Break Your Heart

by Rhonda Helms

  Breathing, meditating, praying hadn’t helped me at all when dealing with my mom’s accident a few years ago, the most difficult situation I’d encountered so far. Those weeks she’d spent in the hospital, suffering with broken bones and crying out in pain for hours when the meds wore off way too fast. The subsequent intense months of physical therapy. It had been exhausting for all of us.

  But she’d picked herself up by sheer strength and gone back to work, despite the fact that it had happened on a job site. She wouldn’t let the accident get in the way of doing what she loved.

  The woman had courage and strength I could only dream of. A real hero to me.

  Her and Dad’s jobs were intertwined, and in fact they often did a lot of work together. My mom was a well-respected engineer, and my dad owned a thriving construction company. From what Dad said, it had been love at first sight. He’d seen her in a hard hat, bossing around a bunch of men who were doing a reconstruction on a historical building in downtown Cleveland, and he’d fallen head over heels.

  I took out my cryptography syllabus and scanned it again. Attractive professor aside, it promised to be an interesting course I could look forward to. I had to admit, as a kid I’d always been curious about messages and codes. My mom and I had watched a special on code breakers in World War II, and I’d been riveted by the idea that people were paid to break messages about top secret war strategies.

  Honestly, I’d never made the connection between cryptography and math, so when I’d seen this course crop up last semester, I was beyond excited and had signed up immediately.

  I chugged more of my coffee, stuffed the papers back in my bag and left the coffee shop, hot cup in hand. I had to brave the crowds and hit the bookstore before they ran out of the last textbook I needed. Then on to psychology to learn all about stress.

  Fun, indeed.

  Chapter 2

  “I can’t believe they made an entire class out of this topic,” I said as I rubbed a knot on the back of my neck. “Only one week under my belt, and I already want to choke myself.” I was tucked in the corner of the couch, hunched over my psychology of stress book, eyes glazed from boredom. It was so hard to focus on the introduction and opening chapter, which were filled with dull, obvious commentary.

  Gee, you mean stress impacts your physical and mental health? You don’t say.

  My phone buzzed with a text: Come out with us 2nite!

  It was Nadia, one of my party friends. An evening out with her was guaranteed to go into the wee hours of the morning. The girl knew everyone on campus and went to all the parties.

  So tempting, especially since I couldn’t get enthused about what I was reading. I could take a nap right now, before my work shift, so I could stay up later tonight. But I made myself type, Can’t. Drowning in psych. If I don’t resurface soon, send beer and hot guys.

  Then I shoved my phone away so I wouldn’t be tempted to cave. My classes were a bit more challenging this semester; I had to focus, which meant staying at home more instead of chugging beer and dancing.

  Casey, who sat on the couch beside me, was busy highlighting something in her business book. “I hear ya on hating your class. I felt that way about philosophy last semester. I barely passed it—it was only Daniel’s tutoring that got me through it.” Though she didn’t stall in her task, she gave a small, secret smile, and I found myself smiling in response.

  Casey in love was a sight to see . . . like watching the underdog finally win the big fight. All the stress and tension that had weighed her down for so long was gone. She’d even started letting me hear her compose music on her computer, an activity she’d previously confined to late nights when no one was up. Made me wish I’d kept up with music after middle school, because her passion for it inspired me. Maybe I needed a new hobby.

  Not gonna lie, I loved dating around, having fun with guys, no pressure. But I was kinda envious of the easy familiarity she had with her boyfriend. Casey had had a traumatic childhood experience, which had caused her to be closed off and cautious for many years. Daniel’s steady love had broken down those walls, opened her up.

  “So how’s Daniel today?” I asked her with a sly grin. “When’s he coming by to get you?” It was Sunday, which they usually spent together doing . . . well, whatever people in love did, I guessed. Probably involving lots of bed squeaking.

  Casey put down her highlighter and looked up at me, her eyes suddenly serious.

  My heart thudded. “Everything okay?”

  She bit her lower lip and reached up to play with a strand of her hair. “So . . . I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Her eyes met mine. “Things have been going really well with me and Daniel. As you know. And we’ve been doing a lot of talking about where we’re going and what we want. I mean, out of life. In the future.”

  “Are you pregnant, Casey?” I teased.

  Her face flamed. “Oh God. No. No, there’s no baby—”

  “I’m kidding. I think I get where this convo is going. Are you two moving in together?”

  Her eyes lit in excitement, and she nodded. “But not until the end of the semester. I didn’t want to leave you in a lurch. And frankly, I’m still a little scared to take that leap and need more time to prepare for it.” Her throat bobbed with her visible swallow.

  I reached over and rubbed her upper arm. Tears came to my eyes, and I blinked. “I’m happy for you,” I said in a quiet voice. “Really happy. You deserve it. And I’m proud of you for taking this chance. All the good things come with a risk. But I know it’ll be worth it.”

  She moved her books onto the coffee table, then reached over and hugged me. I wrapped my arms around her and we sat like that for a moment.

  “Thank you for your support,” she said as she pulled back and sniffled. I saw small tears in the corners of her eyes, and we both gave goofy laughs at how emotional we’d gotten. People who hadn’t watched her uphill battle wouldn’t understand why.

  Hell, I barely did. My childhood had been wonderful. Two doting parents with strong work ethics who encouraged me to follow my dreams. Casey hadn’t had that—she’d lived with her grandparents since she was a young teen.

  I felt like I had a part in helping her, which humbled me.

  Time to lighten the mood a bit. “Soooo,” I said in a slow drawl, “there’s a party next weekend.” Surely a hardworking student like myself deserved the occasional break, right?

  Her lips quirked. “There’s also an eighties movie marathon on one of the movie channels.”

  “Free beer.”

  “Chocolate ice cream.”

  Damn. She had me there. Sugar and caffeine were my mortal weaknesses. Still, I was hoping Patrick might come to this particular party, since he hadn’t dropped by Stackers yet like I’d invited him to. Maybe he just needed to see me in a social environment, hanging out and looking good and having fun.

  My brain suddenly went to Dr. Muramoto, a jarring image of him sipping on a beer at a frat party. Which was utterly crazy, because what prof would ever do that? Hang with students and have drinks with them? I couldn’t help my flushed reaction to the idea though.

  Casey gave me a knowing look. “Hm. Is there some guy at the party you’re hoping to attract?”

  I licked my lips. “No. I mean, yeah.” In that moment, I’d completely forgotten about Patrick. Whoops.

  She cocked her head and eyed me. Crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I’ll come with you to the party.”

  I clapped.

  “If,” she continued, holding up a hand, “before the party, you come with me to my grandparents’ house for dinner.”

  I stilled. She’d never invited me to meet her grandparents before. My chest tightened, and I gave a wordless nod.

  “Okay. Good.” She sniffled again and swiped a hand under her nose. “Now we have to get back to studying before I end up girl crying all afternoon. Daniel’s going to see my eyes and wonder what’s wrong.”

  I laugh
ed and turned my attention back to my psych text. But it was kinda hard focusing when I felt like I’d broken past another one of Casey’s walls, had been invited even deeper into her life.

  I had friends on campus. Lots of friends, in fact. If I was bored, my phone had a dozen people I could call up to hang with on a moment’s notice. I was a math nerd, but I didn’t have to succumb to the stereotypes. I could be smart and fun. I made an effort to reach out to people because every connection mattered, either in the present or in the future. My parents’ words always stuck with me.

  But few of my friendships were as genuine as the connection I was building with Casey. She’d taught me a lot since we’d become roommates last year—about trust, about hope and love. It had me craving more of that sincerity in my life, those quiet moments when you connected with others.

  Being around Casey put that in perspective for me. Made me hold the mirror up and examine myself with full honesty. Yeah, I could probably find my own guy like Daniel if I stopped seeking out hot athletes . . . the type I was usually physically attracted to. But there was a lot less pressure when you knew it wasn’t going to be permanent with a guy; long-term dating was never on the table. Not with them.

  I wasn’t going to settle down with a guy like Patrick. He was safe and fun and now. He didn’t challenge me mentally or emotionally. He didn’t rock my boat. It was easy to fit guys like him into my busy life because they weren’t needy—and they didn’t make me needy or weak or vulnerable. If we hooked up now and then, awesome. When we broke up or stopped dating, it sucked but it didn’t crush me. I could pick myself up and keep going.

  All good things come with a risk, I’d told Casey. I glanced over at her and watched her scrawling mad notes on her paper, chewing on the end of her pen. She’d taken a chance, had jumped off the cliff and had Daniel as her reward for her efforts.

  I hadn’t yet met anyone who was worth that risk.

  “—and I want extra cheese on that,” the woman barked at me. “Oh, and more sauerkraut.” Her brow rose as she looked from her date, a portly man in his fifties, to me. Her lips pursed in derision. “You didn’t write any of that down. Are you sure you remembered what we ordered?”

  I sighed. “Two double stackers, both with extra mayo and extra onions. Large cheesy fries. One Reuben, light on the corned beef, extra cheese and extra sauerkraut. Salad, no tomatoes, extra cucumbers.”

  Her face twitched, but she shut up after that.

  “I’ll be back with your drink refills—Diet Coke and unsweetened ice tea,” I added as I picked up their almost-empty cups, then gave her a polite smile and walked back to the cook station to give him the order.

  I shouldn’t get frustrated that people had certain preconceived notions of me—for being decent looking. For being a woman. For being black. My mom always taught me to be proud, to stand up for myself and not let anyone make me feel like less of a person for anything about me. Some days were easier than others though.

  I relayed the order to the fry cook, who gave me a gruff nod and went back to flipping burgers. Then I reloaded their drinks and brought the cups back to their table. I busied myself with rolling napkins and cleaning up the countertop. The crowd usually thinned out this late on a Sunday.

  One more hour, and I could go home and relax. Eat some ice cream and veg out to mindless TV. This first week of school had been harder than I’d envisioned. Hard and challenging in a way I hadn’t expected.

  A group of college jocks came in with rippling muscles in tight T-shirts and arrogant grins. They sat in the corner booth, a loud stirring of elbowing and jostling their way into the stretch seat. My section. Of course.

  I chuckled under my breath. I had all the luck. While I definitely liked checking out athletes for their prowess, they were shit tippers for the most part.

  “Order up,” the fry cook hollered.

  I grabbed the picky woman’s plates, dropped their food off, then went over to the college guys.

  When they saw me, they straightened in their seats, their smiles spreading wider. They picked up the menus and eyed them. A couple of their gazes slid over to me, raking me from head to toe.

  “What can I get you guys? Want anything to drink?” I asked them with a flirty wink.

  The one in the middle, a guy with a neck almost as thick as his head, lifted his chin at me in a ’sup way. “Got anything hot and juicy?”

  The other guys laughed.

  It was so hard to not sigh out loud. Waitressing could be a drinking game. Dirty innuendo—drink. Guy touches your butt “on accident” as you walk by—drink. And none of them were that original in their come-ons, either, which made it worse. My kingdom for someone with half a brain for once.

  “We have some great burgers on special today. Check them out on the big board behind me,” I said smoothly. “How about you take a few minutes to read over the menu and I’ll come back to get your orders?”

  I walked away, then stalled when I saw Dr. Muramoto sitting at a table by himself, a paperback in hand, sipping a cup of coffee. He had on a long-sleeved black sweater, and his hair was relaxed today, not carefully styled.

  Somehow the casualness made him look even more attractive.

  He put his mug down and scrubbed a hand over that scruff on his face. So far this week, I’d noticed that he occasionally had a little stubble, though it never got out of control. That his fingers were long and strong. That he had a dimple in his right cheek, and the crow’s-feet around his eyes when he laughed made my stomach tighten in awareness.

  Before I realized what I was doing, I picked up the coffeepot and walked over to his table. He was flipping a page of the thick book—an epic fantasy, from what I could tell. Looked like he was totally into it. When was the last time I’d been able to sit down and read fiction? I made a mental note to do so.

  “More coffee?” I murmured.

  He nodded absently, saying, “Yes, caffeinated please,” then looked up. When our eyes locked, there was a crackle of energy between us that was almost physical. I felt like every nerve ending in my body woke up and jumped to attention.

  Something about the weight of that gaze hit me right in the chest.

  Then he blinked, and I saw the moment he realized who I was—a student. He pulled back into himself and offered me a courteous nod. “Megan Porter, right?”

  “Yes,” I repeated dumbly. My brain scrambled for something to say. I shifted the coffee into my other hand, just for something to do. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  I was glad we’d moved back into the student-teacher zone, because this attraction I had for him was wrong. A hundred times wrong. Not only was he a prof, he was my prof. And my advisor. Still, I couldn’t help but feel conflicted over what definitely had seemed like interest in his eyes.

  A loud roar of voices at the front door had me turning around. I saw Patrick stroll in . . . along with my ex, Bobby.

  My heart sank. Ugh, wonderful. I watched as they squeezed into the end of the booth with the other jocks. Of course they were at my table. Because I was having that kind of luck, apparently.

  It took all my skills to paste a fake smile on my face, drop off the coffeepot and go over to their table. When Bobby saw me, he stopped talking, and his cheeks flushed red. Apparently he’d forgotten I worked here.

  He and I dated last semester for a little while. We weren’t super serious, but I thought he had more respect for me than he did. One evening, I’d shown up at a party he knew I was coming to and found him drunk and in bed with two girls.

  And that had been the end of that.

  He’d blown up my phone for weeks afterward, giving me all the “Babe, I’m soooo sorry” apologies he could type out. Then total silence. I figured he’d moved on to someone who gave a shit about his words. I’d also made sure to stay away from parties where I knew he’d be.

  “Hey, Megan,” Bobby said.

  “Have you guys decided on what you’d like to dri
nk?” I asked them with as much casualness as I could muster.

  They gave me their drink orders. I walked off to fill them and almost made it to the soda fountain when a large hand on my shoulder stopped me.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” a familiar voice said. Bobby. “Haven’t seen you around any.”

  I shook his hand off and turned around to shoot him a glare. “Don’t touch me, please.”

  His brow furrowed in a frown. “God, lighten up. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “You talk without touching. Hands to yourself.” I started pouring drinks.

  “Babe—”

  “Don’t ‘babe’ me, Bobby. I’m not interested in talking to you.” I was proud of how even I sounded. Like I didn’t give a shit about him.

  Honestly? I didn’t. Well, okay, I was still a little mad. But I wasn’t hurt anymore. That feeling had gone away pretty fast when I’d started really thinking about him—how all he would call me for was a hookup. How we’d rarely gone on real dates, mostly to parties or whatever. I’d been convenient for him. And that arrangement between us had been fine until he’d embarrassed me by sleeping around without caring about being caught.

  There had been nothing of substance between us, nothing to talk about. He was an attractive guy with no depth or resonance who barely skated by in his classes because he just didn’t give a shit or put effort into them. No character.

  His lips thinned. He looked like he wanted to say more.

  “Go back to your seat,” I said to cut him off. “I’m at work, and I’m not talking about anything with you here. I’ll bring your drink over in a minute.” He didn’t move, so I said, “Go,” a little louder.

  When he did, I felt the tension in my back ease up a touch. I finished filling the cups and loaded up a tray. I distributed the drinks and took their orders, noting with a small bit of pleasure that Bobby wouldn’t look at me.

  What did he think, he could come here and touch me and I’d melt in his hands? Hell no. Gotta love the arrogance of guys like that.