Page 44 of Broken Hearts

He rubs his temple. “No, yes, it’s tragic, but you didn’t admit it to any witnesses, did you? Do you have any idea what a lawsuit could cost us, both in money and reputation? She was a violin prodigy!”

I stare back at him, disbelief and anger intertwining. Am I really hearing this? “I don’t think you’re getting it, Dad. I’m responsible for what happened to her. I’m the one who broke her.”

He looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Cole, be reasonable! Think about the implications!”

Anger bubbles up inside me. “So, what? I should pretend like nothing happened? That I didn’t ruin someone’s life?”

“Let me look into it. I’ll fix your mess like I always do.”

Fuck no! I jump off my seat. “No, it’s different this time. I won’t just walk away. I love her Dad, and I hurt her. How would you feel if you hurt Mom?”

His expression softens, but his eyes are still angry. “I would never hurt your mother, and when I told you that she’s too good for you, I meant it. I hoped you would never rekindle this silly romance, and yet, here we are.”

“You’re—” I stop. “Rekindle?”

He rolls his eyes. “She came to see me a few weeks before prom. Made me promise not to tell you. She explained to me what you had and asked me not to get frustrated with you, said that you were smart and good and that with the help you need, things would be better.”

I sit back heavily on the chair across my father’s desk. “She came to see you.”

He lets out a tired laugh, putting his drink down. “Yes, and only a fool in love could face me the way she did.”

This revelation is making me feel worse, and I feel tears start to prickle at the back of my eyes. I don’t deserve her; I never did, and yet I will have her anyway.

He sighs again. “Who’s blood is it?”

“Derek Reynes.”

“Uh… Why?”

“He tried to hurt my girl.”

“Tried?”

I look up. “Yes, tried because if he actually succeeded, he would be in a grave right now.”

My father nods, understanding in his eyes. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Thanks.” I stand to leave, but he stops me.

“I want to ask you to stay away from her, but it would be useless, wouldn’t it?”

I turn toward him. “Would you stay away from Mom if you were asked to?”

He shakes his head with defeat. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Thanks, Dad. I didn’t expect… this.”

“I may not always understand your choices, but I do want you to be happy. Just… be careful,” he replies, and I’m too drained to ask more.

I walk out of the office, releasing a weary breath as I make my way down the hallway. Each step feels heavy, laden with the day’s revelations and confrontations.

As I enter the kitchen, my mother’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “She didn’t lose her essence; she only thinks she did,” she says, her gaze radiating deep empathy. She is sitting casually on a stool with a large bowl of ice cream in front of her—chocolate and pistachio, my favorites.

“You listened to all that?” I ask, taken aback. My mother usually steers clear of the dramas that unfold in my father’s office.

She nods toward the intercom on the wall. “Of course I did. You’re my son.” She pats the stool beside her, beckoning me to join her. Her eyes, warm and understanding, meet mine as she continues. “Artists often doubt themselves, but that’s where they falter. Eva’s talent with the violin was impressive, yes, but it was her extraordinary spirit that made her music resonate. Technique brings skill, but it’s the soul an artist pours into their work that elevates it to something genuinely remarkable.”

Settling next to her, I let her words sink in. They offer a perspective I haven’t considered, shining a faint light of hope into the darkness of my guilt and regret.

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