Page 13 of Broken Hearts

Even if I managed to pass the test, it felt empty. Then I heard she had betrayed me, told Jenny my secret. That led to the prom prank, a misguided revenge.

Now, holding this test in my hands, it’s clear—she cheated for me. She went to war for me and fought in her own way. And if I was wrong about this, what else was I wrong about?

Sitting there with the paper in my hands, the room appears to shrink. How could I have been so blind, so swayed by jealousy and pride?

I stand, folding the test and placing it back. Eva wasn’t the traitor I made her out to be. I thought the prank was payback, but it was an unfair strike at her.

The box goes exactly where I found it, not wanting her to know yet that I discovered all her secrets, but the violin stays out because, as irrational as it is, I want her to know I was here.

Leaving her room, I’m hit with a sense of loss. I’ve been chasing lies, losing her trust, respect, and possibly a real chance with her.

I scoff and shake my head. No, absolutely fucking not. I’m Cole Westbrook, and Eva is mine. I haven’t lost anything! She will be mine again; that much is clear.

Some slight tweaking of my plan is all that’s needed.

Driving home, my mind’s a whirlwind; no solid plan yet, but I’m ready to fight. When I arrive, Ethan and a few of the players are lounging around, but I’m not in the mood for their usual banter. The urge to retreat to my room to craft a plan overtakes me. My thoughts are a chaotic mix of strategies, each more devious than the last.

I give the guys a distracted wave. “Got work to do,” I mutter, heading for the stairs. My mind races with possibilities—taking her to my father’s house in the Caribbean. I still have one plane trip, and the house is far enough from civilization she can’t escape. Then, a name stops me cold.

“Eva—”

Did I hear that right? Am I so obsessed that I’m hearing her name now?

“Which one is Eva?” Peters asks.

Backtracking, I frown.

“Poppy’s roommate,” someone clarifies.

“The scary one or the curvy one?”

My frown deepening, I take the last steps down.

Ethan winces when I step back into view. Good, let him feel a bit of fear.

“She’s the curvy one,” I say, fixing Ethan with a hard stare. “Why are you talking about her?”

“Oh, um, Poppy might go to the varsity ball with me, but I need dates for her roommates.”

I’m not a man who believes in fate, but this, this has to be. It’s a twisted chance to set things right, to give us the prom night we never had.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll take her,” Peters volunteers.

Over my dead body. “No, you won’t,” I assert, my glare sharp.

“No, seriously, I don’t mind. She’s cute.” Peters is clueless, but Ethan’s wince tells me he understands the gravity.

Throwing him my best death glare, I clench my fist. “She’s not cute. She’s fucking beautiful, and you’re not taking her. None of you are. She’ll go with me!” I insist, punctuating my claim with a jab to my chest.

Peters jerks back, and Ethan groans, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Listen, man, I don’t think—”

“It’s me or no one, Hawthorne! Eva Sinclair is mine.” I look slowly at the five other guys in the room. “Mine,” I repeat, and they all look away. I concentrate on Ethan again. “So you have a choice; it’s either me or your Poppy won’t go.”

The room falls silent, tension hanging heavy. Ethan looks like he’s wrestling with a response. “She’ll be pissed.”

“Nah, I’ll smooth things over with her before the night’s out,” I counter, confident despite his skepticism.

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