He Broke Me for Another Girl

"You have got to be kidding me, Colt! You didn't use protection?!" The prop room behind Addison Theater smelled like sawdust and old paint, and Nora Hayes was already pulling her sweatshirt off the floor, her pulse spiking into overdrive. She'd trusted him. She'd actually trusted him. "Oh my God." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "When did you even take it off? The health center is closed. What were you thinking?" Colt Sterling sat on the edge of the prop cabinet, shirt half-on, completely unbothered. That was the thing about Colt — he was always unbothered. Six-foot-two, star forward for Harmon's soccer program, a jaw that belonged on a billboard. And right now, he was looking at her like she was overreacting. "Babe, relax." He stood and pulled her against him, his hands warm on her waist. "If something happens, we deal with it. Together. It's not the end of the world." "Not the—" She started to push him back, but his mouth found her neck, and her brain went temporarily offline. "Nora." His voice dropped low, rough at the edges. "Tell me that wasn't better." "Colt, stop—" But his hands were already moving, and she hated herself a little for how quickly her resolve dissolved. By the time rational thought returned, another hour had passed. Then another. By morning, they'd gone four rounds. * * * * * * * * Nora dragged herself back to the dorm just after seven, grateful she had no afternoon classes. She showered until the water ran cold, then collapsed face-first onto her bed. Her phone buzzed. Colt ⚽💙 lit up the screen — the name she'd saved eight months ago with a stupid little emoji, because she'd been that girl for about five minutes. She figured it was an accidental call. They'd just left each other. She answered anyway. "Hey—" Static. Voices in the background. Male laughter. She almost hung up. Then she heard Marcus. "Yo, the Caldwell early admission list drops this week, right?" His voice was clear enough that Nora went completely still. "You really going through with this? Knocking up the theater girl before the list comes out?" Ice moved through her chest. Say something, she thought. Tell him he's wrong. "Why would I change the plan?" Colt's voice came through flat and certain. "Brianna worked for that Caldwell spot. She deserves it." The words hit her like a fist. A burst of laughter from the group. "Man, Sterling!" That was Luke — she recognized the team captain's loud, carrying voice anywhere. "Brianna dumped you three months ago and you're still running cleanup for her? You're scared this drama girl's going to steal her spot, so you put your whole reputation on it?" "Brianna didn't dump me." Colt's tone sharpened. "She said she didn't want distractions before auditions." More laughter. Louder this time. "Sure, bro." Marcus again. "Whatever helps you sleep. You're Colt Sterling. If Brianna knew what you did for her, she'd be on her knees—" Derek cut in, laughing. "Even Nora's losing her mind over you and she's never even been kissed before this. You're a menace, Sterling." "You sure you're not catching feelings?" Luke asked, voice teasing. "Because the innocent ones always get you." "Marcus is right," Colt said. "This was always about Brianna. If Nora's out of the running for Caldwell, Brianna's in. That was the point." Silence. Then: "Exactly." Nora's phone nearly hit the floor. She stared at the water stain on the ceiling above her bed — the one she'd looked at a hundred times while memorizing lines, while running scenes in her head, while building a future she actually believed in. That was the point. Eight months. She'd let this man memorize her scripts, learn her lines, quote Shakespeare at her through a stage door at eleven at night. She'd let him in. She, Nora Hayes, who hadn't dated anyone in three years because she was too focused, too disciplined, too committed to her craft — she had let a soccer player with blue eyes and a rehearsed monologue dismantle everything. And all of it had been for Brianna. Tears came fast. She wiped them faster. She was not doing this. She knew what she'd built. Even after the car accident junior year — the one that had put her in a brace for six weeks — she hadn't missed a single rehearsal. She'd shown up to blocking sessions on crutches. She had no best friends at Harmon because she'd chosen craft over socializing, and half the department called her cold for it. She remembered the night at the Theta Kappa party last fall. She hadn't even wanted to go. Colt had appeared by the fountain, drink in hand, and shouted across the entire courtyard: "Nora Hayes! I'm Colt Sterling and I'm asking you to be my girlfriend right now, in front of everyone, so nobody else gets any ideas tonight!" The whole party had turned to look at her. She'd gone scarlet and bolted. She'd told herself it was embarrassing. Performative. The kind of move a guy made when he wanted an audience, not a girlfriend. But he didn't stop. He was outside the library. Outside the rehearsal hall. At the coffee shop on Meridian she never told anyone about. She'd found it annoying at first, then — one night, exhausted from a five-hour run-through, she'd come out the side door of Addison Theater and found him leaning against the wall holding her script. She'd turned to leave. And then his voice had come through the dark, uncertain in a way she hadn't heard from him before: "With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls. For stony limits cannot hold love out." Romeo and Juliet. Act Two. Her scene. She'd turned around. He'd scratched the back of his neck and said, "I watched your rehearsal videos online. I figured if I was gonna keep showing up, I should at least know what I was showing up for." That was the night her walls came down. She'd thought she'd found her Romeo. Turns out, she was never the Juliet in this story. * * * * * * * * Nora sat up, grabbed her bag, and called a rideshare before she even had shoes on. The 24-hour pharmacy on Delaney was quiet at this hour. She bought the Plan B, paid cash, and took it right there at the water fountain near the entrance while a cashier pretended not to notice. Then she sat on the bench outside, staring at her reflection in the dark storefront glass. She looked tired. She looked like someone who had spent eight months believing a lie. She pulled up her mom's contact. "Mom." Her voice was steady. Surprising herself. "I've made my decision. I'm accepting the Whitmore offer." A beat of silence from the other end. "Nora — sweetheart, I thought you were still deciding. The London program?" "I was. I'm not anymore." Her mom recovered quickly, the way she always did. "Okay. Okay, then. You've already finished your credits at Harmon — honestly, the timing works. They start early. You could leave by next week if you wanted." Nora stared at her reflection one more time. "The sooner, the better, Mom." What Colt had never bothered to find out — what none of them knew — was that Nora hadn't been competing for Caldwell in the first place. She'd already had offers from four international programs. She'd been choosing between them. She'd hesitated on London because of him. She wasn't hesitating anymore.