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  Pretending Hearts

  A Novel by Heather Topham Wood

  PRETENDING HEARTS

  Copyright : Heather Topham Wood

  Published: November 11, 2014

  The right of Heather Topham Wood to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  For the square pegs

  “I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”

  ― Anaïs Nin

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  I believed in the power of love. To clarify, I believed in the destructive power of love. Firsthand, I’d seen the path of broken souls left behind in the wake of "true love." Hearts mangled because two people believed being in love was more important than anything else in the world.

  True love was a joke. How could love be sacred if the emotion betrayed everything else that person stood for? What if love squeezed out every other important part of the person’s life? When was it enough? When did it get to the point where walking away from love was the only logical thing to do?

  I had wanted love once. I longed for that one great love every girl was promised by her mommy and daddy. I wished to stumble upon the one person who would make me happy for the rest of my life and love me in the same way my dad loved my mom. But then I grew up and found out the ugly things love could bring.

  My mother didn’t teach me much, but she had taught me to seek out security over love. Security for my mom translated into money and lots of it. Her belief was the poor didn’t have time to love. How could she think about love when she didn’t know for sure where our next meal was coming from? My mom had suffered, but she was resourceful. We had our differences, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that she knew how to survive the cruelest of worlds.

  After years of railing against my mom’s wishes, I was finding wisdom in her words. I didn’t buy into the idea that love was a universal bandage that could heal any wound. I would never be a Cassie Bridges clone, but I could still appreciate that in the end, love left my mother with nothing but a broken heart and a cold bed. I refused to share the same fate.

  Chapter One

  In record time, my childhood bedroom was boxed up. I didn’t have much to take with me when I left: my clothes, my laptop, my favorite blanket. Sentimentality did get the best of me and in the end I grabbed a Baltimore Warriors stuffed bear off of my bed. College was supposed to be a time to find myself. I had tried to harden myself against my family as a way to start over, but as much as I talked a big game, my follow-through was lacking. The truth was I missed my brother terribly and sleeping with the damn bear eased some of the hurt.

  My mother had been unnaturally quiet since we woke up bright and early to prepare for my move to Cook University. My hometown of Clark was less than an hour away from the campus. My brother had graduated from Cook several months before being recruited by the Warriors to play pro football. Although I didn’t want to be seen only as Blake Preston’s little sister, there was a certain comfort that came along with attending his college. My world had been shaken up too many times that sometimes I found myself drawn to the familiar.

  After taping up the last box, I wiped the sweat off of my forehead and pulled my long straight blonde hair back in a tight ponytail. I had the same cornsilk blonde hair as my mother, but I inherited my crystal blue eyes from my dad. I had always wished for Blake’s eyes growing up—they were the deepest color of green I’d ever seen. But his eyes came from his birth father, a man who died before Blake was out of diapers.

  I didn’t take long to find my mother. She was planted in front of the TV in the living room with ESPN blaring and a half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio on the side table next to her. Looking at my watch, I was relieved to see that it was after noon. I was hoping a drinking problem wasn’t in her near future, but I had been noticing her saucing it up much more since separating from my father over the summer. I didn’t know if the pending divorce was making her fall apart or the fact that when I left, she was going to be home alone for the first time ever.

  “Are you ready?” I asked while studying her frayed jean shorts and dingy black tank top. I didn’t mind her casual look, but normally when she was out in public, not a stray hair was out of place. Accompanying her daughter to college was as good a time as any to break out the hairspray and the eyeliner.

  “I’ve been thinking about it, Delia and I feel like you’re better off going alone with your father,” she said.

  I stilled and my mouth opened in surprise. “What?”

  My mom muted the TV. She looked tired as she regarded me. Dark circles had formed beneath her eyes and her mouth was pinched in a tight line. At that moment, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my mother laugh.

  For a split second, I felt guilty for leaving her. She had put me through hell during my teen years—chasing away boyfriends, controlling whom I was friends with, pushing me toward a modeling career—but she was still my mother. With my dad gone and my brother barely speaking to her, I was kind of all she had.

  “Your brother…” she trailed off before clearing her throat. Blake’s name invoked too many emotions inside of her. “Your brother is being interviewed today for SportsCenter and I wanted to watch him.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Mom, you can record his interview.”

  “I like to watch him live. It makes me feel close to him,” she countered.

  “Mom, it’s my first day at college….”

  My mom didn’t allow me to finish. “Delia, it’s not about you.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead, her focus was on the small beads of moisture dripping down the sides of her wine glass. “Blake’s interview isn’t the only reason. Things have been civil with your father since he moved out and I think going to Cook together will bring up too many bad memories for me and him.”

  I sank down into the chair next to her and picked up her wine glass. I took a large gulp. My mom’s
eyebrows lifted and I felt her disapproval pervade the air. Before she could make a remark, I said, “Maybe going to Cook is a mistake.”

  My mom sighed. “I understand your reasons, Delia. Your brother went there and the two of you have always been so close.”

  “But he’s not there anymore….”

  “And she is,” my mom finished.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.” I played with the frayed fabric on the corner of the couch. “Blake and I don’t even have the same last name. I don’t have to be seen only as Blake Preston’s little sister. And as far as Autumn… it’s not like she’s going to expect the two of us to hang out and get best friend bracelets together. Putting up with her for Blake’s sake was one thing, but he’s on the road now. If I run into her around campus, I can walk the other way. ”

  The more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. There was a certain clout that came with being related to a NFL player, but reflected fame seemed to also bring out the artificial friends—friends who hadn’t stood by me when my dad was sent to jail. The two years when he was in prison had been lonely when my phone stopped ringing. I got my cool card returned seemingly minutes after Blake was drafted.

  “Delia, I really wish you could reconsider modeling,” my mother said and gave me her patented onceover. I felt like a doll on display as her eyes swept over my tall frame. “You’re going into college with no major selected and no life plan. With a modeling contract, you can make serious money in a short amount of time. Then down the road, you could reapply to college.”

  I didn’t know much about what I wanted to do with my life, but I did know modeling wasn’t for me. Modeling sounded like a bore and I didn’t know if I could mentally handle the pressure of keeping up a perfect appearance. I was naturally tall, five foot eleven, and I stayed thin by working out and taking after my mom in the good genes department. I came from a family of athletes and exercise had been a part of my life since I was young. But if I wanted to skip a week of working out and instead binge on ice cream, I wanted the option open.

  My brother had purchased a digital camera for me last Christmas and although I never told my mother, I much rather preferred being behind the camera. I felt more relaxed searching for beauty instead of feeling the narcissism of perfecting my beauty.

  I checked my wristwatch. “Dad will be here to pick me up in less than ten minutes. Can we not have this argument now?”

  “Fine,” she conceded. “But at least consider what I said about husband material. Go to college to marry, not for an education. And marry well.” Her tone was grave and her deep blue eyes distant. “Otherwise you’ll end up like me. Having to do what I must to survive. Including having to bite my tongue when it comes to the horrific choices made by my son.”

  Although my mother worked full-time as a receptionist, my brother’s money kept us afloat. The money had first come from a college fund his paternal grandparents set up. Later, when he received his NFL contract, he had paid off the remainder of our mortgage and financed my college tuition. My mother required tangible proof of her children’s devotion.

  Footing the bill was a nice gesture, but my mom and I resented how indebted we were to him. Since Blake was the moneymaker in the family, we weren’t permitted to voice our disapproval of his ongoing involvement with Autumn Dorey.

  My mom and I didn’t agree on much, but we did see eye to eye in regards to love. My brother claimed it was impossible to choose whom to fall in love with, but I think his dick had been responsible for making him fall in love with the wrong girl. I had gone through a rebellious phase in high school and tried to shock my mother by dating inappropriate (i.e. dirt poor) boys, but I was over trying to act out for her attention. I had come to realize I couldn’t compete with a pro football player.

  To be honest, I had doubts over my ability to love someone completely. There were too many skeletons lurking in the Bridges family. Shutting people out had become second nature.

  The conversation between my mother and me was put to an end by the doorbell. My mom stayed in place while I jumped out of my seat and rushed to the door. As I pulled open the door and saw my dad standing awkwardly on the front stoop, I thought about how surreal my father must have felt to ring the door of the house he lived in for more than fifteen years.

  My unease faded when he gave me a disarming smile. “Today’s the big day. My little girl is all grown up and off to college.”

  “Hopefully, I won’t be home with my tail between my legs after the first week of classes,” I said. Academics didn’t come naturally to me, despite my father’s background as a math teacher. My grades were decent, but I worked my ass off for every B grade I received. Taking college level courses had me quaking in my faux fur boots.

  “You’ll do fine,” my father said with confidence. An uncomfortable silence settled between us. He shifted from side to side until I finally cleared my throat.

  “I’ll just grab my things and we’ll go.”

  “Your mom ready?”

  “Mom’s not coming,” I spat out before rushing back inside. My father followed, but luckily didn’t force me to elaborate. I went in the direction of my room to grab my suitcases while my dad headed into the den to join my mom. A few minutes later, I heard harsh whispers dripping with venom coming out of the room. The words were muffled, but I assumed the argument stemmed from my mother deciding to skip the trip to the college.

  My goal was to say a quick goodbye to my mom and get out of the house before the fight turned vicious. I could feel the toxicity levels in the air climbing as my parents shared the same air. At eighteen, I thought my parents’ divorce wouldn’t affect me much. However, being older seemed to make the situation harder. My parents didn’t bother with a filter or try to shield me from their acrimonious feelings for one another. I got to hear from each of them about all the ways they were wronged. Being mediator was exhausting and another reason college was my getaway plan.

  And I was escaping for good. Clark held nothing for me except memories of being an outcast because of my father. I had switched schools to try and escape the stigma of being the daughter of the infamous Thomas Bridges, but the scandal was always nipping at my heels. As soon as I had settled into a new school, an old news report would resurface and the rumors would start up again. However, Blake had carved out a new life for himself at Cook University and I was determined to do the same.

  Chapter Two

  My father’s eyes were watchful as he unloaded his station wagon in front of my new dorm building. While he manned the car, I had signed in at the registration desk and received the key card to my dorm room. With the building having ten floors, I lucked out by being placed on the third. I had seen the line for the elevators and the wait would’ve prolonged the move-in process. My dad wouldn’t say so, but he was edgy since arriving on campus. His eyes darted in every which direction and I had a feeling I knew whom he was searching for.

  With our arms overflowing with my belongings, my father and I climbed the stairs to the third floor. I was breathless by the time I reached the top. My heart thudded as I anticipated meeting my roommate for the first time. The back of my neck was damp as I dragged my suitcase across the linoleum floor.

  After receiving my freshman roommate assignments over the summer, I had spoken to Georgia Cartwright by phone. Our conversation consisted mostly of finding out the bare minimum statistics about one another. “Georgie” as her friends called her would bleed blue if anyone cut her open. She was the daughter of prominent Manhattan lawyers who summered in the Hamptons. Georgie was devastated over having to leave her brand new BMW coupe at home since freshmen weren’t permitted to have a car on campus.

  Georgie and I were poles apart, but I didn’t let on to that fact. I commiserated over her devastation about leaving her car at home while inwardly wishing something so trivial could be my biggest problem. She asked about my parents and I told her a half-truth: my father was a math teacher and my mother worked as a receptionis
t. I left out the part about my dad being required to register with the state and having his whereabouts listed in a public database.

  After noticing the door to my assigned room was wide open, I took a steadying breath and lumbered inside with my arms aching from the boxes I carried up three flights of stairs. I plastered an enthusiastic smile on my face as I searched the quarters for my new roommate. A figure was prone on the bed closest to the door and sifting carelessly through a magazine. My noisy entrance seemed to startle her and she sat up straight. The magazine slid off the bed and onto the floor.

  “Hi, you must be Delia,” she said and climbed to her feet. “I’m Georgie.”

  I had done a bit of Facebook stalking after my roommate assignment so I had an idea what Georgie looked like beforehand. However, her Facebook profile picture hadn’t done her justice. Georgie was a natural beauty: wide brown eyes with dark and full lashes and a mane of jet-black curly hair cascading down her back. She was at least half a foot shorter than me with a voluptuous figure. Her skin-tight tank top and low-riding shorts put every admirable curve on display. With my body frame long and lean, I would never manage to have breasts the same size as Georgie’s.

  The dorm room was tiny, but I’d been expecting the cramped space. Blake had lived in the same building his freshman year and I anticipated having to shove my life into a shared thirteen-by-thirteen-foot room. Each side was a mirror of the other: same twin bed, dresser and desk.

  Georgie had arrived early and set up her side of the room. The bed had already been swathed in her black and gold designer sheet set. A MacBook was set on the desk next to the bed. A bulletin board hanging on the wall displayed a pinned collection of photos of Georgie and her apparently large circle of friends.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said sweetly. I was struggling to keep my smile natural-looking and I was able to do so by practicing a modeling trick my mom taught me that required sticking my tongue behind my front teeth.