Page 45 of Heartstruck

Jared

Operation Win Alli Back is officially underway.

I skimmed one romance book and watched a cringy romance movie. Baby steps, right?

It’s been way too long since I picked up a book just for fun, let alone a romance novel. But if I’m going to have any shot at this ‘winning Alli back’ plan, I’ve got to step up my game, even if it means watching A Cinderella Story for the second time.

I stare at my phone again, biting my lip. The cursor blinks, like it’s mocking me. It’s just a text, Jared. One tiny message.

But it feels huge.

I’ve always been the kind of guy to mask my feelings with humor, or sarcasm, or anything to avoid the emotional stuff. Keeping it light is my style. But this? This is different. Alli is different.

I need to be honest. Even if it makes my stomach twist.

After a deep breath, I hit send.

Me: hey, i found a puzzle that looks impossible to solve.

Me: thought of you immediately.

The three dots appear right away.

And then… nothing.

I stare at the screen, frustration building at myself. What the hell did I expect? A magical text to make everything right again? A neat little solution to all the crap I’ve done?

I toss my phone on the couch and run my hands over my face. I feel like an idiot.

Then again, this is just step one; I can’t give up yet. I’ve got to keep pushing. After all, they say shoot for the stars, right?

The next day, I’m slouched in the locker room, sweat sticking to my skin, the sharp scent of the gym filling the air.

The towel around my neck does little to comfort me.

My phone rests in my hand, my thumb hovering over the screen, like the next move could set something off, but I can’t decide if I’m ready for it.

Chase leans in from behind his locker, that familiar cocky grin plastered on his face. “Writing her a novel?”

“Just a question,” I say, barely sparing him a glance.

He and Troy share a look, both of them clearly not buying it.

I can feel their eyes on me, but I take another deep breath and force myself to type. Keep it light. No pressure. No desperation. Just… casual.

Me: what’s your stance on haunted houses? asking for a friend who might need a partner to scream with.

Chase glances over. “Waiting for her reply?”

“Don't start,” I mutter.

We sit in silence, all of us pretending we’re not fixated on the screen, waiting to see if we won the lottery. Sure enough, the dots pop up. And then they disappear.

“Nothing,” I confess defeat, holding onto the phone like it’s a bomb that might explode.

“Maybe she hates haunted houses,” Troy jokes, offering his two cents, because, you know, that’s helpful.

“Or maybe she hates me.”

Chase, always the optimist, tosses a towel at my face. “If she hated you, she would’ve blocked you by now.”

Troy, with his usual brutal honesty, cuts in. “Yet.” He glances at me with a pointed look. “Which is more than you deserve after what you pulled.”

I keep my mouth shut, but the truth of his words sits in the back of my mind.

Chase pats my back. “Girls like Alli? They don’t ghost unless they don’t care. You’re good. She’s probably just making you work for it.”

Work for it. Yeah, I can handle that.

I pull up my phone again while I’m at Study Brew, trying to focus on my assignment. The sound of clinking cups and muffled voices around me blur together, but I can’t concentrate.

I’ve lost track of time. I didn’t even notice when the barista refilled my water glass. My fingers hover above the screen. What could I send her now that might actually make her smile?

It takes a moment of hesitation, but then, a thought hits me.

Me: i just walked past a dog that looked like a puzzle piece

Me: can you believe that’s a thing? i’ll send you a picture next time

Me: and i’ll also apologize

I press send, and then it’s pure torture as I force myself to look at my notes for the next hour. The phone sits there, mocking me, no response.

I can practically hear Chase in my head, telling me not to overthink it.

I lean back, my chest tight with unease. The door swings open, and her laugh cuts through the air—unmistakable, familiar. My head jerks toward the sound before I can stop it, and there she is, standing in the doorway.

She doesn’t see me. She’s caught in her own world, animated and laughing as she looks at her phone, completely unaware that I’m here. But I can’t look away.

My eyes dart to my phone again, and a notification lights the screen.

Alli: you’re making that up.

I exhale in surprise. A laugh bubbles up from me, livelier than I expected, but it’s real. It’s the first time in days I’ve felt even a little bit lighter.

I type without hesitating.

Me: i’m not, and i’m happy to show evidence at a coffee date. fair trade?

The dots appear, teasing, then disappear again.

And then:

Alli: i’m busy.

Alli: stop texting me.

My grin takes over my face, stupid and relieved all at once. It’s not much, but it’s a crack. A real one.

I’ve lost track of time completely. I’m locked into my paper, trying to ignore the ache in my brain and the nagging thought that my phone might ding and I’ll miss it.

My focus is glued to the screen, though the pressure in my temples reminds me I haven’t blinked in too long. I stretch back, trying to clear the fog from my brain, when the door swings open.

The laugh hits me again, vibrant and clear. It punches straight through my chest, sharp and disarming. I feel it before I even look up, that instinct pulls me, telling me she’s here.

I pause, gripping the edge of my desk like it’ll keep me from passing out, but my traitorous eyes follow her.

She stands by the counter, looking exhausted in a hoodie and leggings, with her phone in one hand.

But when she turns and sees me, the energy shifts in her face, that look of hesitation like she’s not sure whether to run or hide.

I suck in a breath, heart hammering in my chest. She doesn’t leave. She just stays.

She sits by the window. Alone. Writing. Studying. Existing. It takes everything not to rush over to her, not to apologize, to beg her to let me back in.

I don’t know what to do.

Then the bell jingles, and Chase strolls in, grinning like the troublemaker he is.

“Still here?” he says, settling in front of me with his snack bag. His eyes follow mine. “Did you think she’d just walk in and throw herself at you?”

“Don’t.”

“It’s Alli, man. You know her. It’ll be fine. Go talk to her.”

“She”—I shake my head—“doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Maybe not. But you won’t know until you try.”

I glance back at her, still alone. My hands sweat. I can feel the room closing in with the nerves, the mistake I made, the time I wasted—the way she might never forgive me.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Chase asks. “She tells you to screw off? You’ve faced linebackers twice your size. You can handle a five-foot-something girl.”

“She’s not just any girl.” I try to swallow the tightness in my throat. “She’s five one… and she’s everything.”

Chase raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing through me. “Exactly. So, stop sitting here like a coward, and go get your girl.”

Everything inside me yells for resolution. And finally, I push my chair back, my heart thumping in my chest, my laptop abandoned in front of me.

Chase’s voice calls out behind me. “About time.”

As I step closer to her, everything around me clouds. My heart beats in my ears, and every breath feels heavier, caught somewhere between “this is a good idea” and “turn back now.”

When Alli looks up and sees me standing by her, I feel it—that spark, that instant connection. I haven’t lost her yet.

“Hey.”

Her arms cross as she sits back in her chair, her eyes unreadable. “Hi.”

“Can I sit?”

She hesitates, her eyes softening just enough. She gives a slight nod, like it’s an agreement we didn’t need to put into words.

Without a word, I sit down, and I’m closer to her than I’ve been in weeks. My entire body leans forward, pulled to her like gravity, but I force myself to hold back. To show her I’m not just rushing in, that I can be patient, let her come to me at her own pace.

I try to lighten the moment, breaking the ice. “That hoodie looks like it’s about to swallow you whole.”

Her lips twitch, the slightest smile. But her walls are high up. “What do you want, Jared?”

You .

It’s always you .

But I don’t say that. Instead, I lean in, letting my voice carry everything I’m feeling.

“To apologize,” I say. “For everything.”

She leans back, skeptical, but her loosened arms give away she’s more open than she’s been before. “That’s a lot to cover.”

“I know,” I say, holding her gaze. “I screwed up. I thought I wasn’t enough for you. I let my insecurities run the show.”

The mood changes when she rolls her shoulders back lightly. I feel that flash of something real turning the gears now that she’s not looking angry as hell.

But then, like a shield snapping back into place, she pulls away.

“It’s not that simple,” she says, her eyes narrowing again. “You can’t just… come back from that.”

I feel my pulse skip.

“It can be…” I search for her eyes, forcing her to lock hers with mine. “If we don’t give up.”

Alli lowers her gaze to her coffee cup, taking a slow sip. When her eyes find mine again, I see it—quiet but certain. She wants this too, even if it’s only for a minute.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, her fingers tightening around the edge of the cup. I choose silence, watching her think, the words swirling in her mind just out of reach.

“I’m not saying I want things to be over,” she finally says cautiously. “But I don’t know how to trust what you’re saying right now. What’s different this time, Jared?”

I take a slow breath before answering.

“What’s different is that I’ve had a lot of time to figure out what I want,” I say, forcing my voice to stay calm when everything wants to crash and burn. “And it’s you, Alli. It’s been you. Even when I was too caught up in my own shit to admit it.”

Her gaze swings to mine, sharp, like she’s trying to find a crack in my words. “And what happens the next time things get hard? Or when you decide—”

“I won’t,” I cut in gently. “Not again. I didn’t walk away because I didn’t care. I walked away because I cared too much. I panicked, and it’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

Her lips part, like she wants to argue, but nothing comes out. For the first time, she looks less guarded, but not fully open either. Somewhere in the middle.

“I’m not asking for everything to be fixed right now,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “I just need a chance to show you I’m serious. No big promises. Just a step.”

Her shoulders ease, and I wonder if she might believe me.

“One step,” she says quietly. “That’s it. But don’t expect me to forget everything overnight.”

A faint laugh escapes me, light, breathless relief. “One step is more than I thought I’d get.”

She shakes her head but doesn’t fight the sheepish smile pulling at her lips. We’re nowhere near okay yet, but this feels real. A beginning.

And for now, I can work with that.