Page 62 of Broken Hearts

She looks at me, puzzled. “You’re a former violin prodigy studying seven subjects and assisting a professor. So stupid,” she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Sighing, I sit on the edge of my bed. “I mean about Cole.”

“What part exactly?” She asks, tapping her black nail against her lips.

I pause, considering. “Is there more than one part?”

Nessa shakes her head. “You’re not an idiot, but I’m no expert. My dating history is a series of disasters.”

Standing up, I grasp her shoulders. “You think I’m crazy for giving him another chance, right?”

She shakes her head again and removes my hands, holding them in hers. “No, I think it’s brave. And honestly, Cole can act all alpha, but he is whipped. Are you really taking it slow or just keeping him at arm’s length? Because when you’re ready to forgive and give him a second chance, you have to be all in. Otherwise, it hurts everyone.”

Her words leave me speechless. Am I really just holding back?

“But what do I know? I’m eighteen,” She adds, turning to leave. There’s a depth to her words, a pain that comes from somewhere deeper than romantic troubles.

The way she said it spoke volumes—she knows a pain that seems to come from somewhere deeper than romantic troubles because Nessa is way above that, and I don’t think she would ever let a man affect her that way.

I grab her wrist, stopping her. “Who’s doing that to you?” I ask when she turns around.

Her expression darkens. “My family.”

As Nessa and I head to the stadium, my mind whirls with her words. The revelation about her family weighs heavily on me, creating a need to know more, to understand her pain. But another thought nags at me, too—am I really being fair to Cole? His patience and willingness to take things slowly have been more than I could ask for, yet Nessa’s words echo in my mind. Am I holding him at arm’s length?

Determined, I decide to invite Cole over tonight. I remember his warning—if I didn’t want to spend the night, I shouldn’t have him in my bed because once there, he wouldn’t leave before morning. This feels like a big step, a way to show him that I’m ready to give more, to be all in. It’s a decision that makes my heart race with excitement and apprehension.

We arrive at the stadium and find Poppy already seated in the premium section. Despite the stadium being covered, there’s a chill in the air that seeps through my clothes. I wrap my jacket tighter around me, my mind still partially elsewhere.

The game progresses, and Cole is as spectacular as he has always been. When halftime hits, he looks my way and winks. I pull out my phone and send him a text, knowing he will see it.

Me: I’m thinking that we could celebrate in my bed tonight. What do you say?

My finger hovers over the “send” button before I press it, sealing my decision.

Just before the second half starts, my heart skips a beat as my phone vibrates, anticipating his response.

Cole: I knew you could not resist my skills, Angel. It will be a night for the history books.

A wave of nervous excitement washes over me, but I know I made the right choice.

As the second half begins, a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches our attention. Poppy, Nessa, and I turn simultaneously, and there he is—Jeremiah Westbrook, in his perfectly tailored suit, a serious but not hostile look on his face. Beside him is a woman who, despite her less frequent media presence, I instantly recognize as his wife. Dressed unassumingly in mom jeans and a hoodie with the Lion’s logo, she is a stark contrast to her public persona. Her smile is so warm and genuine it feels like being greeted by a long-lost friend rather than the mother of the man who has turned my world upside down.

“Do you girls mind if we sit with Miss Sinclair for a while?” Jeremiah asks, his voice carrying a notable catch as he says my name. A giggle escapes his wife, somewhat lightening the tension as she rests her hand on his arm.

Poppy and Nessa glance at me, their expressions filled with surprise and concern. I know they will stand their ground if I ask, but I give them a nod, signaling it is okay. They shift down the seats to make room, leaving me sandwiched between Cole’s parents.

For a while, we watch the game in silence, their presence both comforting and intimidating. Then, Jade Westbrook breaks the silence. She turns to me with a beaming smile, “I’m so happy to meet you,” she says, taking my hands in a motherly gesture.

Her husband, however, is less effusive. “Jade,” he warns, though there is a hint of affection in his tone. “We talked about this.”

“What? She is pretty, and she seems nice. What’s not to like?” Jade counters playfully.

But Jeremiah’s gaze on me is more calculating, his words laced with caution. “I thought you were someone who had a good head on your shoulders, Miss Sinclair. I hoped you might be a calming influence on my son.”

Hesitation grips me for a moment as I consider my words carefully. I am not sure what Cole told his parents about us. I thought we agreed to keep it a secret.

No, you told him there would be no parents meeting, but you never told him to keep you a secret. A warmth I don’t expect in the presence of an intimidating man starts to spread in my chest. Cole told his parents about me, about us, and it means a lot.

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