Page 46 of Broken Rivalry

I softly close the door behind me, still floating on that blissful cloud from the night spent with Poppy. Looking up, I find Eva at the kitchen counter, munching on cereal and scrolling through her phone.

She’s dressed impeccably, a far cry from the disheveled, drunk version of her I’d seen last night. She barely gives me a glance, her focus seemingly entirely on whatever she’s looking at on her phone.

I’m nearly out the door, my mind already on the soccer field, but Eva’s voice cuts through the morning’s calm. “Hurt her, and I’ll make you pay.”

My steps falter, and I swivel around, a brow quirked in disbelief. “Excuse me?” Her words, unexpected and fierce, throw me off balance. This isn’t the Eva I thought I knew.

She looks up, eyes hard and serious, and it’s a bit unnerving. It’s a stark contrast to Nessa’s fiery but ultimately harmless warnings. Eva’s words carry weight, a promise that Nessa’s lacks.

“You heard me,” she repeats, her voice steady and sure. “I might not look like much of a threat, but hurt her, and I swear to God you’ll live to regret it.”

I stand there, a silent observer of this unexpected side of Eva, and a part of me pities Cole. He has no idea what he’s up against.

“Eva,” I begin cautiously, “Poppy’s worried about you. Is there a reason she should be?”

She doesn’t look up, but I sense a change in the air, a tension that wasn’t there before.

“I know Cole can be a bit… overwhelming,” I continue, “but he’s not a bad guy.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, a guarded expression in them. “There are many facets to a person, Ethan. Don’t be quick to judge someone based on your limited interactions.”

I raise an eyebrow, a retort ready. “Same to you. Don’t judge me based on your experiences with jocks.”

She gives me a chilling smile, uncharacteristic enough to send a shiver down my spine. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, Ethan Hawthorne. That’s why you’re walking out of here, not limping. But understand this”—her voice drops, a serious undertone to her words—“I won’t give you a second chance with her.”

I nod, accepting her warning, but then she mutters something under her breath, something that sounds like, “Never again will I let one of you destroy one of us.”

I freeze, my hand on the door handle, and turn back to her. “What was that?”

She looks up, her eyes flashing with emotions—pain, anger, regret. For an instant, she looks like she’s going to deny it, but then she sighs. “Just… be good to her, Ethan. That’s all I’m asking.”

And with that, she turns back to her phone, effectively dismissing me. But her words linger, echoing in my mind as I step out into the morning light and make my way to the car.

What did she mean by “one of you” and “one of us?” And how does Cole fit into her past? What if my brother-in-arms, my goofy best friend, is none other than a monster in her story?

The uneasy feeling gnaws at me, clashing with everything I know about Cole. But Eva’s eyes hold a dark kind of pain that’s hard to ignore. It’s like there’s a puzzle in front of me, but I can’t see the whole picture, missing pieces hidden in her guarded gaze.

The stadium looms ahead, and despite being fifteen minutes late, I find myself taking a cold shower to try and shift my mind from the memories of pleasure to the game ahead. I can’t exactly step onto the pitch with a very evident physical reminder of last night.

After enduring what might be the coldest shower known to man, enough to numb not only my arousal but practically all my extremities, I change into my gear and hustle onto the field. My teammates are already deep into their individual techniques, having finished the warm-up.

“Hawthorne!” Coach bellows the second my cleats hit the grass. “Taking a page out of Westbrook’s playbook, are we? Don’t!”

“Come on, Coach!” Cole protests, “I was on time today! Ethan’s the one who got laid last night!”

I shoot him a glare and a well-aimed middle finger.

“Warm up, then join the midfield training. They look lost without their number ten, don’t they?” Coach orders, ignoring Cole’s commentary.

“But Coach, what about the penalty for lateness?” Brooks chimes in, and I send a glare his way as I start my warm-up runs.

“Brooks, when you can actually defend our goal, then we’ll talk!” Coach shouts back, then turns his attention to the team. “Move it, everyone! We’ve got West Hill next week, and we need to be ready!”

As I start my warm-up, the tension in my muscles begins to ease, and my mind gradually shifts from Poppy to the game ahead. The field, the shouts of my teammates, and the rhythmic thuds of the ball against cleats become my world. I can’t help the smirk that plays on my lips, even as Brooks sends a few more grumbles my way. The banter, the camaraderie, it’s all part of the game—our game. As I slide into the familiar routine of passes and plays, the memories of last night weave themselves into every move, a sweet secret that fuels my energy on the field.

The whistle blows, signaling the end of practice, and I’m both physically spent and mentally charged. My muscles ache, sweat clings to every inch of my skin, but my heart… it’s light, fluttering in a way that makes me feel like a fool, and yet… as I make my way off the field, my thoughts drift back to Poppy, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the rigorous training spreads through me.

Cole jogs up beside me, a knowing grin plastered across his face. “Ethan, no moping today, huh? What’s got you chipper after a killer session like that?”

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