Page 40 of Broken Hearts

I can’t respond. My silence is my answer, and it hangs heavily between us. His posture deflates. The revelation of his actions and their consequences visibly weighs on him. The confident, unshakable Cole I knew crumbles, leaving a more vulnerable figure in his place.

I can’t stay here, not now, not with this truth out in the open. I turn and run, the sound of my footsteps echoing in my ears as I flee from the scene, from the memories, from the pain that Cole brought into my life.

And as I run, I know one thing for certain—I can’t keep running forever. I’ll have to face this, face him, but not today. Today, I need to escape.

Chapter 16

Cole

My hands tremble as I clutch the bloodstained dress, the fabric crumpled and heavy with the weight of my regrets. Max has held on to it for all this time to give it to the culprit, for him to face his actions, and the culprit is me… Cole Fucking Westbrook.

I’m outside the gym now, gasping for air, my stomach churning with nausea. Every fiber of my being screams in anguish. Eva… my Eva, she almost…

I can’t finish the thought. My throat constricts with unshed tears, the reality of her pain, her near loss, crashing into me like a tidal wave. I jump into my car, mind racing, heart pounding. I have to find her, see her, and make sure she’s real and alive.

Driving aimlessly, my thoughts are a blur of fear and desperation. Parking above the path, I leave behind the haunting symbol of her pain and sprint toward the bridge—Memory’s River. I don’t need to check the tracker. It’s where I’ll find her, I know it. And there she is, just leaning over the edge, her gaze lost in the dark water below.

“Step away from the ledge, Angel,” I call out, my voice no more than a hoarse whisper.

She startles, her eyes wide with surprise. “I’m not going to jump.”

The words cut deeper than she knows. “No, but you almost did once. If it weren’t for Max… there would be a reality where I exist, and you don’t.” The mere thought has bile rising in my throat. I take a step toward her, my movements cautious, afraid.

“What happened that night?” I ask, needing to understand, to know.

Her eyes flash with anger and distrust, yet she sees the desperation in my face. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not the girl I used to be.” Her words sting, a harsh reminder of the pain I caused.

“Please, Eva.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Cole Westbrook.”

“No, you don’t, but I do.” My voice is low, filled with a pain I can’t hide. “I never should have done what I did.” I never wanted to go back in time more than I do today.

“You know I never told anyone about your… condition. I never would have.” She looks down at her scarred hand, a physical reminder of the night that changed everything. “A couple of weeks before prom, Jenny told me you belonged to her, that you were endgame, no matter what you were playing at with me.”

Jenny… The name sends a surge of anger through me, mixed with self-loathing for involving her in my twisted games.

“I only wanted to hurt you by humiliating you at prom,” I confess, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “I wanted to make you pay for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Her eyes meet mine, fierce and cold. “Even if I had told your secret. You had no right to unleash this on me. And did you have to tell them about our sex life?”

The accusation stings, but it’s her shivering in the cold that draws my attention. “You’re cold.” I open my coat, wanting to wrap her in my warmth, in my apology, in my regret.

“No, I’m not your responsibility.”

She is, in so many ways, she can’t fully understand. “What do you mean, our sex life?”

She rolls her eyes. “High school boys,” she mutters, stepping away from the ledge. My heart eases a fraction, and as she tries to walk past me, I wrap my jacket around her shoulders.

“I mean, how I enjoyed your… dominant ways,” she says, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Did he think it was okay? Him, forcing himself on me, under my dress… Did you tell him to keep going if I said no?” Her words hit me like a truck, freezing me in place. My mind struggles to process her accusation, and a torrent of fury rises inside me, threatening to overwhelm my senses.

Trying to breathe is a chore; my lungs are locked tight, refusing to work. My vision blurs, the world around us dissolving into a fog of shock and horror. My chest is a furnace of anger and panic, burning so fiercely that I feel like I could implode.

Her hand, gentle on my cheek, snaps me back to the present. She’s looking at me, her eyes filled with worry. Worry for me. “Did he…?” I can’t finish the sentence. My voice breaks, crumbling under the weight of the monstrous possibility. The thought that she might have suffered something so vile because of me is excruciating. Unbearable.

Her hand remains on my cheek, a small anchor in the storm of emotions that threaten to engulf me. “No, I fought.”

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