Heart To Break (Montgomery U #2)

Prologue

LOGAN

This party sucks.

A stain from spilled alcohol is smeared across the white couch. People bump into me, making my soda slosh around in the cup. The music rattles the already creaky floorboards of the frat house, and it’s not even good.

Usually, I don’t mind it. I’ve gotten drunk at a few of these parties before, but tonight, I’m not in the mood. I want to be anywhere else.

“Why are you… being… such a wet… blanket, Logan?” Mikayla asks, pressing her hands against my chest.

I look down at the indignation on her face. Her eyes have that faraway look that tells me she’s drunk, but she’s upset that I’m not.

That’s how things always are with us. She wants us to be this “power couple” that does everything together, which apparently includes getting wasted every Saturday night at whatever kegger one of the frats is hosting.

Everyone should clearly aspire to be Logan and Mikayla. We’re meant for big things.

Well, tonight, she’s going to be the only drunk one.

“I don’t feel like getting hammered,” I mumble.

She wrinkles her nose. “What?” she practically screams.

“I don’t feel like drinking,” I say more firmly this time.

She frowns. “Since… when?”

Someone bumps into me and spills beer from their red Solo cup onto my jacket.

“Oh my—sorry,” the guy slurs.

“It’s fine,” I mumble.

I clench my fists, trying not to lose my cool. I drag a hand down my face. “Can we not talk about this?”

“What?” she screams again.

“Can we fucking leave?” I snap, nearly shouting over the blaring music.

A few strands of Mikayla’s blonde hair cling to her forehead, and one of the thin straps of her black dress hangs halfway off her shoulder as she sways to the music. Normally, I’d find the sight hot, but tonight, I feel nothing.

She leans in close to speak into my ear. “We’re at a fucking great party, and you’re just… standing here. Not dancing, drinking, or even… kissing me. What the… hell do you want me to do, Lo?”

I already told Mikayla I didn’t want to be here. I told her I wasn’t having a good night, and she didn’t care.

She forced me to come with her.

I said I’d stay for a little while. That little while has passed, so now it’s time for my exit.

I shrug. “I guess I’ll fuck off then.”

Mikayla scoffs. “What?”

I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m leaving.”

I turn around and snake my way through the crowd, bumping elbows and pushing past couples sucking face as I make my way to the door.

“Hey!” Mikayla screams from behind me.

I weave past two girls catfighting and make it outside, letting the cool air clear my head.

“Where the hell are you going?” Mikayla asks as she steps onto the front porch.

I clench my fists. “Look, Kay. I told you I didn’t want to come. I said I’d stay for a bit, and I did. Do you have a ride home?” I ask, trying to keep my anger in check.

“So, you’re just going to ditch me?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m letting you stay. I just happen to be leaving.”

Mikayla scoffs. “That sounds like ditching.”

“What do you want me to say? I don’t want to fucking be here!” I snap, louder than I intend.

She shakes her head. “You know… ever since January, you’ve been different.”

My shoulders tense like I’m bracing for a hit.

“I know you wanted to get drafted…” Mikayla rubs at her mouth, like she realizes she’s said too much and wants to take it back, but the cat’s already out of the bag.

I hate hearing the word “drafted” ever since January. It’s a bitter reminder of everything I wanted to be and everything I’m not right now.

“I’m sorry?” I ask, my voice trembling.

Mikayla licks her lips. “You used to… enjoy going out. Screwing around. Having fun with your friends. Having fun with me,” she says more quietly this time.

“I’m just not in the mood tonight,” I explain.

“It’s not just tonight, Logan. Ever since the championship game. You won, but… you didn’t get drafted. You were expecting it.”

My hands begin to tremble. Why is she bringing this up?

Yeah, my team, the Montgomery Hornets, won the championship game, and it was one of the best days of my life. But it was also one of the worst.

Yeah, not getting drafted hurt like a bitch, but I’m not going to dwell on it forever. I’m finishing my junior year next month, and I’m going to focus and train harder than ever before.

“All you’ve been doing is training and focusing on getting drafted, and it feels like you forgot about me.”

I sigh and walk over to her.

I rest my hands gently on her shoulders. “Hey, I’m just trying to pursue my dream, okay? There’s a future outside of Montgomery.”

She shakes her head. “But what about me? Don’t I matter too?”

I grit my teeth. I’ve been with Mikayla ever since we met at a frat party last September. She’s been great, but being an athlete makes relationships so much harder.

She does matter, but this period of grinding toward getting drafted and pouring all my time into it is temporary. Once I get drafted, everything will be better. As long as I keep my head down and do everything I can to improve, she’ll see.

Everyone will.

“You do. I just need to make sure I can succeed first, okay?”

I kiss Mikayla on the forehead, and some of the tension seems to leave her body.

I turn to walk away.

“So, you’re really leaving?” she asks.

I don’t turn around, but I nod.

She scoffs. “You don’t even have an excuse for that. You can spend time with me, and you’re already fucking it up.”

I really don’t want to deal with this right now. I need to get away because everything feels too heavy.

I can’t be around her when she’s like this.

I take one step down the stairs. “We have so much time to spend together. Take one night off, Kay.”

I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and inhale the brisk air.

“It’s always going to be football, isn’t it, Logan? Always football over me?”

I don’t even turn to face her. I can’t. “What do you want me to do? Give up my dream for you?”

“No, but—”

“Then just give me a second to breathe. I… I really need it if I’m gonna go pro,” I mumble, trying not to let my voice waver.

I take a few more steps toward the street.

“Well, who are you without football, huh?”

My shoulders tense, and it feels like I’ve been tackled. Not by an opposing player or a teammate during practice. By my own girlfriend.

I shake my head and continue trudging across the lawn toward the street.

“Logan!” Mikayla shrieks.

I sigh and spin around to see her clumsily making her way down the steps, trying to follow me.

She looks like a mess, and I feel terrible that an argument about not wanting to be at a party somehow turned into one about our relationship.

I just want to make sure she gets home okay.

“Mikayla—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence.

The rumble of an engine rattles in my ears.

The last thing I hear is the screech of brakes.

The last thing I see is a pair of headlights barreling toward me, and the last thing I feel is the crunch of metal and glass.

I wake up in a white room with white sheets and someone in a white lab coat standing over me.

The room spins when I lift my head. Where the hell am I?

Pain radiates through my left leg, and a sharp ache pulses through my ribs every time I breathe.

I groan.

I must be in the hospital.

“You’re awake,” my mom says, startling me. I turn to look at her on my right.

Mikayla stands beside her, while my dad is on my left, next to the doctor in a lab coat.

“What happened?” I ask, my eyes darting between everyone and my leg, which is wrapped in a cast.

The doctor clears his throat. “Logan, I’m Dr. Fletcher. You were in a car accident late last night, and you’ve been unconscious since the paramedics brought you here.”

“A car accident?” I repeat.

The memory of last night is blurry. I remember leaving the party, then Mikayla and I fighting. That’s it. Every time I try to remember more, pain sears through my head.

Dr. Fletcher nods. “You were crossing the street when a car hit you.”

My throat tightens.

My leg is injured because someone hit me with their car.

“You were lucky. The driver managed to brake before impact. You dislocated your shoulder and broke a few ribs. You didn’t suffer any head trauma or spinal cord injuries…”

“But?” I ask.

I already know from the pain in my leg that something else is wrong.

Dr. Fletcher sighs. “You tore your ACL, MCL, and meniscus from the impact. It’ll require surgery to repair the ligaments, but you’ll be able to walk and run again. You’ll be able to live a normal life.”

“What about football?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor looks at me sympathetically. “There’s a possibility you could play again, but I had a patient with similar injuries who insisted on returning too soon, and… he ended up partially paralyzed.”

“But football’s not completely out of the question, right?” I ask, my hands beginning to tremble.

“Honey,” my mom whispers, gripping my hand.

I look at Mikayla. Mascara streaks her cheeks, and her lip trembles.

The doctor gives me a sympathetic look. “You’d risk permanent damage, and if that happens, not only will you not be able to play football, but you might never walk normally again.”

It feels like I’m no longer in my own body.

This can’t really be happening to me. This has to be happening to someone else.

I was supposed to be a star football player. I was supposed to make it.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Who am I supposed to be if I can’t play football?

“But I’m a D1 football player. I can’t stop playing—”

The doctor looks at me gravely and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

I watch my parents’ and Mikayla’s faces crumple, but I can’t seem to process any of it.

My dream is over, and it’s not even my fault.

I have to live a life without football.

I have to rehab my body and learn how to walk normally again. I’m never going to get drafted, and I’m never going to play football again.

I look at Mikayla as she clings to my arm like I might float away, like she might lose me forever.

And she just might.

Mikayla was right.

Who even am I without football?