Page 28 of Broken Rivalry

I remember the playful anger bubbling up, and without a second thought, I’d stomped on his foot. As he yelped in surprise, I snatched the chocolate bar from his hand and sprinted away, his laughter echoing behind me.

Eva’s voice pulls me from the memory. “Poppy, are you okay?”

I nod, fingers lightly tracing the contours of the chocolate bar, but my voice betrays the turmoil inside, coming out as a mere whisper. “He remembered, Eva.”

Her eyes, understanding and gentle, meet mine. “I know we want a personal vendetta, he’s a rich jock, but perhaps he truly cares. Maybe more than you think.”

I nod, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? Ethan caring means he sees me, really sees me, in all my struggles and vulnerabilities. And his kindness, as beautiful as it is, also serves as a mirror reflecting the sad reality I’m living in.

I pull out the chocolate bar, the wrapper crinkling in my trembling hands. It’s a small luxury, one that I haven’t allowed myself in months. My throat tightens, and I’m torn between the urge to cry and to smile.

Eva steps closer, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to accept kindness, Poppy. It doesn’t make you weak or pitiable. It makes you human.”

I nod, tears blurring my vision as I unwrap the chocolate. Breaking off a piece, I pop it into my mouth, the rich, sweet flavor mingling with the saltiness of my tears.

Eva wraps an arm around me, and together, we stand there in the glow of the kitchen light, finding comfort in silent companionship.

I close my eyes, trying to shut out the conflicting emotions bubbling within me. I’ve always prided myself on my strength, my ability to stand tall despite the storms that life has thrown my way. But Ethan’s kindness, his pity, threatens to topple the fortress I’ve so carefully built around myself.

I can’t let him see me as weak, as someone to be pitied and taken care of. I won’t be his charity case, his good deed. I need him to see me, really see me—Poppy, the fighter, the survivor, not Poppy, the girl who needs saving.

If Ethan wants me, it needs to be because of anything other than pity because that would be far worse than anything my heart has suffered so far.

My heart pounds as I navigate the unfamiliar hallways of the men’s soccer ground, the scent of sweat and disinfectant mingling in the air. The locker room is ahead, and I can hear the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter from the guys inside. My steps falter for a heartbeat, but I steel myself, determined to have this conversation with Ethan.

As I approach, Cole emerges, his smirk instantly igniting a spark of irritation within me. I roll my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Ethan appears behind him, his eyes lighting up when they land on me. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he begins, a playful lilt in his voice. But as he takes a step closer, something in my stance, perhaps the rigid set of my shoulders or the tight line of my mouth, gives him pause. His smile falters, the twinkle in his eyes dimming a bit as he picks up on the unspoken tension radiating off me. The teasing tone slips away, replaced by a more cautious, gentle one. “Poppy?” he ventures, a question hanging in the air.

I take a deep breath. “You need to stop treating me like a charity case, Ethan. The groceries? It was a nice gesture, but frankly, it’s insulting. I’d rather you go back to calling me ‘Pauper.’” My voice is steady, but inside, my emotions are a confused turmoil.

He blinks, taken aback. “I didn’t mean to—”

Cutting him off, I make my stance clear. “No, I know. But you can’t do that. If you want to give friendship a try, I’m happy to, but I won’t be your charity project. And if that’s why you’re asking me to the varsity ball, I’ve changed my mind.”

He steps forward, crowding my space, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my skin heat up. “Does that mean you’re coming?”

“I—yes. But I’m taking my friends, and you’re buying them very expensive dresses.”

His grin returns, lighting up his face as if he’s won the lottery. He extends his hand, gesturing for my phone.

I give him a questioning look.

He gives a slight shrug. “I’m giving you my number. The ball is in your court.”

I jerk my head toward his hands. “Write it down.”

He shakes his head. “Fine, if you don’t want to give it to me, give me your number then; it’s the same for me,” he adds, pulling out a brand-new smartphone that I know costs about twice the price of our beat-up Honda.

The thing is, as stupid as it sounds, I don’t want him to have my number. I reluctantly retrieve my thirty-five dollar flip phone, feeling a pang of embarrassment. He frowns at it, but after a moment, his expression softens, an understanding, or perhaps a resignation, flickering in his eyes. He doesn’t comment, and I’m silently grateful for the unspoken empathy that hangs between us. How could I explain that the first thing Mom and I did was sell our cells to pay the deposit and first month’s rent on the trailer?

He inputs his number and tries to call himself to save it in his phone but frowns as the call fails. “Why does the call fail?”

“I didn’t say you could have my number, did I?”

His brow furrows, concern etching lines onto his forehead. “Why does the call fail, Poppy?” he asks more insistently.

“No credit. I forgot to add some.” It was only a half lie. I didn’t have some of the money for a while, but Jeff paid me for the first assignment. I really forgot.

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