Page 5 of Broken Rivalry

“You’ll lose the scholarship if you transfer,” Eva mutters, answering my unspoken thoughts.

I throw her a surprised look.

“I read the entire terms and conditions when I accepted the offer. The university gets a grant for taking the rejects we are,” she says, the harshness in her voice taking me aback. I am getting used to calm and demure Eva; this version is unfamiliar. “It’s not transferable.”

I purse my lips and nod. “Of course it isn’t.” Why would something go my way, huh?

We walk into the café, and even though Nessa is not at the same table we left her at, we spot her right away. It’s hard to miss her with her silver hair being a deep-purple ombré.

She raises her head, and her scowl morphs into a smile on her bright-red lips as she sees us approaching. She removes her headphones and leans on her seat.

“That went much faster than I expected. I didn’t manage to scare anyone yet. How disappointing,” she adds with a sigh.

I chuckle, some of the tension easing despite the remaining weight on my chest. “No, we decided to follow your example and wing it.”

She narrows her eyes at us and shakes her head. “Maybe you can wing it,” she says, pointing a blood-red nail toward me. “But you,” she starts, turning toward Eva, “I don’t think you’ve ever ‘winged’ anything in your life.”

Eva purses her lips, sitting down with a huff. “I do wing some stuff,” she replies half-heartedly, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry to say I agree with Nessa. You read the terms and conditions of the scholarship!”

Nessa’s grin widened. “Case in point.”

Eva rolls her eyes, mumbling about us being ungrateful. “I’m getting a surprise coffee because I’m winging it,” Eva declares with a mock bravado, her attempt to lighten the mood bringing a smile to our faces.

“Wow, living on the edge!” Nessa mutters, and Eva flips her the bird, making the three of us laugh.

I watch her go to the counter to order a “surprise coffee,” which is at the barista’s discretion, and smile once again, grateful to have my girls.

Ethan’s unexpected presence is a blow, a ghost from my past I wasn’t prepared to face. But I am not the Poppy I was before. I have already faced so many unexpected blows, one more will not take me down. I glance at Eva and Nessa, their smiles like shields against the world. With their friendship on top of my resilience, I am ready to confront any challenge head-on, including Ethan Hawthorne.

Chapter 3

Ethan

Poppy Lockwood…

Fuck! Of all the people, it had to be her. Why now? My heart thuds, a heavy beat of unease.

I toss in the tangled sheets, and with a resigned sigh, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the cold air brushing against my skin.

I run my hands on my face, feeling exhausted and wired up all at once. I groan, looking at the clock. It’s only six thirty. Way too early for my ass to be out of bed.

I barely slept for the past two nights since I saw her walk down the hall. I almost thought I was mistaken when our eyes met. She’s changed; there’s a new hardness in her eyes, a shield that wasn’t there before. The memory of her curves, accentuated by the snug fit of her cheerleading uniform, sends a familiar heat coursing through my veins. The vision morphs, her flowing locks now a cropped bob, her voluptuous frame now a delicate silhouette. She is thinner, almost painfully so, and I wonder if she’s been swept up in some new fashion trend. Poppy had been all about appearance before her father betrayed mine and paid the price for it.

But it’s not only her looks. She stared right at me, ignoring the bait I threw out. Her cold shoulder sends a prickling frustration under my skin, a maddening itch I can’t scratch.

After sending Cole away, I searched everywhere for her, but she was nowhere to be found. It almost felt like it had been nothing more than a hallucination if it had not been for Cole and his grumpy ass muttering things about “Juilliard” every so often.

I exhale, resting my arms on my thighs amid the chaos, seeking a moment’s peace. The tension in my muscles echoes the turmoil within, a silent groan escaping my lips as I yearn for release from this unexpected entanglement. Today was the first day of practice—the day that Coach enjoyed torturing us to show the freshmen what the team is made of.

I curse her as I stand up, feeling far from nineteen right now. I stretch and wince, hoping that a hot shower will help ease my muscles and maybe an energy drink and a protein bar for breakfast.

I rush downstairs. The air, nippy against my bare skin, makes me regret not grabbing a shirt. I’m clad only in gray sweatpants. The kitchen air is crisp, the metallic scent of stainless steel mingling with the faint lemon aroma of cleaning products. Spotless gray and black marble surfaces gleam, reflecting the faint light. High-tech appliances blend seamlessly into the walls, their polished stainless steel adding to the chill elegance. It’s clear a professional team maintains this pristine space, their touch evident in the orderly arrangement of every utensil and gadget. The expansive island stands out with its black marble top, waiting for cooking exploits it will never experience. The only one cooking is Liam, and nobody wants to eat his ultra-healthy, tasteless protein experiments.

I open the smart fridge and grab an extra-large can of energy drink.

The lock turns, a subtle click breaking the silence. I freeze, my hand tightening over the can.

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