“We aren’t kids anymore, Sofia,” Nico said coldly. “You can’t just follow me around like a lost puppy and expect me to hang onto you forever, passing notes and holding hands. This isn’t working for me anymore.”

Not working for him? Where was this coming from? Was this because I stopped him from going further on our date? How could he be breaking things off between us when he was just professing his feelings for me days before? And why did he have a black eye and a split lip? None of it made any sense—my traumatized brain could hardly process the information.

“Why are you doing this? What … what happened to you?” I stuttered out, my words a jumbled mess in my head.

“Life happened. We all grow up sometime, and that sometime is now. I’ve decided to go into boxing. I’m good at it and can make a shit ton of money. You know I don’t want to end up in debt like my dad, and boxing will get me there. I’m quitting school, and this little thing between us is over. My life is headed in a new direction, and it doesn’t include you.” His eyes were cut shards of glass as he spoke, each word more resolute than the last.

He reached out to grab his jacket off a nearby chair with a slight wobble. Was he drunk? I’d never known Nico to drink, and now I was wondering if I ever knew Nico at all. Was this a show put on for me, or had he always worn a mask to hide the monster underneath? We all had secrets. We all wore masks. Which Nico was the real one and which was the front?

“Stop this!” I finally shot back at him, charging over to where he stood. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to stop right fucking now. It’s not you, and I know it.” I punctuated my words by slamming my hands against his broad chest over and over.

Nico grabbed my wrists, stopping me mid-tantrum. “This is the real me. If you can’t accept that, you’re in for a world of pain. Brooke’s not the first, and she won’t be the last, so I suggest you get over your little crush and move on.” He flung my hands out to the sides and charged past me, leaving me drowning in his wake.

The deep waters of grief and devastation surged up around me, causing my knees to buckle. I dropped to the floor, my lungs convulsing with painful sobs—like I was breathing underwater, choking and coughing but finding no relief.

Nico Conti didn’t just break my heart; he destroyed it.

If anyone came in search of a vacant room and spotted me weeping on the floor, they didn’t make themselves known, and I didn’t care if anyone witnessed my undoing.

I didn’t care about anything anymore.

Once a soothing numbness settled inside me, I picked myself up, found a back exit from the house, and left. The early April night was chilly, but I didn’t notice. I walked home in the dark, unaware of any lurking dangers. Or maybe I was aware, and in my broken mental state, I was inviting them to put me out of my misery. Regardless, it was not to be that night. I made it home safely, shaking from head to toe.