Page 79 of Broken Rivalry

“Isn’t it always?” Eva remarks, a hint of amusement in her eyes. She fills another cup of coffee and pushes it toward me.

I grab the cup and lean over the counter. “I love him, Eva,” I admit, looking down at the black coffee, the weight of the confession pressing down on me. “But I don’t want to. There’s too much history.”

“Between you two?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

I hesitate, searching for the right words. “You know the story.”

She nods slowly. “I do, but it’s your father and his father, and that’s not your story.”

I swallow hard, understanding what she is getting at. “Before, it was all just stupid petty rivalry pranks. He never truly wronged me, not until recently. But the things he did, the words I overheard… He lied, Eva.” I take a shaky breath, the weight of betrayal heavy in my chest. “He made me believe in a love that perhaps never existed.”

Eva takes a moment, her gaze thoughtful, before responding. “Love is… complicated. I’m no expert, and heaven knows I’ve had my share of heartbreaks. But, Poppy”—she pauses, choosing her words carefully—“when he looks at you, I can’t help but watch him.” She grimaces. “The way I say it sounds wrong, but…” She shakes her head. “What I mean is, you see the most in people when they’re caught off guard, and that’s when I observe him. His gaze holds nothing but adoration for you. It’s the kind of look you expect from a man that would go to war for you; it’s…” She snorts, blushing a little. “Frankly, it’s Darcy-esque.”

“Darcy-esque? Is that even a word?”

She waves her hand. “If it’s not, it should be, but you know what I mean.”

“What about the box, though?”

She takes a sip of coffee, looking at me silently. “Did he ask you for the box? Did he try to get to the box?”

I purse my lips but don’t answer.

Eva sips her coffee, her gaze steady on mine. “Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the one he was trying to manipulate.” The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything seems to stand still as I process the possibility.

“Who w—” I stop. His father! Is Ethan on my side? Did he pick me?

Trying to smother any kindling hope, I tell myself. “No, I… it’s only been a few months. It’s better to let it die. There is too much bad blood. Too much history. I can’t go around flaunting a Hawthorne to my family. My mother went through enough.”

Eva’s eyes turn sad, and she reaches out to squeeze my hand. “And so did you, Poppy. You deserve happiness, whatever that looks like for you.”

I nod, tears pricking my eyes. Without another word, I rush to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect myself. The hot water of the shower does little to wash away the confusion and pain.

Once I am dressed and ready to go, I stand at the doorway, torn. Part of me yearns to stay, to face him, to confront the potential revelations that could change everything. But another part, the part that’s been hurt and betrayed, urges me to flee. And in that moment of weakness, I choose escape, not yet ready to face the reality of our entangled emotions.

The weight of the day presses heavily on my shoulders as I enter my apartment late in the evening. I remove my shoes and sigh, leaning against the door. I’m somehow glad the girls are not here tonight. I’m really not in the mood to talk.

Cleaning my mother’s house and the shift at work had been a welcome distraction, but now, as I’m alone with my thoughts, the reality of my situation with Ethan looms large in my mind. I’ve expected to hear from him all day, but there’s been nothing. Radio silence. Is it a good thing?

I walk into my bedroom, and before I can react, the door swings closed to reveal Ethan. His intense gaze locks onto mine, and without a word, he turns the lock with a faint click. The finality of the sound sends a shiver down my spine.

My eyes dart to a sports bag on the floor, my confusion evident. “What’s this bag?”

“My overnight bag,” he replies, his voice low and husky.

“We said one night,” I counter, my voice tainted with apprehension.

Ethan steps closer, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. “One night won’t be enough. I can’t get enough of you.”

My heart races. “I gave the box to your father. You don’t have to play this game anymore.”

His face softens, and he takes a deep breath. “Poppy, I never cared about the box. All I ever wanted… was you.”

I take a step back, disbelief evident in my eyes. “We were always at each other’s throats in high school. How can I believe that?”

He breathes out, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, because it was the only way you’d notice me. All I ever wanted was to be on your team, but you seemed to acknowledge me only when I was aggravating you. It became our thing because I wanted to be in your world, even if it was through anger.”

My eyes widen, my mind racing. “You’re making that up.”

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