Whether I have a broken heart or not, the world continues moving, and I have to move right along with it. Tears and loathing will have to wait.
I take the world’s quickest shower and get ready. Putting my bag on my shoulder, I run out of the house, knowing I’m going to have to break the sound barrier to make it to class on time. Pulling into the parking lot at school, I get out of my car, lean in to grab my bag, and then emit a high-pitched screech as soon as I turn around and see two men standing close to me. Way too close to me.
“Pepper Stratten?”
“Yes?” I shrink back against the car and try to silently dig in my bag for my mace.
“You’re even prettier in person,” one of the guys says, a large grin taking over his face.
I fight the urge to wrinkle my nose when I see his teeth.
Has he ever heard of a toothbrush?
“Shut up,” the other guy says, glaring at him.
“How do you know me?” I finally find my voice and try to stand a little taller. They say you should always make direct eye contact and try to appear confident when you feel threatened. Though it is broad daylight, so I don’t think these guys have any fear of being found out.
“We don’t. But we know your boyfriend, Ben.”
Ben?
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Funny, he said the same thing about you.”
That cuts deep, knowing that he is already moving on. But those thoughts will have to wait because I have two ginormous men standing threateningly in front of me, and I have no idea why.
“He said I’m not his boyfriend?” I fire back.
Guy Number One chuckles. “Thing is, we don’t believe him. Or you,” he says, pointing a grimy hand at me, and I try to inch back further. “Tell him he has two more days”—he looks me up and down—“or else.”
My stomach flips over at his meaning.
Or else what? You’ll kill him? You’ll kill me? You’ll kill both of us?
I fight the urge to laugh at how my thoughts are running away with me. No one said anything about killing anybody.
“Wait. Two more days for what?” I ask.
The second guy raises his eyebrows. “He’s keeping secrets, is he? Two more days for the thirty grand he owes us. His week is almost up.”
At that, the two guys walk back to their shiny black vehicle and get inside while I stare after them, a sweaty mess and my mouth hanging open. I pull my phone out and check the time.
Late. Late. Late.
I email the teacher and tell him I’m out sick, and I climb back in my car, frozen in my seat as my heart continues to pound through my rib cage. I can’t do anything but replay the scene that just happened over and over in my mind.
But what just happened? I put my seatbelt on while I think.
Ben owes someone money. Those two guys weren’t playing around. And they acted like they knew me, knew that I was somehow connected to Ben.
I pick my phone up from my lap and pull up the last text conversation between me and Andi to send another text.
Pepper: Out sick today. Let me know what we go over.
Andi: Oh no. Boo. Feel better. *kissy emoji*
I numbly reach for the ignition, successfully sticking my key in on the third try, and start my car.
Why wouldn’t Ben have told me this?
Why would Ben tell you this, you idiot? You aren’t together anymore.
Wait one minute.
The henchman’s words come rushing back to me. “His week is almost up.”
It hasn’t been a week since I left the apartment, so this had to have happened around the time he broke up with me. I want to jump at my super-sleuthing skills, but I remember I’m sitting in my car with my seat belt on, so I pump my fist instead.
But then I realize that Ben knew before we broke up and didn’t tell me. I count back on my fingers to the day we broke up. I don’t know why, but I have it memorized. It was five days ago … five long-drawn-out, emotionally wrecking days. That means those guys must have visited Ben the day we broke up.
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel as I furrow my brow in concentration. Now, his sudden change makes more sense. He didn’t want me to find out that he owed someone money. Thirty thousand dollars at that.
I throw the car in drive and pull out of the parking lot, not sure where I’m heading at the moment, but I find myself navigating to my apartment—well, Ben’s apartment since I don’t live there anymore.
I’m going to confront him, and together, we will make a plan. My parents have money—not that I want to get them involved, but I would do it to save Ben’s hide.
It still doesn’t make sense why he would break up with me. Would someone break up with a person to keep their money troubles from becoming known?
My gut says yes. But my gut also says that’s not all there is to it.
I pull into the parking lot outside our little apartment we shared and sit there, staring.
This will be the first time I will see Ben since the terrible, awful words he said. “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
I shudder as the memory comes back to me. The harsh look on Ben’s face. The sadness that crashed through me.
Pushing the door open, I stick one leg out, contemplating not even going to the door, but no, I have to do this. I have to confront whatever this is. I stride purposefully toward the door and blow a large breath out as soon as I’m standing in front of it. I raise my hand, give three crisp knocks, and wait. And wait
