He Broke Me for Another Girl

Chapter 3: What Different Looks Like

Brianna's face went white.

She didn't get the chance to answer.

CRASH.

Colt was on his feet before anyone registered what was happening, one hand sending the coffee table sideways with enough force to scatter beer bottles across the hardwood. Glass hit the floor in a burst. Two bottles rolled into the wall. Nobody moved.

He stood there breathing hard, jaw locked, the muscles in his forearms rigid under his shirt.

"You think that's funny?" His voice came out low and dangerous. "Asking a girl something like that in front of a room

full of people?"

Marcus stared at the mess on the floor, color gone from his face. "Bro, I was just—"

"You were just nothing."

Brianna was already standing, smoothing her dress with hands that weren't quite steady. "I'm not feeling well. I need to go."

She walked out without looking at anyone. Colt kicked a shard of glass across the room, muttered something under

his breath about needing air, and followed her.

The door shut. The room exhaled.

Derek leaned back and let out a long breath. "Well. That happened."

"All Marcus did was ask about his own hookup story," Luke said, genuinely confused. "Why did he lose it like that?"

Derek looked around the room like he was waiting for someone to catch up. "Because it's Brianna, man. There's a different rulebook for her. Has been for years." He lowered his voice. "Get it now?"

The room got quiet after that.

I was still in my seat by the wall.

I don't know how long I sat there after everyone started moving again — refilling drinks, cleaning up glass, pretending the last five minutes hadn't happened. My stomach was cramping again, low and sharp, and I pressed my hand flat against it like that would help.

Then I got up and walked out before anyone thought to look at me.

* * * * * * * *

The night air outside the Lakeview house was cold enough to sting. I pulled my jacket tighter and started toward the

street, wanting nothing more than to get back to my dorm and sleep for twelve hours.

I rounded the corner of the driveway and stopped.

Colt and Brianna were standing by her car — close, not touching, the space between them charged in a way I recognized from every scene I'd ever rehearsed about people who couldn't stop wanting each other.

Brianna was holding a small paper bag at arm's length, like she was about to hand it back.

"I don't accept gifts from guys who are already with someone else," she said. Her voice was even. Almost

rehearsed.

"It's not a gift, it's cold medicine." Colt's voice had lost that dangerous edge from inside. Now it just sounded tired.

"Your roommate told me you've been sick for a week, Brianna. Auditions are in ten days. You can't just push through it and hope—"

"Colt."

"I'm not asking you to talk to me. I'm asking you to take care of yourself."

She held the bag out again. He didn't take it back. After a long moment, she let her arm drop.

I stood in the shadow of the side of the house and watched him lean down to say something I couldn't hear, his voice dropping soft in a way I hadn't heard directed at me. Not once.

Not when I was curled over in pain this morning. Not when I'd gone pale and sweaty through an entire class period.

He hadn't asked me what was wrong. He hadn't asked me anything. He'd grabbed my wrist and told me not to drag.

One drunk question about Brianna and he'd overturned furniture.

I already knew the truth — I'd heard it with my own ears through a phone I almost dropped on my dorm room floor.

But seeing it was different. Seeing it made it real in a way the words hadn't quite managed.

This was what it looked like when Colt Sterling actually cared about someone.

I hadn't seen it before because it had never been aimed at me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I answered on autopilot.

"Sweetheart!" My mom's voice was warm and bright and completely at odds with everything around me. "I booked

the flights. We leave together next week — I figured I'd come with you to help you get settled."

"That's great, Mom."

"Oh — and I keep forgetting to ask. Didn't you mention wanting me to meet your boyfriend? What happens with him

now that you're going abroad?"

Across the parking lot, Brianna's taillights came on. The car pulled forward, made the turn at the end of the

driveway, and disappeared.

Colt stood there and watched until there was nothing left to watch.

I turned away from all of it.

"It doesn't matter," I said quietly. "We're done. It was nothing."

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, I made an appointment at the Harmon University Health Center.

International study programs required a full physical — bloodwork, vaccinations, clearance forms. I hadn't been taking chances with my health before all of this. I certainly wasn't starting now.

By the time I came out of the exam room with my paperwork, I was running on about four hours of sleep and a

granola bar. I tucked the folder under my arm and turned the corner toward the main exit.

I almost walked directly into Colt Sterling.

He was standing near the waiting area, jacket on, looking like he hadn't expected to be here any more than I had.

Next to him — composed, arms crossed, clearly not interested in being accompanied — was Brianna.

For a second, none of us said anything.

" Nora Hayes." He used my full name. He only did that when he was caught off guard.

Brianna didn't miss a beat. "Colt, I told you this morning you didn't have to come. I'm capable of checking in by

myself." She walked past both of us toward the reception desk without another word, heels precise on the tile floor.

That left just the two of us standing there.

His eyes dropped to the folder in my hand. I watched him read the clinic's logo on the front, then glance up at the

directory sign on the wall behind me. The OB-GYN department shared a hallway with general intake.

The look on his face shifted — something moving behind his eyes, quick and sharp.

"Why are you here?" He kept his voice low. "You're not — " He stopped. Recalculated. "Nora. Are you pregnant?"

My first instinct was to say no. Obviously no. I'd taken care of that yesterday at a pharmacy counter while a night

cashier pretended not to notice.

But I stood there with the paperwork in my hand, and I looked at his face — the way he was suddenly very, very

focused on me for the first time all day — and something shifted in my thinking.

He'd used me as a chess piece. Deliberately, carefully, over eight months.

He deserved to sweat for five seconds.

I met his eyes and kept my voice completely flat.

"What if I am?"