Page 10 of The Heart Breaker

“Earlier, you said people don’t really choose who they become. That a lot of it is stuff you pick up from the environment you grew up in.” I swallow, forcing the words out. “What if you don’t know all of that, though? Like… where you come from. Or the full story behind it. Does that mess you up?”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he sets the papers aside and leans back against the desk, folding his arms across his chest.

“Not necessarily,” he says after a beat. “It just makes things different. Missing pieces of your story doesn’t mean you’re missing who you are.” He pauses, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. “Sometimes it just means you had to figure it out on your own.”

I nod, my gaze drifting down to the photo on his desk. A little boy, maybe five or six, caught mid-laugh with dirt on his jeans and a scab on his knee, his blond hair sticking up in every direction like he’d been running around outside all day.

“That’s Caleb,” Professor Williams says when he notices where I’m looking. I glance up, and his lips lift into a smile. “He turned five last month. Doesn’t sit still for more than five minutes.”

I press my lips together, trying to smile back, even though it feels a little forced. “He looks happy.”

“He is,” he says with a laugh, shaking his head. “Between me and his mom, the kid’s pretty spoiled.”

He glances back at the photo, and something tight shifts in my chest. The look in his eyes is so easy it almost catches me off guard, like loving his kid is the most normal thing in the world.

For a second, I wonder what that would feel like.

To have that kind of steady presence in my life. To have someone talk about you like that. Someone who knows your birthday without checking a calendar. Someone who keeps a picture of you on their desk just because they want to see your face during the day.

He reaches for a pen, and his sleeve rides up just enough for me to notice the fitness watch on his wrist. I almost ignore it, but my mouth moves before my brain can stop it.

“Do you run?”

He follows my gaze and lets out a quiet laugh. “God, no. It mostly just tells me when I’ve been sitting too long.” He taps the screen with the pen in his hand. “My wife got it for me. She keeps hoping I’ll start running with her.”

I huff out a small laugh. “Running’s overrated.”

He smiles. “I’ve been saying that for years.”

I feel my lips tug into a smile, but I clear my throat and shift my bag higher on my shoulder. “Anyway… thanks for your time.”

He tips his chin in a small nod. “Of course. If you have more questions, you know where to find me. Miss…”

Something tightens in my chest. “Prescott. Aurora Prescott.”

“Aurora,” he repeats. “Glad to have a student hungry for answers.”

I nod, mumble a quick thanks, and slip out of the room before he has a chance to read anything on my face.

I make my way up the steps and push through the door, stepping out into the hallway.

My phone buzzes in my bag and I dig around for it, pulling it out when I see my mom’s name lighting up the screen.

Mom:

How are things at Northwood? Good to be back?

My stomach twists a little, my gaze snagging on the name of the college she still thinks I go to. Two years of letting her believe that, because correcting it would mean explaining everything else she has no clue I know.

Me:

Yeah. All good. Busy week.

Mom:

Good. Just checking in. Don’t forget to rest. Love you.

I swallow, my eyes squeezing shut for a beat, guilt pressing hot in my chest before I quickly tap out a reply.