Broken Hearts : New-Adult Angsty College Romance (Silverbrook University Book 2)
Broken Hearts: Chapter 2

Parked outside of Eva’s apartment building, I wait. It feels like hours, and I don’t miss some of the curious looks I get there, sitting in my car, but I don’t care.

My phone rings, and I’m so lost in my anticipation of seeing her I answer before I look at who’s calling.

“Oh, finally, I knew the photos I sent you last night would get a reaction.”

Jenny’s high-pitched voice fills the car, making me wince.

The photos… Nudes that didn’t even make my cock stir and were deleted as fast as they came so I could concentrate on my plan.

“Haven’t looked at the photos,” I reply with a sigh, my impatience barely concealed. “Why are you calling, Jenny?”

“Thought maybe I could come down and we can have some fun.” Her suggestion comes through as hopeful.

“Having fun with you isn’t in the cards. Nothing’s changed. I’m still not interested.”

“But—” I cut the call as I see Eva’s Chevy come down the road to the parking lot of her building.

A smirk forms involuntarily as she struggles with her car door. It’s the same old red clunker she’s had since high school, as stubborn and defiant as she is. It kind of pisses me off—she drove that death trap over two hundred miles to get here. But I’ve got to admit, it’s so… her.

Having her here, at Silverbrook, feels like fate’s got my back for once. The obsession is back with a vengeance. She vanished on prom night, right after my vindictive, petty stunt—bailing on her in front of the hotel’s door. It was a revenge move, one I’ve come to bitterly regret. I thought we were even, but she was gone. I searched for her, following a trail to New York, only to replace her absence at Julliard as mysterious and infuriating as the night she vanished. Even my summer visits to Coach Sinclair’s house were unfruitful; he carefully avoided mentioning his daughter, and my attempts to casually inquire about her were met with nothing but evasive responses.

Was it really all about prom? Is she actually pretending she’s not to blame at all in this? She betrayed me first! She destroyed us first! She broke my heart first!

The memory is vivid: a couple of weeks before prom, Jenny, an unwelcome presence, approached me after practice. We had split months ago, and I was mentally preparing to make my relationship with Eva public. Jenny’s presence threatened to derail everything.

“Beat it,” I told her coldly.

“You could’ve told me about your learning difficulties, babe. I’m not with you for your brain,” she said, her grin sardonic.

I stood frozen, shocked. How did she know? Jenny’s hands traced over my muscles as she continued, “You’re hot, sexy … and you have a huge cock, that’s enough for me.”

Breaking free from her grip, I confronted her, “What are you talking about?”

“Your dyscalculia,” she nonchalantly replied. “The chubby girl told me. I don’t care, though.”

The realization struck like a lightning bolt. Eva, the only person I had confided in about my dyscalculia, had betrayed me to Jenny. The pain quickly turned into rage, demanding revenge. I decided on public humiliation at prom—an eye for an eye.

It was meant to be a moment to even the score, something we could discuss and resolve later. I had prepared what to say for when she returned to school the following Monday. This backfired when she fled, leaving me with nothing but questions. My acceptance letters to various prestigious colleges were irrelevant pieces of paper just for show. With my name, I could go to any university I wanted. I had colleges waiting on my decision as I tried to track down Eva, wanting to be near her to settle our unfinished business. But under pressure from my father, I chose Silverbrook.

Leaning back in my seat, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. I’ve replayed our last encounter a hundred times, but here she is, acting as if she’s erased everything, turning me into a ghost of her past. I call bullshit. I know I’m still there, lurking in her thoughts, just as she’s never left mine.

The door to her car finally gives way, and she stumbles out, books in hand. She’s dressed like an austere librarian, but I know better. There’s a wild streak under that composed surface, and it’s waiting to be reignited. I’ve always admired the way she carries herself, a defiance in her walk, an unapologetic assertion of space. My woman wears her generous curves like armor, like a challenge to anyone who dares to question her worth. And damn, the view is something else.

I trace a finger across my lips as I watch her now, appreciating the way her dress hugs her form. The sight stirs my desire for her with a passion that no other woman wakes. She’s oblivious to my scrutiny, and it annoys me.

Sliding out of the car, my body instinctively braces for the impact of her gaze. As she looks up, her bag halting midair, I lean casually against my Lexus, smirking. She might pretend indifference, but the slight rise of her chin, the way her eyes darken—it’s all the confirmation I need. My girl’s still in this, whether she admits it or not.

Watching her intently, I close the gap between us. There are far too many people around us for her to start a scene or for me to be assertive. We both know that.

“Are you lost? May I help you?” she asks with such polite coldness it reminds me of the Eva from the start of senior year. The one that was wary of me.

I give her my flirty grin. “Oh, look at you being a good girl and offering me your help,” my voice is low, seductive. “Maybe you can show me your bedroom or, better yet, come for a drive with me. I’ll show you my room and a certain candy you were so fond of,” I add, tilting my hips forward a little.

Her cold, detached look, obviously feigned, only serves to aggravate me. “And why would I do that? That would be foolish, but I’m sure you can replace someone else to comply with your delirious demand.”

Taking another step forward, I’m close enough to smell her perfume now, and I lose focus for one second. It’s enough for her to take a step back, and then, suddenly, she turns around, walking to her building as if I am not there.

Laughter escapes me at the sight of her stiff, retreating form. Oh, the chase will be delicious.

She might see me as a ghost from her past, but I’m more like a hound. Flesh and blood, my presence in her life will be as tangible as the bold curves she displays. This second chance isn’t hers alone; I plan to use mine to reclaim what’s mine, utilizing everything at my disposal—my tongue, my hands, my cock—to help her get over her stupid grudge. It’s game on, and I’m more than ready to play.

The game we’re about to play excites me, yet her dismissal still pisses me off. I’m confident, and I don’t need to be vain to know the effect I have on women. I see it in the way they throw themselves at me. As a Westbrook, the sole heir of a multibillion-dollar conglomerate, I possess not just the name and legacy but also the looks and physique to match. Life’s unfairness is evident—some have it all. Well, nearly all. The missing piece? Little Evangeline Sinclair.

I storm into the house with a frustrated growl, my keys clattering in the ceramic bowl by the door, announcing my mood before I enter the room. Ethan and Liam are huddled over the counter, deeply engrossed in Coach’s playbook.

Liam, ever the strategist, looks up and meets my scowl with an unreadable expression. “The coach wants our input on the opening plays,” he says, tapping the book with the authority of a seasoned captain.

Dismissing the conversation with a wave, I retort, “You’re the captain, Liam. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Ethan’s muffled laughter does little to improve my temper, but Liam’s surprise is clear as his brows lift in mock astonishment. “Where’s the all-knowing critic I’m used to?”

Rolling my eyes, I ignore the jab and cut straight to the chase with Ethan. “Still got that tech prodigy in your contacts?”

Ethan’s smirk tells me I’ll be paying for every moment I’ve ever teased him about Curly. Curly… Eva’s friend and probably one of my best ways to get to her, but I suspect Ethan will be quite a gatekeeper there.

“Do you mean my hacker?”

I throw him an exasperated look. “You know I do.”

“Ummm…” He nods. “Look who’s not so high and mighty now, huh?”

Liam, sensing the shift in our conversation, exhales a heavy sigh. The concern on his face is paternal, the look of a man who’s witnessed too many of my reckless decisions. “Is this about those girls you inquired about? You know what? Never mind.” He stands up, the captain’s resolve hardening in his voice. “I’d tell you not to do anything stupid, but you’d see it as a dare. Just…” He pauses, his gaze seeking some divine patience. “Avoid getting arrested, alright?”

We wait in a silent pact for Liam’s departure before Ethan speaks, his tone more serious than before.

“He’s pricey—really pricey,” Ethan says, grabbing his phone and looking at it.

“Oh yeah, because money is clearly an issue for me,” I scoff, sinking into the plush leather chair by the TV.

He looks up from his phone, seemingly hesitant. “You’re not going to do something bad, right?” he asks, his loyalty to me wrestling with his conscience.

I tilt my head, considering his question. “Define bad.”

“Something illegal.”

There’s a shadow of a smirk on my lips. “Ah, that I can’t promise, but don’t play the saint with me. You want to know if whatever I’ll do with Miss Evangeline Sinclair will get you in deeper shit with Curly.”

“Her name is Poppy.”

I know how much he dislikes it when I call her Curly, and this is exactly why I do it. I’m not a shit-stirrer for nothing.

“Listen, you and I? We’re not that different. We’re both trying to crawl out of the pits they’ve tossed us into. My methods are more…”

“Unhinged?”

You have no idea, I think, but I scowl instead. “I was about to say direct.”

Ethan studies me for a moment, his resolve folding. “Fine, text that number and tell him that Ethan Hawthorne gave you the number. He’ll call you.”

My phone buzzes—a text from Ethan. “Done,” it reads. Without hesitation, my fingers fly over the screen, texting the number he provided.

“You owe me one.”

I nodded. “I do—you’ll get a yes from Arsenal when the time comes,” I speak with far more confidence than I actually feel, but truth be told, Ethan’s training program is absolutely amazing, and I know it will not take too much work for him, but I’m not about to admit that.

Ethan’s gaze follows as I rise, stretching out the tension residing in my muscles. A rush of adrenaline surges through me, fueled by the anticipation of what’s next.

Just as I’m about to assure him there’s no need for stress, my phone vibrates again. A private number flashes on the screen, and a sly grin curves my lips. This is it, the moment of truth—the point where the game truly begins. My thumb hovers over the answer button, each second stretching out like a taunt.

Time to step more into my Angel’s reality, I think to myself, a silent acknowledgment of the path I’m about to tread. I take the stairs up to my room two at a time as I press the button, bringing the phone to my ear. The line crackles and a voice on the other end awaits. The game is on, and this move is mine.