Fractured Heart: a Fairy Tale Romance (LUV Academy Book 1) Page 3

  A blush creeps up my cheeks and I nervously reach for the steadying presence of my pendant. My fingers graze bare skin, and my insides lurch. My attention locks on the empty spot at my collarbone and panic threatens to overwhelm me.

  I quickly reach into my pocket. My fingers graze cold stone, and I take out each of the fractured pieces, one by one. When I have all four, I squeeze them against my palm and compose a song.

  My fractured heart, split into four

  Then once again mended whole

  They’re good lyrics and I like the tune, but they’re a lie. The four fractured pieces stare back at me from the palm of my hand, a reminder that my pendant can’t be fixed. I stuff them back in my pocket and watch Faye return with a small, sealed plastic bag. She says something to Tate, gestures at the contents, and then hands it to him. Tate nods and crosses the room. Then, to my complete shock, he starts to kneel.

  My heart hammers in my chest. That moment, when Prince Charming gets on one knee in front of Cinderella and tries on her shoe has always been an inspiration. I’ve turned it into multiple songs and even submitted the best one with my college application. I know I got rejected because it’s not good enough, but I can’t help loving every single verse. The part where Prince Charming’s eyes meet Cinderella’s, and he raises the glass slipper…

  I smile and glance down at Tate, who raises an eyebrow instead. The look he shoots me is a familiar one I’ve gotten hundreds of times. It tells me that he’d said something—something that obviously required a response—and now he’s waiting…and waiting…and waiting…

  “Sorry, what?” My voice squeaks.

  Tate may be Prince Charming incarnate, but this is another reminder that I’m no Cinderella. I’m the ugly step-sister with the short attention span. Or just a nobody who never even made it into the fairy tale.

  “Can you roll up your pant leg?” Tate asks—his tone implying this isn’t the first time he’s asked—and my gaze follows his.

  My jeans are torn at the knee and my skin is coated with dirt. The gaping hole is much larger than it was this morning and reveals blood-stained threads that were once white. Embarrassed, I shift on the couch. How did I not notice that my knee was bleeding?

  Carefully, I start to roll up my jean leg. The mud and water and dirt from the forest have all seeped into the fabric, making the task near impossible. I struggle and the gaping hole at my knee splits further with a loud rip.

  “I have an idea,” Tate tells me. He gently pulls my hands away and grips the edges of the hole. Then he yanks, and the sound of ripping fabric echoes through the waiting room. I gasp. I bet Tate could rip off my clothes without breaking a sweat; or tear off his shirt, revealing the rock hard abs that must be hidden underneath.

  I suddenly feel very warm and shift uncomfortably. Tate’s fingers graze my inner thigh as he pulls up my jean leg. I try not to focus on his hands—on how long his fingers are or how big his palm is—but it’s a losing battle. Then, his thumb touches the bare skin at my knee, and I gasp.

  “Sorry.” Tate quickly lets go. Then he slowly leans in for a closer look and I get this sudden urge to squeeze my thighs shut. His breath grazes my knee and I gasp. Then, he places a gentle hand on my leg and I let out something embarrassingly close to a moan.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Tate whispers. His thoughts seem to run in a completely different direction than mine. He examines my knee carefully, then opens the sealed bag Faye gave him. He takes out a small bottle and uses it to soak a cotton ball. “This might sting a bit,” he murmurs, placing it against my knee.

  I jump at the intense, burning pain and Tate immediately pulls the cotton ball away.

  “Squeeze my hand,” he tells me, taking my right hand in his. I don’t get a chance to savor the moment before he returns the cotton ball to my knee. I can’t help but squeeze his much larger hand in response to the pain, but Tate doesn’t complain. He works diligently, his attention focused entirely on cleaning the cut.

  No one has ever been this gentle and caring with me, not since I lost my mom. I have a sudden urge to start sobbing or throw my arms around Tate and never let go. His concerned gaze floors me. I don’t even realize he’s done cleaning my wound until he takes out some antibiotic ointment and a large bandage from the sealed bag. My gaze flits down of its own accord and I watch Tate’s nimble fingers work as he spreads some of the clear gel on my knee and then affixes the bandage.

  “Thank you,” I whisper when he’s done.

  “No problem.” He smiles up at me. “Do you want me to get you a blanket? Or something to drink?”

  “I’m fine,” I whisper. It’s cold in the air-conditioned waiting room, but I don’t want Tate to go out of his way on my account. I’m not used to someone doting on me like this.

  “Are you sure, Roonie?” Tate presses. “It could be a while before the doctor gets here.”

  “Doctor?” I ask in surprise, glancing down at my bandaged knee. “But I’m fine now.”

  “You had a pretty nasty fall. You should get checked over.”

  I nod. It seems like a waste of a perfect night, but Tate’s right. I should see a doctor, just to be safe.

  “So, what happened?” he asks, his eyes momentarily taking in my bandaged knee.

  “I slipped.” I shrug. “How about you? Why were you out there?”

  Tate doesn’t quite meet my eye. He hesitates for a few seconds and finally says, “I went for a run.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “I needed to clear my head.” He shrugs.

  He doesn’t say anything else and I don’t press. There’s a serious note in his tone, and I can understand not wanting to talk about it. I don’t want anything to ruin this magical evening.

  Tate stands. The fluorescent lights illuminate his blond hair and it looks like he’s got a halo above his head. It’s how I would capture Prince Charming as he steps on the stage. In that one magical moment, no one would be able to tear their eyes away. Especially not his Cinderella.

  I start to hum softly, but only get out a few notes before I realize what I’m doing and stop. Thankfully, Tate doesn’t seem to notice. He takes a seat next to me, and I keep my gaze glued on my lap, so he doesn’t catch me staring. I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body. He’s sitting just inches away from me and his hand rests casually on the couch next to mine. He’s so close that if I were to shift over slightly, our pinkies would touch.

  I almost give in to temptation before I yank my hand away.

  If Tate notices, he doesn’t comment. He shifts on the couch, so that his thigh presses up against mine, and my breath hitches. Does he even realize that our legs are touching? Is he doing it on purpose? Or does he not even notice?

  As my mind races through the possibilities, a middle-aged woman in a white lab coat enters the room. She has a stethoscope around her neck, so it’s safe to assume she’s the campus doctor.

  “You must be Tate Green,” she greets him.

  “Hello, Doctor.” Tate stands and shakes her hand.

  “I’m Dr. MacAulay,” she introduces herself, then turns to me, “and you are?”

  “Roonie.” I stuff the necklace pieces back in my pocket and start to stand. I reach out my hand to shake hers, but Tate suddenly scoops me up in his arms. I grimace slightly at the ensuing pain and then desperately try not to blush. I don’t know what would be less embarrassing: demanding he put me down or letting him carry me?

  “Right this way.” Dr. MacAulay turns around and heads past Faye’s desk.

  “I can walk,” I whisper to Tate.

  Tate chuckles, but doesn’t set me down. He carries me all the way to the examination room and then gently lowers me onto the table.

  “Thanks.” I blush.

  With a nod, Tate turns around and heads toward the door.

  “Tate?” I call after him, my voice filled with panic. What if this is it? What if I never see him again?

  “Yeah?” He turn
s around and gives me a questioning look.

  “N-nothing.” I flush and look away before he can see the longing in my eyes.

  Tate’s the perfect guy—a true Prince Charming—but I can’t ask him to stay. He’d do it out of pity, or just to be nice, but he’d never be interested in someone like me. I’m no princess, and I’m definitely no Cinderella. Which is why I don’t say anything as Dr. MacAulay closes the examination door and he disappears from sight.

  Chapter 5

  Just before the examination door clicks shut, Tate halts its progress with one sneakered foot. “I’ll wait for you just outside, Roonie.”

  The ice around my heart slowly melts, leaving a warm glow in its place.

  Dr. MacAulay closes the door and crosses the room to her laptop. “Can you spell your full name for me?”

  “Roonie Hill,” I recite, letter by letter, as my gaze moves around the small, sterile room. Everything is a lot nicer than at the hospital or in a regular doctor’s office. The walls are a pristine, untouched white, and the examination table I’m sitting on looks brand new. If you don’t count Tate’s muddy footprints, the floor is so clean it sparkles.

  “And Roonie is short for?” Dr. MacAulay stares at me expectantly.

  “Nothing. It’s just Roonie.”

  I shift uncomfortably on the examination table. I hope Dr. MacAulay doesn’t ask me any more questions or notice that not all my bruises are from the forest. At least she’s just a campus doctor. She probably won’t even care.

  “Can I see your student ID, Miss Hill?” she asks.

  “Oh, I…” I freeze. I don’t have a student ID. I’m not even a student here. I’m probably not even supposed to be at the campus health center!

  What if I get charged for the appointment? I only have the twenty bucks, which may not even be enough to cover the bandage and disinfectant Faye gave Tate. What if I tell Dr. MacAulay I can’t pay for this visit and she calls security? I could get arrested! Then, Father would have to come to get me, and…

  I scramble off the examination table in a panic, pain reverberating through my ribs, and I let out a whimper. Then, I take a few steps and my sneakers squish and squelch against the marble floor. I shudder at the uncomfortable feeling of walking in wet socks.

  “Where are you going?” Dr. MacAulay demands, rushing toward me. “I haven’t had a chance to look at you.”

  “I—I have to go home.” I reach for the doorknob.

  “This will only take a few minutes, Miss Hill. I’d like to make sure you’re not seriously injured. Now, please, have a seat.”

  I hesitate, but Dr. MacAulay shoots me a no-nonsense look, and I quickly obey. I sit back on the examination table, my heart racing double-time.

  “Now, your student number?” Dr. MacAulay returns to her laptop.

  “I don’t have one,” I mutter. “I-I’m not actually a student here.”

  “I see,” Dr. MacAulay nods. “Since Tate Green is a student, I’m sure I can make an exception.”

  “Thank you.” My shoulders sag in relief.

  “Now, he mentioned you had a bad fall?”

  I nod.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I slipped on some mud. Just outside campus.” I shrug, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal.

  “Did you hit your head when you fell?”

  I nod.

  “Alright. Let me do some tests. It doesn’t look like anything’s broken, but we should check just in case. And make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

  The tests take about five minutes. Dr. MacAulay quickly determines nothing’s broken, but she seems worried about my difficulty concentrating. It’s not my strong suit on a good day and it doesn’t really help that I keep thinking about Tate.

  I wish I could explain all that to Dr. MacAulay, but I’m too embarrassed. Especially when he might be able to hear us from the other side of the door…assuming he didn’t change his mind and leave.

  “It doesn’t look like you have a concussion,” Dr. MacAulay finally says, taking the stethoscope from around her neck. “Can you lift up your sweater? I’d like to check your breathing.”

  I completely forget about the bruises until she touches my ribs with cold fingers, making me gasp.

  “How did this happen?” she asks, staring down at the reddish marks left by Father’s sneakered foot.

  “I fell,” I answer quickly, but Dr. MacAulay doesn’t seem convinced. “I-I slipped down a hill. I must have landed on a rock.”

  “I see.” She lifts the sweaters higher and examines my back. “How about these other bruises?”

  “Oh, um, I…it was just an accident.”

  Dr. MacAulay purses her lips and nods. “Have you been staying on campus with Tate Green?”

  “No.” I shake my head, though I wish I was. I wish I had somewhere to stay. “I just met him. He found me in the forest…after I fell.”

  “Are you staying with someone else on campus, then?”

  “No. I live in town.” Or I used to.

  “And is everything alright at home, Miss Hill?”

  I hesitate. Father’s probably passed out drunk, which in his book qualifies as alright…just not for me. I nod anyway.

  Dr. MacAulay asks a few more questions and announces that everything looks good. I silently beg to disagree. I may not have a concussion, but I also don’t have a home. I’m all alone, and for all I know, Tate left and I’ll never see him again.

  “You should feel better in a couple of days,” Dr. MacAulay says as I slide off the examination table with a grimace. “You can take some over-the-counter painkillers for now.”

  I nod. I can’t afford to spend the last of my money on medicine but that’s my problem, not hers.

  My sneakers make squishy sounds as I head for the door and I grimace as I step out of the examination room. Then I forget all my problems and my heart soars. Tate is still there, right where he said he would be. His posture is relaxed as he leans against the wall, and he gives me a warm smile when he sees me. He waited for me! He actually waited!

  “Oh, before you go,” Dr. MacAulay calls out after me, and I freeze. “Mr. Green, can I see you for a moment?”

  “Sure.” Tate looks a little confused, but nods and follows her in. She closes the door behind him, and this time, our roles are reversed. I wait out in the hall and worry about why Dr. MacAulay might want to see him. I hope Tate doesn’t get in trouble for bringing a non-student to the campus health center. I picture her lecturing him about it and warning him not to do it again.

  Going by the grim expression on his face when he finally steps out into the hall, I’d guess I was right. Except that the moment Tate spots me, his face breaks into a smile. “Thanks, Dr. MacAulay,” he says over his shoulder.

  “You’re very welcome.” The doctor smiles. “Feel better, Miss Hill.”

  I thank her, too, and Tate leads me away from her office and into the waiting room. As happy as I am to be with him, I’m too uncomfortable to really enjoy it. My sneakers keep squeaking and my wet socks make me shiver. Pain reverberates through my ribs, and Tate catches my grimace.

  “Do you want me to carry you?” he asks, his fingers grazing my lower back softly as he prepares to pick me up.

  “N-no, I’m fine.” I blush, my heart racing at the brief contact. “I can walk.”

  “Are you sure?” For a split second, I think Tate looks disappointed, but that’s just wishful thinking. When I nod, he opens the sealed bag Faye gave him. He pushes aside the box of bandages and takes out a small box of pills. “I got these from Dr. MacAulay. For the pain.”

  “Thanks, Tate.” I smile in relief. I may not be able to afford painkillers, but this should get me through the worst of it. “How did you get those? Dr. MacAulay just told me to go buy the over-the-counter stuff.”

  “I asked,” Tate says simply. If I’d known it was that simple, I would have asked, too. “Pharmacy’s closed ‘till morning,” he adds, “and these are a
bit stronger.”

  A lump forms in my throat. Just the fact that Tate thought about those things—that he realized I needed painkillers before morning and thought to ask—warms my heart. He really is a true prince.

  He hands me the container and I peer at the four pills inside. The label says to take two, and I shake out half the contents onto my palm.

  “Let me get you some water.” Tate rushes toward the water cooler by the wall. I can’t tear my eyes away from his lean, muscular frame.

  The short sleeves of his blue shirt stretch against his biceps when he grabs a paper cup and again as he fills it. When he returns, I take the cup gratefully and down the pills in one gulp. Tate throws away my empty cup for me but when he returns, he doesn’t look happy. “I know we just met, but you know you can trust me, right?”

  I swallow nervously but still nod. I mean it, too. Tate’s been nothing but kind and caring since the moment we met.

  “Then please tell me…is everything okay?”

  “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.