Page 11 of Fractured Heart

“What do you mean?” I ask nervously. “My ribs and back still hurt, but the painkiller should kick in soon.”

Tate takes my hands in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. It would be the perfect, fairy tale moment, if he didn’t look so serious. “Roonie, if something’s going on, you know you can tell me, right?”

I hesitate.

I haven’t had anyone I could really talk to since the day Mom died. I don’t mean discuss homework with or share song lyrics, the way my friends and I used to do in high school. I mean really talk to, open up, and share secrets. It’s been so long since I’ve done that, I’m not sure I even remember how.

I stare up at Tate. I really want him to be that person for me, the one I can spill my heart to, but I can’t. If I tell him the truth, about what happened after graduation, I’ll scare him away. I already look like the before version of Cinderella, the one covered in dirt, wearing clothes full of holes. Prince Charming might not even mind, but that’s the least of my problems. If he finds out I’m the before version on the inside too, he’ll leave.

As it is, I doubt he’s planning to stick around. He’s just a nice guy who’s looking out for me. He probably plans to walk me home, like the gentleman that he is. Except that I don’t have a home or even a place to stay for the night.

“Roonie?” Tate presses.

“Everything’s fine,” I lie, trying to keep a bright smile on my face even though it’s the furthest thing from the truth.

Chapter 6

My mind races as I follow Tate across campus. Each step hurts and he has to slow down so I can keep up. Once we’re outside, we walk side by side, so close that our arms are almost touching. It’s enough to distract me from the pain.

I glance up at Tate and catch him staring down at me. There’s this expression on his face that I can’t quite read, but for a split second, I hope it’s attraction. Only that’s impossible. I may be staring up at Prince Charming, but Tate is looking down at a mud-caked girl who has no business being in a fairy tale.

I try to smooth back my damp, sticky hair but it’s a losing battle. When I’ve done all I can, I wipe my palms on my jeans and try to focus on my surroundings. We make our way down the paved walkway and when we turn the corner, I gasp.

The building before us is beautifully lit up in colorful panels. Each window pane has been fitted with an LED frame that causes it to flicker in juicy rainbows. When they all shine together, the whole structure appears to be a waterfall of color.

Tate leads the way down a narrow path and we enter the quad. There are more shops here, selling everything from books, to clothes, to art supplies. They are all closed, but their window displays are lit up so I can look inside. I stare with longing at the sweaters with the college logo, the jewelry, and…musical instruments!

“Do you play?” Tate asks when I slow down to look at them.

I nod.

“What instrument?” He sounds genuinely curious—excited even.

“Piano and guitar.” When I was in high school, I’d spend hours in the music room, composing songs. After graduating, I downloaded some software onto my laptop in order to replicate my favorite instruments. Now I create everything digitally—or, I used to. Since I left my laptop behind, I guess I’ll be composing all future music in my head.

“I have a guitar.” Tate grins. “We should play together sometime.”

My breath catches and my heart leaps. I can’t help staring up at Tate dreamily. I can’t decide which part of what he said I like best. That he owns a guitar? That I may get to hear him play and, dare I hope, sing? Or that he wants to spend time with me? Any of the three sound like a dream, but put together, they’re a fantasy.

Tate smiles, his cheeks dimpling adorably, and I look away, blushing. “Where are we going?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Huh?” I frown.

“I’m walking you back to your dorm.” He chuckles. “What building are you in?”

“Oh.” I freeze. Didn’t Dr. MacAulay tell him I don’t go here? I thought for sure she’d have lectured him about that back in the examination room.

“What’s wrong, Roonie?” Tate puts a hand on my arm, completely unaware that his gallant mission of escorting me to my dorm is going to be an impossible task.

I stare down at my wet, muddy sneakers. There is a chance he won’t care that I’m not a student, but what if he does? My plans of seeing him again—of listening to him sing and play guitar— begin to slip away.

There’s no point fighting it. I might as well rip the bandage off—the metaphorical one, not the one on my knee—and tell him. I take a deep breath. “I’m not a student here.”

“Okay.” Tate shrugs like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t even seem surprised. Then again, why would he be? I don’t look anything like the other students who go to LUV Academy.

“I-I should go.”