Page 39 of Broken Hearts

I want to ask what he means by that, but he moves fast and takes me down. My reflexes are there this time, and as I crash, I wrap my arm around his neck and my leg around his knee to take him down with me until he’s lying on top of me.

“Well played.” He chuckles.

Just as he’s about to stand up, the door to the gym bursts open, and Cole strides in. His presence is like a sudden storm cloud, darkening the calm aftermath of my training session with Max. He stands there, his eyes taking in the scene before him—Max and me on the mat, a picture that could be misinterpreted in so many ways.

Max takes his time to stand up, but his muscles are tense as if he’s preparing for a fight.

I scramble to my feet, feeling a flush of heat rise to my cheeks. “Cole, what are you doing here?”

His gaze is icy as it flicks between Max and I. “I could ask you the same,” he retorts, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Thought you might be late for our dinner, being hours away from Silverbrook and all.”

Feeling a surge of irritation at his tone and the possessiveness that drips from every word, I glare. “I didn’t realize I needed to report my whereabouts to you,” I snap back, trying to keep my voice steady. “How did you know where to find me?”

Max, who had been silently observing the exchange, stands up and offers Cole a cold, measured look. “She’s here because she wants to be. Something wrong with that?”

Cole’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, I see the flash of anger in his eyes. But almost as quickly, he reins it in. “No, nothing at all. Just making sure she’s not overdoing it. You might catch a cold half-naked like that, Angel.”

“I can take care of myself,” I say firmly, trying to defuse the situation. “I don’t need you checking up on me.”

His eyes flash with something so malicious I am bracing for the next words coming from his mouth.

“Did she tell you we slept together?” he sneers, his eyes locked on Max in a challenge.

Max’s expression shifts from anger to disgust and something darker, more dangerous. “And you claim to care about her well-being? You follow her here to assert your claim, yet you have no qualms shaming her?” He shakes his head, his disappointment palpable. “Remember, boy, if I hadn’t been there, Eva would be dead!”

Cole pales, and so do I. The air feels thick, suffocating, as if every breath is a struggle. The words hang between us, a stark and haunting revelation.

“Dead?” Cole’s voice is a whisper, his usual bravado gone.

“Max, don’t,” I whisper, but it’s a version of him I’ve never seen before. He looks like an avenging angel.

Max’s fury seems to escalate, his control slipping away. He charges at Cole, his hand finding his throat. Cole, still reeling from the shock, doesn’t react immediately.

I can’t move, frozen in place by the unfolding drama. Max’s voice is a distant echo, recounting the worst night of my life.

“You should have seen her that night. She was wearing this pink silk dress covered in blood. Her hand…” His voice cracks, a rare show of vulnerability from the usually stoic man. “Her hand was mangled, her dreams shattered, all because of you.”

He pauses, his grip on Cole’s throat tightening for a moment before he regains some semblance of control. “And now you come here, acting like you have any right on her when she’s the only reason I’m not killing you and leaving your body in a shallow grave.”

Cole’s face is a mixture of horror and disbelief, his eyes flickering to me for a brief moment before returning to Max. “I-I don’t understand,” he stammers, trying to defend himself, but Max isn’t having any of it.

“You don’t get to talk about understanding,” Max spits out. “You almost destroyed her. I found her on that bridge, rich boy. Teetering on the edge, lost in a world of pain that you caused. She was ready to jump, and just as she let go, I caught her wrist. A few seconds later, and she would have disappeared into the water below.”

Bile rises in my throat, a mix of shock and despair. This can’t be happening. Not here, not now.

Max’s words paint a picture so vivid, so raw, that it feels like I’m reliving that night all over again. The despair, the helplessness, the overwhelming urge to let go and end it all.

“And that dress,” Max continues, his voice a low growl. “That damn dress. It was supposed to be for a special night. Instead, it became a symbol of her nightmare, soaked in her own blood.”

The silence is heavy with accusations, a tangible presence in the air. This is all because of Cole. His actions, his decisions, they led us here, to this moment of reckoning.

Max releases him abruptly, pushing him back with a look of utter contempt. “You’re lucky she’s made of stronger stuff than you’ll ever be. You’re lucky I caught her in time because, I swear, Cole Westbrook, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

The raw intensity in Max’s voice sends a shiver down my spine. I realize, in this moment, how close I had come to being a mere memory, a tragic story whispered in the halls of our school.

Cole, now free from Max’s grip, looks lost, his usual confidence shattered. His face becomes a canvas of shifting emotions, telling a story of its own. Initially, there’s a hard glint of denial in his eyes. “No, that’s not… it can’t be because of me,” he stammers, disbelief and refusal clouding his voice.

But as the gravity of Max’s revelation sinks in, I see the denial crumble into guilt. Cole’s eyes, usually so assured and piercing, now betray a turmoil of confusion and pain. “I didn’t know, Eva,” he says, almost a whisper, a confession to himself more than anyone else. His gaze turns searching, pleading. “Angel, tell me this isn’t true,” he pleads, his voice cracking under the emotional strain. It’s a plea for denial, for a way out of the guilt that’s engulfing him.

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