When The Heart Heals

WHEN THE HEART HEALS

HEARTS IN WINTER BOOK 3

SIMONE BEAUDELAIRE

CONTENTS

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Part II

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part III

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

One October Morning

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Afterword

Next in the Series

About the Author

Books by Simone Beaudelaire

Copyright (C) 2013 Simone Beaudelaire

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

This book is dedicated to those who struggle in a world that doesn't recognize their value. Your bank account does not determine your value. You matter. You are loved.

PART I

CHAPTER 1

January 2001

Central High School

M rs. Thompson, Drew Peterson begged his English teacher, fighting for all he was worth to keep his voice collected and professional, can't I please work with Adam and Jamal on this project? I don't like romance. War is much more interesting to me, so I'll do a better job. You'll see. We'll have the best project in your class… in all your classes. I promise.

I'm sorry, Drew. Mrs. Thompson said, her chins jiggling as she shook her head, but a group of three is too big for this project. I want you to work with Alyssa.

I don't like her, he argued, inwardly raging. She doesn't like me either. There's no way we can work together. It would be a disaster.

She closed one eye halfway, in that oh please look all teachers seemed to have. Listen, Drew, sometimes in life, we have to work with people we don't like. Do you think I enjoy the company of every other teacher in this school? The real disaster would be if you two refused to do this project and got a bad grade for the whole semester. You're not changing groups. Make peace with it and get to work.

Muttering under his breath, Drew returned grumpily to the desk where Alyssa was sitting, along the wall under a large poster of a bear with paws over its face groaning about forgotten homework. Sorry, Miller, he said in a sarcastic drawl. No go. She won't let us switch.

Shit, Alyssa whispered, shaking her head so her strawberry blonde hair danced around her shoulders.

No kidding, Drew agreed at normal volume. Well, I don't know about you, but I'll be damned if I get a bad grade in this class. We'll have to make it work somehow.

She leaned her head back against the wall in defeat. I guess. I need a scholarship pretty bad, so I have to keep my grades up and pass the A.P. exam too.

Drew didn't respond. He turned his attention to his nemesis—now his project partner—and considered what the statement might mean. It struck him how much worse off she suddenly looked, her clothes shabbier than he recalled and her cheap makeup not doing her skin any favors. A twinge of pity snaked its way through his insides.

She lifted her head and opened her turquoise eyes, suddenly determined. Well, Peterson, let's brainstorm. What kind of project do you want to do?

He shrugged, not yet finished being annoying. I don't know. What do you think?

She frowned at his obvious attempt to push the decision making back on her, but gamely stuck to the topic, suggesting, A diorama? I think I have an old shoebox. She began to sketch in her notebook with a purple pen.

Naw. He dismissed her thoughts with a wave, plucking the pen from her fingers. That's pretty middle school. What about a commercial?

What kind of commercial? she asked in a hard voice, narrowing her brilliant turquoise eyes.

He grinned at her annoyance, then he got down to business. Like, what if all our plays represent romantic getaways, he mimed quotation marks in the air, each one with a caution, like those medicine commercials. We could talk about passionate Ancient Greece, where you can marry your mother, but the side effect could be gouging your eyes out, Venice, specializing in the interracial scene, like in Othello…

But you have to watch out for treacherous friends. Good idea. He could see Alyssa starting to get inspired. Her hard expression had softened, and her turquoise eyes sparkled. And how about a cruise, like in that Eugene O'Neill play, but you could end up…

In the zoo. They both laughed.

I hate to say it, Peterson, she admitted, grabbing her pen out of his hand, but you do sometimes come up with a good one. Let's do it.

You know what would make it even better? His enthusiasm sparked higher at his next clever inspiration.

What?

If we recorded it on a video and played it for the class.

Alyssa got quiet, her smile inverting itself as the sparkle faded from her eyes.

What's up, Miller? he asked, wondering what had deflated her high spirits.

Do you have a video camera?

No, but I think we can rent one.

I can't afford it. Her pale cheeks turned pink.

It was a perfect opportunity to make fun of her, but for some reason, he didn't want to do it. Teasing her about her dimple is one thing, he reasoned to himself, but Dad always told me not to be cruel to people. Making fun of a girl for being poor is going a bit far. He refrained. Well, the camera was my idea, so I'll take charge of renting it. How about if you work on the script? You’re an okay writer. She’s really a great writer, but I’m not going to say that. Let’s not go overboard.

It would have been the perfect opportunity for her to make a cutting comment about him buying his A, but she didn't. That sounds fair, Alyssa said, and then, with a touch of intensity in her voice, Thank you, Drew.

They never called each other by their first names, and he knew what she was trying to express—that she understood why he had said what he said and she appreciated his kindness.

You're welcome, Alyssa.

She gave him a little smile and leaned over the notebook to start working on the script. She kept running ideas past him the entire period, some that, even as she spoke them aloud, both could see wouldn't work. Others were so funny they had him roaring with laughter, to the point where the teacher had to tell him to calm down several times. He had never had so much fun in English class, at least not while working on his lesson, and it shocked the hell out of him. Stubbornly, he reminded himself, Everyone knows Alyssa's smart. That's not the problem, never has been, and I won't start liking her just because we have to work together.

At last, the bell rang.

Alyssa, do you think you can finish the script this evening? Drew requested as they gathered their books and pencil cases.

Maybe. At least, I'll try, Alyssa replied. See you tomorrow. I have to get to choir.

Bye. He waved, friendly in a way that would have shocked him, had he taken the time to consider it.

As Drew made his way down the red and white tiled hall, Dave and Jamal came up behind him, nudging him with their shoulders. Looks like working with Alyssa is going to be okay after all, Dave commented.

Yeah, you too seem almost like… friends, Jamal added.

I'm not going to screw up my grade just because it's Alyssa, Drew shot back, trying to sound grumpy. Come on. Physics. If we're late, Mr. Rodriguez will not be happy.

Nerd athletes to class! Dave shot one letterman-jacket sleeve into the air like some kind of dorky superhero.

I'm looking forward to A&P this afternoon, Jamal added, scratching his head. The cadaver lab is going to be so gross.

Maybe if you're not planning to become a surgeon, Drew shot back. I need to be able to look at gross things and not get sick.

True, Dave agreed. I'm not sure why a future PT does. I'm going to stick with the outsides of people, thank you very much.

We go because it's a class requirement, even for future engineers who are only taking A&P to stick together, Jamal reminded them. "So, let's get to my favorite class before we're late. We can debate the relative merits of corpse gawking later."

They laughed. Oh, by the way, Dave added as they neared the physics classroom, I can't go to practice today. My mom's taking me to the orthodontist. Coach Berry already knows, but can you guys remind him?

Sure thing, Drew agreed. Sorry to hear that though. I'd much rather work on my jump-shots than get my braces tightened.

Dave shrugged. I want to be able to eat pizza on Friday after the game. It's better to get the pain over with early in the week.

They ducked into the classroom and took their seats, ready for another lesson. We are a bunch of geeks. Good thing we play football and basketball, or we'd get beat up.

Mr. Rodriguez stepped up, the fluorescent lights shining on the bald top of his head, and indicated the discussion question on the board.

Throughout the rest of the day, Drew found himself slightly distracted. A soft pink mouth turned up in a smile, a deeply dented cheek, and a pair of sparkling turquoise eyes kept lingering around the edges of his consciousness. He angrily tried to push the images away, but he couldn't do it.

By the next morning, he felt thoroughly grumpy, and he wanted someone to blame for it. Alyssa seemed like a good target since it was her fault he was so distracted. He stomped into English class madder than he'd been the day before.

Well, Miller, did you get the script finished? he confronted her with a belligerent bellow.

I'm sorry, Drew, she said softly, it's not quite done.

Why the hell not? he all but howled. Mrs. Thompson gave him a warning look from across the room.

I had choir practice after school and then I had to work, she explained, chewing on her lower lip. I'll finish it at lunch, I promise. Would you like to see what I've already done?

Work? he asked, still feeling aggressive but lowering his volume a bit. He placed his hands on his hips and glared, demanding an explanation.

She blushed, her gaze skating away from his, and she fiddled with the end of her hair. I'm a cashier at Sophie's Groceries most evenings. Last night I was scheduled from 5:00 to 10:00, but they kept me until 11:30. Then I still had homework due today in two other classes.

Drew’s desire to quarrel deflated as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Why didn't you just tell them you had to go home? he suggested. Legally I don't think they can keep you so late on a school night.

We need the money.

We? I wonder who exactly is spending Alyssa's grocery cashier paycheck. But they weren't friends, and it was none of his business, so he didn’t ask. Are you working today? he asked, returning the conversation to safer territory.

No, I'm off today. I still have rehearsal though. She tugged on a strand of strawberry blond hair.

Until when? he pushed.

Until 4:30.

He nodded. Okay, I have basketball practice until about then. Can we get together after that and finish the script?

She shook her head. I have to go home afterwards. My parents are expecting me.

Drew sighed, beginning to feel exasperated again. Call them and let them know.

We don't have a phone at the moment, she admitted her face flushing a dark red color.

He stared, appalled. Who doesn't have a phone? It took a moment of him opening and closing his mouth like a hooked fish before his thoughts could coalesce into an answer. Okay, how about this? I'll go home with you and we can work on the project together at your place. I can see you don't like that, but listen, Allie, we've got to work on it. I promise to be nice no matter what, okay?

Okay, Alyssa said, gnawing on her thumbnail.

After practice, a freshly showered Drew, his hair still wet despite the biting January cold, located Alyssa in the choir room and followed her to her car.

The heavily-rusted family sedan in the final stages of decomposition did not surprise him at all. Hope it runs, he thought with a frown as she opened the driver's door with an audible groan of metal, but when she turned the key, it started right up and purred. Someone's taken good care of it… at least of the mechanical parts.

He felt a little bad, following her in his almost new Trans Am. He felt even worse when he parked in front of her… home.

Alyssa lived in a mobile home in a seedy trailer park on the east side of town. Drew's neighborhood was only a few blocks away, but the comfortable red-brick ramblers with small but manicured yards could have been on another planet.

The Millers' mobile home was old but tidy with no junk in the yard, but many of the neighbors seemed less fastidious. Broken toys, empty cans, and cigarette butts lay strewn everywhere. Across the street, a man with a huge beer gut sat on a broken-down folding chair in a dirty tank top and unbuttoned flannel shirt, smoking something that neither looked nor smelled like a cigarette. He eyed Alyssa with unwarranted interest. She shivered.

Drew stepped close and slid his arm around her waist. He gave the creep a hard look and escorted Alyssa into the house.

Huh. It's not as bad as I expected, he thought, considering the mobile home. While made of cheap materials, someone had taken care to make the place look nice. A comfortable sofa faced a small television in the living room, and the end table had a bouquet of plastic flowers in a pretty vase. The kitchen sparkled. The room smelled fresh.

Alyssa grew a little pink in the face as Drew scrutinized her home. He still had his arm around her, and she hadn't shaken it off yet.

Nice place, he said at last.

She reacted strangely, flinching as though he'd offered a blow rather than a compliment, then her eyes widened, and she stammered, Th… thank you. Shall we get to work?

Sure. He walked her to the kitchen table, at last releasing her slender waist, and they spread out their homework.

A few minutes later, a thin, middle-aged woman with a sad expression ambled out of one of the bedrooms. Drew stood as she entered.

Hello, Alyssa, she said, giving her daughter a hug.

Hi, Mom. Alyssa kissed her on the cheek and smoothed a strand of fading light brown hair from her forehead.

Who's your friend?

This is Andrew Peterson. We're doing a school project together.

Mrs. Miller's eyes narrowed a bit at the mention of his name. Oh. Nice to meet you, Andrew.

She must remember… all the trouble I've had with Alyssa, he thought, but since she was observing the protocols, he could do the same. Nice to meet you too, ma'am. Call me Drew. He shook her hand politely.

She gave him a sad-eyed smile and went back the way she had come.

A thousand half-formed questions crowded into Drew's mind, all awkward and none of his business. He kept them to himself.

They worked for a couple of hours, finishing the script together and practicing their lines so they could say them smoothly.

Allie, when do you have your next day off from work, so we can finish this? he asked, as he pulled on his letterman jacket and gloves.

She thought for a moment, one finger tangling in the bottom of her strawberry blond ponytail. Well, I work tomorrow and Friday until close, and I'm opening Saturday, but I should be off Saturday afternoon, say about four. Would that work for you?

Uh oh, so much for my date. Marcie will understand though. It's school.

She'll understand, but she won't like it, he amended. Drew felt a profound sense of relief at being able to put off seeing her. Sure, that would be fine. Listen, I have to go. Dad's expecting me for dinner.

She smiled at him. Okay. See you in class tomorrow.

Why have I never noticed what a pretty smile Alyssa has? Maybe because we used to frown at each other all the time? Shaking off the unwanted thought, he said, See you. Thanks for inviting me.

Thanks for your help. Alyssa rose.

Drew glanced out the window. Hey, don't walk me out, okay? That guy's still there and I don't like the way he looked at you.

Old Jax? She shivered. He freaks me out.

Keep your distance from him.

Right.

Drew walked out to his car. Someone had dragged a key over the cherry red paint. He gritted his teeth and growled.

Poor Allie, having to live in this junk heap. Rolling his eyes in disgust, he drove home, still thinking about her. It's amazing how being polite to her changed the entire nature of our relationship and my feelings about her.

Working with her was almost like working with a friend. Marcie isn't going to like this.

Saturday afternoon, Drew picked Alyssa up and drove her to his house so they could finish the project. As Alyssa got out of his car, the scratch marks on his door captured her attention. Drew, someone keyed you.

I know. He shrugged. She didn't need to know how on the day it had happened, he'd kicked the hell out of the punching bag he and Dad had hung in the basement.

Was that on Wednesday? she asked hesitantly.

I think so, he admitted.

I'm sorry. She touched his arm with one bare hand. If you have to come over again, let's leave your car at school, okay? It kind of stands out in my neighborhood.

He patted her hand, finding her fingers as cold as he'd expected. It's about twelve degrees out here. Where are her gloves? That's a good idea, but don't worry about it, Allie. It's not your fault.

Without thought, he slipped his arm around her waist as he walked her into the house and down the hallway to the den. He had placed the rented video camera on the coffee table and pushed the brown leather furniture up against the walls to create an open area in the center for their commercial set. Okay, let's run through our script one more time. I want to be sure I've really got it all down before we turn on the camera.

Sure.

They practiced for a while, and then set up the camera on its tripod and got to work. It took a few tries, but they eventually got a video they were proud of. Then Alyssa helped Drew move the furniture into its usual configuration around the entertainment center. At that point, Drew's dad came in.

Hey, Dad. This is Alyssa. Allie, my dad, James Peterson.

Hello, Alyssa, James replied, his pale blue eyes shining with mirth at the mention of her name. Hey, would you two like some banana bread?

Sure, Dad, Drew agreed eagerly, his mouth watering at the thought of his dad's expert baking. You know I'm always hungry.

Yes, please.

What's that note in Alyssa's voice? Drew turned to study her and found a strange, manic expression on her face. She rubbed her lip with the back of her hand.

James returned with a plate laden with four thick slices of bread. Alyssa grabbed a piece and took a bite. Her eyes, just before they slid closed, took on a wild, wolfish expression. She trembled as she chewed.

Drew finished his slice and pushed the other two towards her without a word. Then he got up and left the room. When he returned with a tall