Chapter 2: Breakups, Breakdowns, and Bystanders

Standing outside the hospital room, I took a breath. Then pushed the door open.

My palms were slick with sweat. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and old coffee. I tried to steel myself, rehearsing my lines in my head. But nothing could have prepared me.

The first thing I saw was Chase holding Savannah Lin’s hand.

She was perched on the edge of his bed, her fingers twined with his. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d told myself I was ready. But my stomach twisted anyway.

Ready or not, it still hurt.

I stood frozen in the doorway, throat tight. I tried to will myself not to cry.

Hearing the door, Chase abruptly let go of Savannah and reached out to me.

His hand shot out—instinct, pure reflex. For a split second, his eyes lit up, hopeful. Desperate.

“Baby, come here.”

His voice was soft, coaxing. For a moment, I almost believed we were back to before—all those late-night calls and whispered secrets. But the ache in my chest reminded me that everything had changed.

I walked forward in silence. Savannah, blushing, glanced at me and hurried out of the room.

She ducked her head, cheeks flushed, and practically bolted. I didn’t blame her. The air between us was thick with unspoken things.

I stopped just short of his bed.

I could smell the faint scent of his cologne, mixed with the sharp tang of hospital antiseptic. I kept my arms folded tight across my chest, needing the barrier.

A flash of confusion crossed Chase’s eyes. He leaned forward, trying to reach my hand.

He looked almost vulnerable, the usual confidence stripped away. His fingertips brushed my sleeve—a light, trembling touch.

As he reached for me, I stepped back.

The contact sent a jolt through me. I jerked away, heart pounding. It was as if the whole room held its breath with me.

His hand froze in midair, then slowly dropped, his face guarded and uncertain.

He tried to school his expression, but the hurt was obvious. His shoulders slumped, and he looked suddenly smaller, younger.

“Baby, are you mad about last night?”

“I didn’t mean to push you away. No one wants to be close to you more than I do. Can you just wait for me a little longer?”

“I promise…”

His voice was pleading, the edges fraying with desperation. He looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Let’s break up,” I cut him off.

I couldn’t let myself waver. The words came out sharper than I intended, but I had to say them before I lost my nerve.

Chase tilted his head, smiling like he’d misheard. “Baby, what’d you say? Kiss you?”

He grinned, almost cocky, like he thought I was joking. The denial in his eyes made my chest ache.

Meeting his eyes, I tried to sound casual. “Chase, let’s break up. My psychic said you’re bad luck for me.”

I forced a little laugh, trying to make it sound like one of my usual whims. I even twirled a strand of hair, playing the part.

The smile faded. “Baby, don’t joke.” His voice almost broke on the word.

I shrugged, putting on the spoiled attitude I always showed him.

“You know how much I believe in fate. I check my horoscope before I even get out of bed.”

“You’re bad luck for me. There’s no way we’ll work out.”

“Let’s end things on a good note. Goodbye.”

Each word was a stone in my mouth, heavy and final. I kept my chin up. Pretended none of it mattered.

I turned and walked away, afraid if I waited another second I wouldn’t be able to hold back my tears.

My vision blurred, and I blinked hard, willing myself not to cry until I was out of sight. My steps echoed down the hall, each one harder than the last.

“Harper!”

His voice cracked—raw, desperate. I flinched. But I kept going.

The tray of medical supplies at the bedside crashed to the floor with a loud clang.

The sound rang out—sharp, jarring. I spun around. Chase was lurching forward, IV trailing, scattering syringes and gauze everywhere.

Savannah rushed in. “Don’t move! You’re still on an IV!”

She tried to steady him, panic in her voice. The nurse in her took over, but Chase barely seemed to notice her.

“Get out!”

Chase shoved her aside, his voice cold and sharp. He yanked out the needle and chased after me, grabbing me from behind.

I felt his grip on my arm, tight and trembling. His breath was hot against my ear, ragged with pain and panic.

His desperation seeped into me, making it almost impossible to stand my ground. I bit my lip hard, tasting blood.

“Harper, what did I do wrong? Tell me, I’ll change.”

His words were a plea, raw and honest. I almost believed him.

I let out a bitter laugh. Change? Yeah, right.

The sound was harsh, scraping out of me. I wanted to believe things could be different, but I knew better now.

Could he change the fate of being the leading man in a story, destined to fall for the heroine?

Could he change the fact that she was the only one he wasn’t allergic to?

It was like some cosmic joke—no matter what I did, I’d never be the one.

I watched as his skin started to redden again from the allergy.

Red splotches bloomed across his arms and neck—angry, raw. My stomach turned.

Blood oozed from the spot on his hand where he’d ripped out the IV, dripping onto the tile.

A nurse yelled somewhere down the hall, but I couldn’t move. The blood was a stark, vivid reminder of how much this hurt both of us.

My heart twisted painfully, but I still pried his hands off me, using all my strength to push him away.

He clung to me like a lifeline, but I forced myself to break free. My arms ached from the effort, but I managed to shove him off.

Chase dropped to the ground, his eyes rimmed red.

He looked up at me—broken, lost. I almost crumpled.

I said coldly, “Aren’t you done yet? A breakup is a breakup. Can you stop hounding me?” I hated how harsh I sounded. “You’re really making me sick!”

The words came out colder than I felt, but I needed him to let go. I needed to let go, too.

With that, I turned and ran, tears streaming down my face.

I didn’t look back. My chest burned, and the hallways seemed to stretch on forever. I barely made it to the stairwell before I broke down, sobbing into my hands.

If I hadn’t tried to get close to him last night, would this day have come later?

The question circled in my mind, relentless. Regret gnawed at me, sharp and unyielding.