Page 57 of Broken Hearts

She stands up before I can press her further. “Get dressed; I’ll get Poppy and bring you breakfast. We have a lot to do today.” Her tone is brisk, leaving no room for argument.

I nod, appreciating her effort to keep the day upbeat. We do have a full day of activities and I start to think that getting out and about might be what I need to clear my head.

The day turns out to be a whirlwind. Nessa, Poppy, and I hit the outlet mall, laughing and shopping like there’s no tomorrow. It’s a welcome distraction, letting me immerse myself in the simple joys of friendship and retail therapy.

Later, we make our way to the game. We’re given amazing seats in the friends and family section, a perk of being connected to the players. The stadium is alive with energy, the crowd buzzing with anticipation.

As the game starts, my eyes are drawn to Cole. He moves with his usual grace and precision, a true athlete. Watching him, I’m reminded of the fluidity of his movements this morning, the way he seemed to know my body as well as his own.

But then, in a heart-stopping moment, everything changes. There’s a rough play, a clash of bodies, Cole and an opponent crash to the ground, a tangle of limbs, and grimaces of pain. The referee blows his whistle, signaling a foul play, and a red card slices through the air. But my gaze is glued to Cole, who lies motionless on the green turf.

Panic seizes me, cold and unyielding. My heart feels like it’s in my throat, each beat a drum of fear. I barely register the crowd’s reactions, their gasps and shouts fading into a distant buzz. I see the athletic trainers rushing onto the field, their movements urgent.

“Cole,” I whisper, ignoring my friends standing beside me.

I’m on my feet before I know it, my body acting on a primal instinct to be near him. I make my way through the crowd, my vision blurred by tears that threaten to spill over. Pushing past people, I hear my name called by Nessa and Poppy, but I can’t stop, can’t think beyond the overwhelming need to reach him.

Reaching the entrance of the players’ tunnel, I’m met with the stern faces of security guards. “I need to see him. I’m his girlfriend,” I plead, my voice breaking with emotion.

They exchange uncertain looks, clearly unprepared for this situation. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t let anyone through without proper authorization.”

“Please,” I beg, my hands clasped in front of me, the tears now freely flowing down my cheeks. “He’s everything to me. I need to know he’s okay.”

My heart pounds against my rib cage, each second feeling like an eternity. Just as I’m about to plead again, a familiar figure appears—Liam. His face is etched with concern, but there’s an authority in his stride that commands attention.

“Let her in,” he says firmly to the guards. His presence changes the atmosphere, and the guards step aside without further protest.

Rushing through the tunnel, a maze of concrete and echoes, my only thought is of reaching Cole. The cool air of the tunnel does nothing to quell the heat of my worry. My footsteps echo loudly, each step bringing me closer to him.

Finally, I reach the medical room, the door swinging open to reveal Cole shirtless on an examination table, a medic tending to a cut on his forehead. Relief floods through me at the sight of him conscious, but it does little to ease the knot of worry in my stomach.

“How is he?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I move closer.

“Just a mild concussion,” the medic replies, giving me a reassuring smile.

Approaching him, my hand trembles as I reach out to touch his face. He looks up at me, and there’s a glint of his usual humor in his eyes despite the situation. “Well, if I knew it would make you react like this, I’d have gotten hurt way before.”

Despite the fear, I can’t help but smile back. His light-hearted comment, so typical of him, eases some of the tension in my heart. I realize then, more than ever, how deeply I care for him and how intertwined our lives are.

As I stand beside him, my eyes are drawn to a violin tattoo on his side—”Angel’s memories.” It’s a new addition, one I haven’t seen before, and a clear reference to me. My heart flutters, a mix of emotions twisting inside me. I trace my fingers over the ink, feeling the contours of each letter against his skin. His response is immediate, goose bumps rippling across his skin at my touch.

“Why?”

Cole turns his head to look at me, his eyes holding a depth of emotion that’s rare for him to show. “Because I can never forget what I did to you or the helplessness I felt when I found out I could have lost you. Never again, Angel. Never again.”

His words resonate deep within me, stirring a tumult of feelings—forgiveness, pain, and a burgeoning sense of hope. The tattoo, a permanent reminder etched on his skin, speaks volumes of his remorse and the depth of his feelings for me.

In the midst of this whirlwind of emotions, I lean in and initiate a kiss, a bold move driven by relief and a desire to bridge the distance between us. It’s a kiss that says more than words ever could—a mix of apology, acceptance, and a tentative step toward something new and hopeful.

As we break the kiss, he looks at me with a hint of his usual playful arrogance, yet there’s a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Did I win our bet?” he asks, his arms enveloping me in a warm embrace. “Are you mine?”

His question, though asked lightly, carries a weight of meaning. I pause, considering everything that’s happened, everything we’ve been through. “I need to figure out a couple of things,” I admit, feeling a sense of honesty and clarity I hadn’t felt before. “But I think we need to sit down and discuss this seriously when we’re back at Silverbrook, okay?”

I cock my head to the side, searching his face for understanding. “Can you do that? Give me a few more days?”

Cole studies me for a moment, and then a slow smile spreads across his face. “I can do that. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

Despite my earlier thoughts of leaving, I find myself hesitating at the door. The idea of leaving him alone, especially with a concussion, gnaws at me. There’s a pull, a connection that I can’t seem to break—nor am I sure I want to. I turn back, my decision made. I can’t leave him, not like this.

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