Page 54 of Broken Hearts

As she steps farther into the room, I scan my emails on my phone to ensure everything is set for tonight. My heart is racing, but I’m ready. This could be the night that changes everything.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I say, pocketing my phone and offering her my most charming smile.

When we step out of the hotel and make our way toward the Bellagio, a sense of pride swells in my chest. Walking with Eva on my arm feels like a victory in itself, a moment I’ve longed for. Around us, the city buzzes with energy, soccer players and fans alike soaking in the Vegas vibe, partying before the exhibition games. None of that matters to me; my world narrows down to the woman beside me.

She is lost in thought, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip—a habit that both endears and concerns me. I want to know what’s going on in her mind. To ease any worries she might have.

“What is it, Angel?” I ask, trying to draw her out.

She glances at me, a hint of hesitation in her eyes. “Why aren’t you out with your team? You had plans, didn’t you? And here I am, dragging you to a dinner theater evening.”

I can’t help but smile at her concern. “It’s perfect. I love dinner theater,” I assure her, hoping to ease her mind.

She gives me a skeptical look. “Have you ever been to a dinner theater?”

Grinning down at her, I play along with the lightness of the moment. “It’s at the top of my bucket list.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she rummages in her bag. “Well, you’re in for a treat. We’re seeing Cabaret.”

My grin widens. “Oh, wow, how lucky is that? Seeing Cabaret has always been a dream of mine.”

Her laughter, light and genuine, fills the air, and my heart lifts. I love her laugh, love everything about her, even these playful exchanges.

“Okay, fine,” she says, handing the tickets to the attendant at the entrance, who leads us to our table.

We settle in, and she looks at me, her tone firm yet playful. “Remember, this isn’t a date.”

I don’t respond, choosing instead to simply smile. In my heart, it feels like the most significant date of my life, but I understand her need for boundaries. Tonight isn’t about labels or definitions; it’s about being with her in whatever way she allows.

The show is vibrant, the stage bursting with color and dynamic movement. I catch myself glancing over at Eva more often than I watch the performers. To lighten the mood, I pretend to be sullen, putting on a mock grumpy face. She looks at me, and despite trying to hold back, a smile breaks out on her face, followed by a light, infectious laugh. The sound makes my heart skip a beat.

She sips the champagne, obtained through a rather scandalous bribe to the waiter. The effervescent bubbles catch the light in her eyes. I’ve stopped at one glass, mindful of Liam’s words and the game ahead. Discipline always comes first, no matter what the situation. Tonight, my focus is less on the discipline for the game and more on not losing myself completely in the moment with her.

I can feel the glances from other women in the room, their eyes appreciative as they sweep over me. I know I look older than my age. Maybe it’s the way I carry myself, but their attention means nothing to me. My gaze is fixed on her. She seems absorbed in the dancers on stage, but I know better. My every thought, every ounce of attention, is solely on her.

She leans in, her voice teasing. “A lot of girls are looking at you.”

The urge to tease her back is too strong to resist. “Jealous?” I ask, half joking.

She’s buzzed enough to let her guard down, answering with surprising honesty. “A little. I mean, I could never compete with them.”

Snickering, I turn to face her fully, leaning back in my seat. “Compete? There’s no competition, Eva. Not even close. For me, it’s you. Only ever you.”

There’s a moment where our eyes lock, and I see a flash of something—surprise, maybe vulnerability—before she looks away, taking another sip of her champagne. I want to reach out, to close the distance between us, but I hold back. This night is about more than a fleeting connection; it’s about showing her that my world revolves around her and her alone.

“I missed you, you know,” I murmur, almost to myself but loud enough for her to hear.

She smiles, a soft, hesitant gesture, and her eyes soften too. It’s a mixture of the champagne and her true feelings, I think. There’s a vulnerability there that she rarely shows.

“I missed you a lot, especially the parts of me that only wake up when you’re around. They’re my best parts,” I confess, feeling a sense of raw honesty between us.

Eva looks at me, and there’s a depth in her eyes that’s always been slightly intimidating. “You’ve always been so much more than the image you show the world. There’s so much to love in you, Cole, so much that it’s frightening. Because getting lost in you is so easy, and then you drown and—” She stops abruptly, swallowing hard, turning her gaze back toward the stage.

Watching her profile, I feel a pang in my chest at her half-spoken truths. She’s scared of me, scared of what loving me could do to her. And I’m at a loss, unsure how to combat that fear.

Slumping back in my seat, I'm braced for a disappointing end to our evening. But then she turns to me, surprising me with words I never expected – words that seem almost too good to be true.

It feels like a risky dream, and despite the danger, I can't help but dive in. I'm desperate for her, ready to take this gamble. It's all or nothing.

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