Page 83 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

And I run.

Forty-One

CHLOE

“Ready to get out of here?” I ask Graham, finding him in the lobby with Mr. Littrel and his freshly stitched hand.

“Waiting on a prescription at the pharmacy,” Graham says. “So, how’d that go?”

I glare at him. “How do you think?”

“Judging by your scowl and the lines between your eyebrows, I’d guess not well.”

“Good guess. So, how long is this going to take?” I tap my foot. The hands on the wall clock seem to have stopped moving.

“Not long,” Mr. Littrel says. He smiles sheepishly, the alcohol having worn off and his embarrassment shining through. “Thanks for this.”

I smile my best customer service smile, softening my face. He’s a client after all, and I’m still working. “It’s not a problem, Mr. L. Your heart was in the right place.”

Rhoads appears in the lobby, out of breath and carrying a small velvet bag in one hand. Before I can speak, he thrusts it toward me. “Just look at it, okay? I haven’t been completely honest with you, but not in the way you think. I’m just asking for a chance to explain. And if you still want to pretend I don’t exist, I’ll leave you alone.” Sadness and hope swirl in his coffee-colored eyes. Definitely French Roast, not Colombian. He’s gone the next minute, jogging toward the elevator.

“Well?” Graham says. “We are all on the edge of our seats, here. Are you going to open it or what?”

It can’t hurt to just see, though the smooth heaviness in my palms feels familiar. I know what it is before I even open it.

The clear glass glints in the harsh fluorescent lights. An orange Post-it note sticks to the outside.

Room 451, it says in Rhoads’s tidy handwriting.

I peel the sticky note off, biting my lip. Three tiny bicycles sit inside. I recall the snow globe I saw the first time I visited Rhoads’s house. Those bicycles, though, floated and flipped through the liquid, landing at different angles every time. The ones in my hand now are glued to the bottom, and no matter how hard I shake the orb, none of them budge.

“Funny how things happen sometimes, huh?” Mr. Littrel says, admiring his bandage. “That we think we’re doing the right thing, and in the end, we hurt ourselves.”

I’m not sure if he knows how true his words ring at that moment or if it’s just the painkillers talking. But I can’t help but relate. I thought I did the right thing distancing myself from Rhoads to stop him from breaking my heart, but in the end, maybe I was the one who broke it after all.

Not all guys are Graham, Kyle said to me that night in the Tree House.

I want him to be right.

And maybe it’s stupid, and maybe it will turn out the same, and maybe my heart will still be broken at the end of the night. But this time, I decide, the truth is worth the risk. The only other choice is not knowing.

“Can you take Mr. Littrel back to his house?” I ask Graham, stepping closer to the window and holding up my phone. No bars. Rhoads wasn’t kidding.

“Sure thing.”

I go outside to the far corner of the sidewalk where I finally get service, wishing I could wrap my coat even tighter against the cold as I text my mom.

Graham’s on his way back with Mr. Littrel. I’ll be back soon. There’s something important I have to do.

I’m going to be grounded again, I just know it.

The three dots blink then disappear. My phone rings.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I know you’re going to be mad, and I committed⁠—”

“What’s wrong, Chloe?”

“I need to fix something with someone I care about.”