Page 24 of Keeping Skylar (Fractured Hearts #1)

Skylar

It’s the start of a new school week, and Hannah and I are unwinding in the staffroom, enjoying a spread of baked treats our fellow teachers brought in for today’s school bake sale.

I’ve got a slice of her crème br?lée cheesecake in front of me, and oh my God—it’s next level.

Rich, decadent, and just the right amount of sweetness .

.. it’s hands down one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.

I’m trying to play it cool, but honestly, it’s taking all my willpower not to sneak off with the rest of the tray.

“Holy shit, Hannah. These are insane! I can’t stop eating them!” I exclaim, my eyes practically rolling into the back of my head as I savour another bite.

She chuckles; her mouth full of lemon meringue pie. “Oh, thank you. It’s actually my brother’s recipe. He taught me how to make them from scratch,” she mumbles.

“That’s right. I recall you saying that he’s a chef.”

She gives a proud little nod. “Yup. Heath’s a real chef whiz. He can literally use any ingredient left over in your fridge or pantry and turn it into a work of art,” she declares.

“Wow, that good, huh?”

“He’s phenomenal in the kitchen—super talented. I’ll have to invite you over to our place one evening when he’s around. You’ll see. He’ll whip up a feast that will surely knock your socks off,” she says with confidence.

“Well, I look forward to it. I love food in general, so it doesn’t take much to satisfy me.” I grin. A feast prepared by a talented chef? You don’t have to ask me twice.

“Hey, are you free this Friday evening?” Hannah asks.

I nod and take a sip of water from my bottle. “Yeah, I am. Why’s that? Do you have something in mind?”

“Want to go out for drinks after work? There’s an Irish pub nearby that has some of the best happy hour specials in the city,” she boasts.

“That sounds great. What’s the name of the pub?”

“It’s called Coyle’s Irish Pub, just off Bayview Drive.”

“Oh, I know that place!” I beam, unable to hide the thrill in my voice. “I’ve been wanting to check it out since I moved here. It looks fantastic!”

“We can meet there at five, when happy hour starts. Make sure you eat beforehand, because this little lady”—she points to her chest—”wants to get da-runk!”

I let out a small chuckle. “Sounds like a plan.”

We spend the rest of our lunch time talking about the things we did in class this morning. Hannah teaches Year 1, so, she’s always full of crazy stories. I tell her about my Pre-K’s kindness project that we’ve recently started and how that’s coming along.

Our conversation flows effortlessly, never a dull moment between us. But I’m caught off guard when she suddenly asks me what led to the separation between Kaden and me.

From the moment I met the tiny brunette, her kindness, honesty, and integrity stood out—qualities that had been sorely lacking in Lucia.

She struck me as genuinely compassionate, the kind of person you could confide in without fear of judgement.

I can already see the beginnings of a real friendship between us.

And that’s what gives me the courage to finally open up and share my story with her.

“Well, to cut a long story short, I found out my husband was having an affair with a colleague I’d once considered a close friend,” I admit, a sharp ache tightening in my chest at the memory.

Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry, Skylar. That’s truly awful—one of the worst things anyone can go through.

It’s their loss at the end of the day. Because, honey, you are far too amazing for people like that.

” She gives me a sincere smile, and I return it with a small one of my own.

“Would it be fair to assume that’s why you moved here? ” she asks gently.

I nod slowly, my gaze falling to my hands in my lap. The scars from Kaden’s betrayal are still too fresh, too raw. The last thing I want is to lose my composure in front of Hannah and the others, so I leave it at that.

Noticing my discomfort, Hannah quickly shifts the conversation.

“Drinks are on me this Friday night! We’ll make it a night to remember—and yes, this may or may not involve us getting completely hammered.

” She grins. “We can Uber to the bar, and then have Nate bring us home afterward,” she adds, as if she’s been planning this night for ages.

I smile at her, grateful for the effort she’s putting into lifting my spirits. It’s moments like these that give me hope—that maybe things will work out for me, and that life here might not be as difficult as it feels. And I owe it to the amazing woman sitting next to me.

After dinner, I sink into the couch and surrender to an unhealthy binge of trashy reality TV.

I wonder whose dumb idea it was to bring ten complete strangers and trap them inside a cabin in the middle of nowhere, completely cutting them off from the outside world?

I can’t even begin to fathom why anyone would willingly sign up for that.

The thought of sharing space with one stranger is bad enough—let alone nine others. Just imagining it makes my skin crawl.

As the episode ends, my phone buzzes on the coffee table—almost like it’s right on cue. I glance over at the lit-up screen and spot a notification from Kirstin in our group chat. I reach for my phone, tap the alert, and start reading.

Kirstin: You still alive over there, hon?

Me: Alive and kicking. What’s up ladies?

Kirstin: You’d never believe who I bumped into last night at the tavern?

Me: Do I want to know?

Kirstin: Well, because you asked—I bumped into that slimy witch Lucia.

Me: LOL.

Mila: Did she see you?

Kirstin: She did. But I shot her my infamous death glare—you know, the one that says ‘what up skank? In the mood for a knuckle sandwich?’

Me: LMFAO!

Mila: What happened next?

Kirstin: She went red-faced and refused to look at me after that.

Kirstin has what most would call a resting bitch face—she rarely smiles at strangers, but when she does, it’s something special.

She’s also a skilled fighter, having trained in kickboxing and jiu jitsu since she the age of seven, thanks to her mother’s firm belief in the importance of self-defence.

So yeah, I have no doubt Lucia felt more than a little uncomfortable with my best friend glaring at her.

Mila: Was she with Kaden?

Kirstin: No that was the weird part. She was with some other guy, and when she saw me, it looked as though she was nervous.

Mila: Ha! They’ve barely been living together for long, and she’s already stepping out on him. Karma really is a bitch!

Me: It might not be anything. She was probably out with a colleague or friend. Lucia has quite a few male acquaintances.

Kirstin: Right. We all know what ‘male acquaintances’ tend to look like with her.

She’s not wrong. Lucia’s always been a flirt—craving attention wherever she goes.

And if she’s not in the spotlight, she’ll do whatever it takes to get there .

.. even if it means stealing someone else’s husband.

Tired of wasting any more energy on her, I steer the conversation towards something far more exciting.

Me: In other news, I’m finally going out for drinks with Hannah on Friday night.

Kirstin: Aww, that’s great, hon! It’s about time you’re out there socialising. You deserve to let your hair down and have some fun. How’s everything else going?

Me: I’ll admit, living alone in a new city has been fucking hard. There’s no one close by to visit or talk to when I need a bit of company. I guess that’s why I’m genuinely excited to be going out with Hannah—it’s been way too long since I’ve had a proper girls’ night.

Kirstin: Well, here’s a thought—and it’s just a suggestion—but have you ever considered getting a roommate?

If it’s anything like those reality TV shows or documentaries with the psycho roommates, I’d rather live alone for the rest of my life.

Me: God, no! Living with a stranger is just a disaster waiting to happen.

Mila: I disagree. I’ve had a few roommates before and they’ve been great. Definitely cures the loneliness and boredom. You never know unless you try, sis.

I pause, turning the idea over in my mind, trying to picture what it would be like to live with a roommate.

Could I really feel comfortable sharing my space with a complete stranger?

Then again ... would that be any worse than living with someone I thought I knew—only to realise they were a stranger all along?

Me: I don’t know, I’d have to think about it.

Mila: You can do a trial, three months to start with and then go from there.

Kirstin: And you never know, you could come across a true gem.

Me: Or a complete psychopath!

Kirstin: Now, now, Miss Negativity. This could be a really good idea.

Me: I’ll let you know. I have a lot to think about. Well, I’m off to bed guys. Catch up again tomorrow?

Mila: Sure thang, sister. Love you, xo

Kirstin: Nighty-night, dynamites!

As I lie in bed, my thoughts spiral, imagining what it would be like to live with a complete stranger—someone I’d invite into my home and share my personal space with.

I wonder if we’ll clash or if we’ll get along, and hope, more than anything, that it’ll be the latter.

I try to reassure myself that it’s all part of a fresh start, a new journey, and that maybe—just maybe, it’ll work out in the end.

An hour passes, and I feel my eyelids grow heavy with sleep, my breath slowing as I surrender to the soothing pull of a peaceful, welcoming dream. In this dream, a mysterious, faceless figure lingers across the hall from my bedroom. Their presence is peculiar, yet oddly comforting and trusting.

This silent creature watches over me at night time, within the dark shadows.

There’s no fear or anxiety as I feel their gaze on me.

Instead, I feel a deep sense of safety and security, as if they were sent to me for a reason—for a purpose.

To be my protector, my steady pillar of strength when the weight of the world becomes too heavy to bear alone.