Page 23 of Heart Strings

Can we meet? I think we need to talk.

Chapter 17

Connor

I’m hunched over my desk, guitar in hand, scrawling lyrics onto a tattered notebook. Each word, each chord, is an attempt to exorcize the thoughts of Gracie from my mind.

It’s not working.

Every line somehow loops back to her, to us, to everything I’m trying to sort out. The melody is melancholic, echoing the hollow feeling inside me.

Just as I’m about to start another verse, my phone buzzes, jarring against the quiet hum of the late afternoon. I glance at the screen, and my heart sinks. It’s Ty’s number. Part of me wants to ignore the call, to just keep drowning in the music, but a promise I made to Gracie floats back to me—I told her I’d answer next time.

“Ty,” I say, my voice edged with a coldness I don’t bother to mask.

“Connor, man, thank God you answered,” Ty’s voice comes through, sounding frantic, relieved. This isn’t his usual confident, cocky tone. Something’s off.

I pull the phone slightly away, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “What do you want, Ty?”

“Listen, I know what you saw, what you think happened, but it wasn’t like that,” Ty rushes out, words tumbling over each other.

I scoff, a bitter laugh escaping me. “Oh, so I didn’t see my ex-girlfriend on top of you? Naked? In my bed?” The words are like acid on my tongue, the memory vivid and painful.

“No, you did, but—I was fucking drugged, Connor. I swear. I didn’t even know how I got to your apartment.”

I pause, my finger hovering over the end call button, ready to dismiss what sounds like another one of Ty’s excuses. But something in his tone, a certain urgency, stops me.

“Roofied? You expect me to believe that?” I challenge, skepticism heavy in my voice.

“I have fucking proof, medical records. They found drugs in my system that night. I... I was set up, Con.”

The world seems to stop for a moment. Ty and I have had our ups and downs, sure, but this… if he’s telling the truth, then what? I’m left grappling with a reality I hadn’t considered, and a part of me—the part that’s known Ty since we were both scrappy kids stealing candy—wants to believe him.

“You’re not fucking around, are you?” I demand, my voice gruff, not quite ready to take his word for it.

“No! Fuck, I’d never— I’ll send you the medical report. I got it from the hospital after I woke up that day. I was sick as fuck and didn’t know what happened, had to check myself in. It was a mess, Connor. A complete fucking mess.”

The line is silent for a moment as I process this. The Ty I know is a lot of things, a womanizer, sure, a reckless idiot at times, but this... this is something else.

“Send it then,” I say finally, a heavy sigh escaping me.

“Sending now,” Ty replies, and within seconds, my open phone pings with a new email notification. I don’t put the phone down, not ready to look at it yet, not sure what I’m hoping to find.

“Connor, please, you have to believe me. I wouldn’t do that to you, especially not with fucking Ava after the shit she’s put you through. You’re my best fucking friend, man,” Ty’s voice cracks, and it’s this, the raw crack in his usually cocky demeanor, that makes me pause.

I rub a hand over my face, the anger mingling with a weary sadness. “I need to look at this, Ty. I need... I need some time.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Just... let me know, alright?” There’s a pause, a hitch in his voice. “And, Connor? I’m sorry, for all of it.”

The line goes quiet except for our breathing. I hang up and throw the phone on the desk, my hand running through my hair, tugging at the roots. The anger, the betrayal, it all mingles with a reluctant relief that maybe Ty hadn’t betrayed me as completely as I’d thought.

Taking a deep breath, I scroll to my email and the truth hits me in the fucking gut— a scan of medical records, a toxicology report showing traces of rohypnol. My stomach churns as I read through the documents. The truth, raw and undeniable, stares back at me.

I lean back in my chair, the guitar forgotten beside me, a hand over my mouth as I absorb what I’m seeing. The room feels colder, emptier. I should feel vindicated, relieved that Ty hadn’t gone behind my back with my ex out of sheer betrayal.

But the mess is bigger now, tangled with legal implications and the realization that someone we knew did this to him, to us. And I have a feeling it was fucking Ava.

I need to talk to Gracie. I need—

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