Page 18 of Shattered Hearts

“Yeah.” My tone picks up a bit. “She’s here with me. I think she’s considering staying in Ashwood for a while.”

Dad gives a gentle hum. “That’ll be great. The more the merrier, we always say.”

“She seems excited to be here. I’m not sure how many dancing positions will be available in the area though.”

“But Sadie is one of the best. I’m sure she will find something. And it’ll be good for you to have her there since your Mum and I won’t be in town for a while still.”

A while still.

My heart sinks into my stomach. It’s not like I should be shocked. They planned to be travelling for an entire twelve months, and it’s only been five so far. A part of me wants to share the news with them right now and have them come home, but I can’t do that. Not after the years taken to plan this trip and save for the caravan. And definitely not after what happened with Sadie’s mum last year.

I’d be a terrible daughter if I did that.

“You’ll have to keep me updated on where you’re heading,” I say, changing the subject to keep my heart from splintering some more.

“Of course we will, pumpkin. I’ll send through some more photos soon.”

The corners of my mouth curl. “I’d love that.”

“Of course. And I hope that Golden Hour is doing well. Any more luck with the social media strategy thingy?”

That makes me snort a laugh. “Yeah, the social media strategy thingy seems to be working. Macie and I have some good ideas up our sleeves, so now we just have to find the time to film and upload and all that super fun stuff.”

Dad snickers loudly. “That’s great to hear. You’re already doing amazing work, Laynie girl. Your mother and I are so proud of you.”

That makes my chest flicker with happiness.

Sniffing softly, my head lifts to see Grayson standing at the front of my driveway, leaning casually against the letterbox in my rearview mirror. It makes me flinch, not expecting him to be there waiting for me to get out of my car. Swivelling my head, I want to be sure he’s actually out there and not just a figment of my imagination.

My eyes skim from his longer hair blowing in the cool breeze to his cut shoulders, the loose flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearm tattoo that he got when he was eighteen on a dare, and his slightly dirty jeans and boots, before my gaze travels back to his face to reveal a small smirk.

I swallow before turning back to my phone where my parents are asking if the connection has dropped. “I’m still here, but I actually need to run. Grayson is here—”

“Oh, Grayson. How is he going?” Mum asks. She’s always liked him like the son she never had.

“He’s good,” I let out quickly, grabbing my bag from the floor. “But he’s at my house right now. Can I call you back later?”

Mum lets out a giggle, and I swallow at the sound. She really does sound so content being away, and the idea of ruining their getaway with my stupid mistake makes me feel so incredibly guilty and selfish.

“Your dad and I might be busy—”

“Okay, no need to elaborate. I’ll just call you tomorrow.” I cringe again. As fun as my parents are, I also wish they weren’t so open about their sex life. No child needs to hear those details. Especially not when your friends are over for a birthday and your parents think this is the best time to start talking about their midnight adventures in the garden.

Safe to say, I understand why I really only have Grayson and Macie now.

They burst into laughter before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Sighing, I get out of the car to find Grayson already walking towards me, a paper bag full of groceries in his arms. I’m curious as to what he’s brought with him.

“I thought I could have beaten you for a second.”

My mouth curls into a small smile as he takes my bag from my hands, slinging it easily over his buff shoulder as I lock my crappy little buzz box. Betsie is definitely on her last leg—or tyre, I should say...

“I only work two streets away,” I point out, avoiding his eyes as we walk to the front door.

My parent’s house is a little unique single-storey home. When I was in primary school, I had a three-year-long obsession with the colour cyan. I just thought it was the prettiest pop of colour, and I tried wearing it in every outfit, no matter how bad it looked. Mum decided one weekend to start painting the wooden cladding cyan, and, well, it’s never changed since.

The garden is simple but maintained, with flower beds, a small pond, and a lawn that might need mowing soon. The windows are wide and tall, the door is painted navy blue, the eaves are an off-white shade, and everything is finished off with gold trimmings.