Shattered Truths (Lies, Hearts and Truths, #3)

by H. Hunting

But she left me a souvenir: a single hockey skate. Seemed to me that divine intervention shouldn’t be ignored. She was my icy Cinderella and I would be her Prince Not-So-Charming.

For the caretakers and the shields.

“Your reaction time is incredible,” I say, like an idiot. “Seriously? You’re lucky I didn’t dent your Jeep, asshole.” The last thing I should do is smile, but I can’t help it. “Damn. You’re gorgeous, with a sharp tongue, and you play hockey? This is divine intervention. You’re basically the woman of my dreams.”

“We’re destined to know each other. I like you. I think you’re fucking gorgeous. I want your digits so I can tell you that in awkward text messages.”

“Make a wish.” “Wishes lead to disappointment.” “Wishes are hope with wings,” I counter. “Make one.”

“Hope is a dangerous emotion.”

But if you don’t at least give it a shot, you’ll never know. And isn’t that worse? The never knowing what could have been if you’d just taken a chance? Fear is hope’s nemesis. It doesn’t belong in this battle.”

I don’t know much about how Canada works, just that it’s cold in the winter and they love hockey and maple syrup.

the moment our eyes met I felt this…need to know you. Makes me think of Shakespeare and the humors and laser beams shooting out of our eyes.” “You lost me at humors and laser beams.” “Back in high school, I had this teacher who talked about the four humors and how people were connected. Like, you look at someone, and they look at you, and bam—the world aligns.

“I reserve my seriousness for skate practice and school. The rest of life needs a good dose of who gives a fuck.”

“And then I’d drive you home, but I’d park far enough away that you wouldn’t worry about getting caught with the tattooed bad boy from the other side of the lake—as an aside, I’m not a bad boy at all, and most of the time I’m in bed by eleven at the latest.”

He lives off campus with his friends, and he’s in his senior year with a major in psychology. I’m working on a degree in social work,

“Oh my God!” Rose grabs the arms of her chair. “You already have a pet name for Winter, and it’s so cute, it makes me want to vomit rainbows and hearts.”

Here I am telling you wishes are hope with wings, and you’re used to having yours clipped.”

Money doesn’t buy happiness, but it can buy comfort, and sometimes it buys complacency. We get used to our own reality and forget what’s on the other side. You make me want to look outside myself.”

Words leave invisible wounds, the kind that won’t heal no matter how much time passes. They fester and ooze and infect the heart. So anytime someone tries to get inside it, it infects them too.

“You don’t have to fight every fight with an army of one, Winter. Just remember that, okay?”

The only person I’m protecting when I hide the abuse is the abuser. And how fucked up is that?

“Your heart has too many cracks already, Snowflake. Don’t go shattering it by carrying burdens you don’t deserve.”

This is probably the biggest hurdle for Winter. Putting herself first. Because she’s been taught she should be at the bottom of the list.

They’ve been together since she was in high school. She had me when she was seventeen. Twenty years is a lot of time with someone telling you it’s always your fault.

“This hamster wheel your mom is stuck on, it doesn’t have to be yours too. I know you want to protect her, but who’s protecting you?”

These days Grandma Iris and Grandpa Tim adore my dad.

TIM TOM

Lovey is all pastel colors, and Lacey is a bit more funky.

It blows my mind how quickly he can fall asleep. Sitting up, lying down, in a chair, in a bed, on a bench. In the middle of the quad.

Lovey doesn’t eat anything that comes from an animal or has a face, and Lacey is a pescatarian.