Page 18 of Broken Rivalry

Poppy glances at her watch, her brow furrowing in evident anxiety, and then dashes across the street to a charity store. I see her through the window as the young man behind the counter hands her a bag. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as she hugs him after looking into the bag. Something hot and unpleasant coils in my stomach. Jealousy? I try to brush aside the notion, but it clings, persistent and unsettling.

The bus arrives, and she boards, her movements hurried. I start the car, following at a distance, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and curiosity with every stop she doesn’t get off, and she gets farther down the South side.

She finally gets off at a stop in front of a discount store, holding her bag and pizza box quite precariously as she enters the store.

I park across the street, ready to wait, but right after she walks in, she steps out with another plastic bag, a cheap burner phone in hand, speaking rapidly, her eyes darting around nervously. Her vulnerability pierces through me, and before I know it, I blow my perfect tailing by stepping out of the car and approaching her.

She pales as I stop in front of her, but her recovery is quick, a mask of indifference sliding into place.

“You alright?” My voice tries to play it cool, but there’s a waver that I can’t control, betraying my calm facade.

“Yes, of course,” she replies, but her eyes betray a flicker of something that tugs at my conscience.

I hesitate, then offer, “Maybe I can take you wherever you need to go.”

She looks conflicted, her gaze flitting to her watch before she shakes her head. “No thanks.”

“It’s only a ride, Poppy. We don’t even have to talk. Just… let me help?” My voice is softer now, coaxing.

She sighs. A weary sound that seems to echo with world-weariness. Her eyes flick to her watch again, then dart down the road like she’s calculating if she can afford to wait.

She gives this reluctant nod, trailing after me to my car, and then she’s opening the passenger door, a silent concession that has my spirits soaring. I suppress a triumphant grin as she slides into the passenger seat, instead focusing on the bag on her lap, spotting the yellow tag of discounted food on a birthday cake.

I can’t help but grimace. Strawberry and orange cake? Not really a combination I was expecting.

“Where to?” I ask, my voice deliberately casual.

“Home.”

I put my blinker on to do a U-turn and go back to college, but she corrects me, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

“No, it’s that way.” She points forward, and my frown deepens as cold realization dawns.

“But—” I stop, looking at the road ahead. “There’s only the trailer park down there.”

She doesn’t say anything, only stares into nothing, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. This is her life. The struggle, the constant hustle. It’s like seeing behind a curtain she never meant to open. She’s not only down on her luck; she’s been dragged through hell. And me? I’ve been piling on even more.

The silence in the car is thick, charged with unspoken words and emotions. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, and the urge to offer help swells within me, but the words stick in my throat, held back by the fear of pushing her further away.

She’s different, this Poppy in front of me. Her eyes hold stories that the Poppy I knew never had, and I’m left wondering what the hell happened to make them so damn haunted.

This girl in front of me is a fighter; she went to war and came back on top, and while I feel guilt and a hint of renewed hatred toward my father, I’m also in awe of her, and now more than even I know.

Something inside me clicks, settling with a certainty that’s almost frightening. I want Poppy in my life, and I want to be in hers. But damn, I know it’s not gonna be as simple as stamping “mine” on her.

Chapter 8

Poppy

Ididn’t want to accept Ethan’s help, but Mom’s call caught me off guard. I get it; we need the money, and that’s why she’s working extra.

I glance at the clock, anxiety knotting my stomach. I’m already thirty minutes late to take over for Mrs. O’Leary with my brothers, and she’s not going to be happy about it.

My fingers twitch, and I can almost make out our old arguments in my head. But here he is, offering a ride, offering help. A lump forms in my throat as the bitterness of our past meets the harshness of now.

Ethan’s sleek car pulls up, its polished surface glaringly out of place against the backdrop of the worn and weathered trailers. My stomach churns as his eyes, dark and inscrutable, scan the trailer park, taking in the peeling paint and the toys scattered in the dirt yards.

“This is me now,” I whisper, avoiding his eyes because I know he’ll find the apology I can’t voice. “Thanks for the ride,” I add, my words rushing out too fast, and I’m quick to exit the car, putting physical distance between us before he can see more than I’d like to show.

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