look around the room. Nothing has changed. Nothing at all. Not one detail differs from my memory of this place.

The same muted colored cushions randomly spread and squashed into the corners of that old beaten beige couch. The walls painted in the same gray, the same gaudy framed pictures, motel room replicas—saying nothing, meaning nothing.

The table I spent my life eating at. The orange vinyl chairs pulled out.

The kitchen I cooked in. Dishes, abandoned in the sink. The ancient coffee machine on the bench, grounds scattered beneath. Dregs in a mug, the aroma of coffee in the air, the only sign of recent life.

I sink heavily onto the couch and squash another cushion. I close my tired eyes.

I think about Cam. I wonder where he is. I wonder what he’ll say. I wonder if he’ll say anything at all…

It’s been too long. I’ve told myself that repeatedly since it all went to crap and I landed back here.

To this place.

The place of my youth.

Of my beginning.

A beginning we should have had together, but stubbornness and stupidity built the wall.

What if? The biggest question in my life.

What if I hadn’t walked out?

What if I’d given him the answer he wanted?

What if?

*  *  *

My eyes flutter open. I sit up groggy from unexpected sleep. My vision blurred. I have no idea what time it is or how long I’ve been sleeping. Then I hear another breath. And it’s not mine.

I blink, and turn my head.

My Dad.

He’s sitting opposite on the only other chair in the tiny lounge. His leather armchair. There’s no smile. But there’s no scowl either.

‘You’re back,’ he says.

I nod.

It’s been two long years, since I’ve seen him. He hasn’t changed. Stuck in time, just like this house. I expected a bit of gray, a few more wrinkles, perhaps some weight round the middle. But he still has those alert blue eyes, cropped black hair, tanned skin, the large physique of a man ten years younger than he is. All that hard labor keeping him fit.

‘How long?’ he says bluntly.

No reactions. Just questions.

I shrug.