through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the small, cozy space. I find Poppy there, humming a cheerful tune as she swirls her spoon through a steaming mug of coffee. Her eyes are brighter than I’ve seen in a long time, and there’s a lightness in her movements that shows she’s really happy and relaxed.
“Good morning, stranger,” I greet her, leaning against the doorway, a smile playing on my lips. It’s heartwarming to see her like this, so full of life and happiness. A part of me swells with pride, knowing that my support might have played a small part in this transformation.
“Morning!” Poppy beams, turning toward me. “Sleep well?”
“Like a rock,” I reply, moving into the kitchen. “You seem in a good mood. Things are going well with Ethan?”
She blushes a rosy hue that complements her bright eyes. “Yeah, they are,” she admits, a giggle escaping her. “I’m sorry, I’ve not been around often.”
Chuckling, I pour coffee into my mug. “Why should you be? You deserve to be happy, and that man really cares for you.”
She leans back against the counter and smiles as she brings the cup up to her lips. “He does, doesn’t he?”
You thought the same about Cole… how wrong were you then?
Cole and I… I often find myself lost in the what-ifs and whys. Our relationship, if it could even be called that, was a tapestry of hidden moments and silent understandings woven together by a thread of unspoken promises. It was an unintended connection, yet it happened.
The first time I saw his vulnerability is still vivid in my mind. Beyond the charisma and athleticism, he was a boy crushed under heavy expectations and cruel labels. His reaction to failing a math test — frustration and self-derogatory remarks — struck a deep chord in me. It was then that I began to see him differently, feeling an urge to help.
Our math tutoring sessions had only been going for a few weeks when he unexpectedly showed up at my house, climbing through my bedroom window while slightly intoxicated. The sight of his failed math test, marked with a red forty-five percent, was a stark revelation of his usually hidden struggles. His confidence had shattered, leaving him openly broken.
Slumped in a chair, he muttered about his own perceived stupidity. The fight within him was palpable, his usual bravado slipping away. That night, he confided in me about his dyscalculia and the long-standing battle with math it had caused. His vulnerability, so raw and real, brought us closer in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
“We can work through this, Cole,” I reassured him, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “Knowing the cause is half the battle. There’s no shame in it. You’re amazing, and this is just another challenge to overcome.”
His gaze lifted to meet mine, filled with disbelief and vulnerability. “You think I’m amazing?” he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.
“Yes,” I affirmed, feeling a surge of emotions. “You make me feel…” I hesitated, struggling to articulate the depth of my feelings.
At that moment, our dynamic shifted. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin. “You make me feel like a hero,” he whispered, and then his lips met mine in a tender, exploratory kiss. It was my first kiss, an experience of sweet surrender, stepping into a realm filled with both terror and exhilaration.
Before Cole, I was the music-obsessed girl with a few extra pounds, largely ignored by the athletes my father coached. Cole saw me differently. His piercing blue eyes, wicked grin, and possessive touch ensnared me. I didn’t seek gentleness; I craved every facet of him. For a time, I believed his affection for me was genuine, that his history of flings was behind him, and that I was different.
Surrendering to him, body and soul, seemed inevitable, swept away by the perfection of our private moments. They were passionate yet tender, a beautiful paradox that mirrored Cole’s complexity. This dream was fragile, and he shattered it, leaving me teetering on the edge. In a moment of acute anguish, I came perilously close to ending it all—a moment that has left a deep scar on my soul.
I can’t forgive him for that moment, and perhaps even more so, I struggle to forgive myself. It serves as a stark reminder of a time when I lost myself in someone else, only to find myself alone and shattered in the aftermath. This experience has become a painful lesson, teaching me a level of vulnerability I can never allow again.
“…with me?”
“Sorry, what?”
“You’re on the moon?” Her light tone shows she’s not offended. “I asked if you wanted to come to Ethan’s game today. He has three premium seats.”
The idea of watching Cole Westbrook play seems as appealing as stabbing myself in the eye with a rusty spoon.
“I-I’m not sure. I have a new job, and I have to check the schedule.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “I’ve been a terrible friend! I didn’t know that.”
Softening a bit, thoughts of Cole are momentarily forgotten. “No, you’re a good friend. The best of friends. It’s really new! Even Nessa doesn’t know.”
Nessa, who thinks she’s so smooth and that I don’t see her disappear to meet Liam Ashford. I’m not sure why she’s keeping it a secret, but it’s her right to do so.
“I’m giving violin lessons at the community center for a few hours a week. I’ve only given a couple of classes; I’m still on trial.”
“And do you like it? Teaching?”
I think about it and nod. “It’s not what I was planning, but it keeps the violin a part of my life. I thought that cutting it out was for the best, but I missed it too much.”
Poppy takes a sip of her coffee. “I think it’s part of you. I mean, I’ve never had such a gift, but—” She stops talking, looking sheepish.
Raising an eyebrow, a curious question emerges. “How do you know I was gifted?”
“I—” She gives me a guilty smile. “I went online and listened to you play, and Eva…” She rests her hand on her chest. “This is a part of you.”
A familiar lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to clear it. “Yes,” I manage to say. Clearing my throat again, I add, “I’ll let you know about the game in a bit. Let me grab my phone.”
Walking back into my room, I take a couple of deep breaths. I know that Poppy’s intentions are good, and she’s right— cutting the violin completely is like erasing a part of myself.
Picking up the phone, I see a text, its tone unmistakable even in written form, which sends a chill down my spine.
Unknown Number: Come with your friend to the game today. Only one person could be behind these words, commanding and expectant. Cole. I let out a derisive scoff, wondering in what twisted reality he thinks I’d comply.
Me: No.
Cole: Angel…
But I shake my head, refusing to acknowledge it. I won’t let him pull me back into that dark orbit.
Putting the phone down, I try to organize the scattered papers on my desk. It seems like he has given up until the phone vibrates once more.
Cole: I’m done playing nice.
My fingers hover over the screen of my phone, poised to respond. Like you ever did, I type out, the words are too reflective of my bitterness. I pause, my thumb hovering over the delete key. Engaging with him, even in anger, is playing his game. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
Cole: You think it’ll burn nicely? You can watch the experiment live after the game if you don’t come.
My breath catches in my throat at the photo of my violin on what I assume is his bed. How did he get it? How did he know where to find it? So many questions that will never be answered.
Closing my eyes, I allow the sense of defeat to wash over me. Maybe it’s for the best, after all. Maybe I’ll be better if everything is gone.
Me: Burn it.
I lie back on the bed, the phone against my chest, and for the next few minutes, I’m grieving that stupid violin, but Max’s words resonate stronger than anything. Stronger than my pain and bleeding heart.
“Never hand him your power. Own it, and you control the fight.”
I should know better, though; he is no better than a dog with a bone, and then he sinks even lower.
Cole: You know what’s funny? The Westbrooks are the biggest donors of Crescent Academy. It would be sad for the soccer coach to be fired.
My heart drops, and I sit up on the bed. My father’s job, our financial stability, everything hangs in the balance. The thought of losing the one thing that’s keeping us afloat after my mother’s cancer treatments and my own costly aspirations is unbearable.
The realization that he would stoop to such depths to control me, to hurt me, ignites a fire within me. My response is almost automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to protect what’s most important.
Me: He made the school win the championship five years in a row.
It’s a feeble defense against his malicious intent, but I cling to it, desperate to believe that my father’s accomplishments would shield him from Cole’s wrath.
His reply is a cold reminder of the power he wields and the influence his family has over Crescent Academy.
Cole: He did, but is he worth three million a year?
The words are a gut punch, a clear message that my father, my family, is just another pawn in his twisted game.
In that moment, any remnants of the person I once thought I knew, the person I once loved, evaporates. A new level of hatred for Cole Westbrook takes root in my heart, a hatred that’s raw and all-consuming.
Me: I’ll be there.
This concession tastes like ash in my mouth.
Cole: Good Girl 😉
I flip my finger at my phone. I’m not going to be a passive participant in this vendetta anymore. He wants to go after my family?
Fine! It’s war you want? You’ll get it.
The crisp fall air is tinged with the excitement and buzz of the upcoming soccer game.
“I’m happy you decided to come,” Poppy says, linking her arm with mine on one side, Nessa on the other. “I feel better with you around.”
“I’m happy to be here.”
I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for being here, not just to support Poppy but also to thwart any further harm Cole might inflict on my family.
As we find our seats, I settle in with a sense of reluctant anticipation. My eyes involuntarily dart to the field, and my scowl deepens when I catch him glancing in my direction.
“Huh…” I start, looking at the giant screen showing the players’ positions.
“What?” Poppy leans in, her voice laced with curiosity.
“They went for a 4-2-3-1 formation,” I comment, my focus completely shifting to the game’s strategy.
“Okay?” Poppy sounds unsure but interested.
I find myself momentarily forgetting about Cole as I explain, “The 4-2-3-1 formation consists of four defenders, two defensive midfielders, three attacking midfielders, and one striker.” I point at the screen. “It’s about balance, offering solid defense and creative attack. The midfielders can shift the game’s dynamic, especially when one pairs up closely with the striker. In this case, it’s Ethan and Cole.” Saying his name still sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.
Poppy whistles. “You really know your soccer.”
“My father is a coach at Crescent Academy,” I reply, a hint of pride in my voice. “I was raised breathing soccer.”
As the game progresses, I can’t help but admire the fluidity of the players on the field. The Lions play with a precision and energy that’s captivating, and even if I hate to admit it, Cole is a beast on that field—one of the best strikers I’ve ever seen. He eventually scores the winning goal, and the crowd erupts into cheers. He turns his smug smile right toward me, and I don’t know if he’s actually looking for me or pacifying his adoring fans with a little attention, but I look down at my feet and glower.
Ethan jogs over to us, his face flushed with victory. Poppy’s eyes light up, and the way they share a look full of unspoken words and emotions makes my heart squeeze with happiness for her and aching memories of high school.
Trying to distract myself from the bittersweet feelings, my gaze wanders over the stands. My eyes lock onto Jenny’s figure in the crowd, and it feels like the air is sucked out of my lungs. My grip on the cup of soda tightens, causing the plastic to creak. Jenny, Cole’s ex-girlfriend, was the one who had warned me that they were “endgame.” The memory of her shouting at Derek to follow me, to make me pay on Cole’s behalf, sends a wave of nausea through me.
I look at her, barely wearing any clothes despite the coolness of the stadium.
She saunters down, and as soon as she jumps on him, kissing his cheek, I turn away.
For once, none of Max’s words of wisdom or reassurances can quell the pain and echo of fear rising in my throat. The sight of her, a ghost from a past I’ve been trying to escape, reignites old anxieties and doubts. She’s a harsh reminder of a time when I was vulnerable, easily manipulated, and utterly lost in the chaos of Cole’s world.
Is this why he wanted me to come? To flaunt his life at me? How nothing has changed for him, and how he’s still always on top while he managed to take almost everything from me?
I say almost because I still have my life, despite what I thought at the time, and I am doing my best to rebuild.
“You’re staying?” I ask Poppy far more sharply than I intend once Ethan disappears down the stairs and into the internal hall.
She jerks back at the sharpness of my tone, and Nessa frowns, probably sensing the switch in me.
She stands up. “I-well… I was planning to, but if you want me to come home with you, I can.”
That drains all my anger and frustration, only leaving guilt for doing that to my friend. The last thing I want to do is dim her joy. I want her to be so happy.
I smile. “No! Oh, Poppy, I’m sorry. I’m just distracted right now.” I pull her into a hug. “No, please go be with your man. He’s waiting for you.”
“Yeah, he’s gonna hammer down,” Nessa adds, and I laugh.
“I’ll see you later!” Poppy calls with a wave before going down the stairs and to the player tunnel.
“We’re not going to see her later,” Nessa says, standing beside me.
Turning toward her, I sign, “No, we won’t.”
Her eyes light up like I have given her the best present. “You know how to sign?”
A shrug accompanies the response. “I’m learning online. It’s not great yet, but—”
The chance to finish is cut short as she pulls me into a hug, the first of its kind. Her usual reservation about physical affection makes this moment particularly meaningful.
I am grateful that Nessa is the quiet type because right now, I really don’t want to talk. I’m not even sure what I feel or what I think. I also don’t really know why it hurts so much to see him with her, and yet…
A sigh escapes me upon reaching the apartment, the weight of my emotions still present.
Nessa puts her bag on the counter and looks at me. “Do we need booze? Of course we do,” she continues before I get a chance to reply. She points toward her bedroom. “Let me get my fake ID, and we’ll go get some.”
I twist my mouth to the side. The girl on her ID looks nothing like her except for her silver-and-purple hair.
“What?”
“I’ve seen that ID. It’s not the best.”
She shrugs. “No, but when I get questioned, I play the deaf girl.”
“You are a deaf girl.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. People get panicky and give me what I want.”
I chuckle as she disappears into the bedroom. Her phone vibrates on the counter, and I automatically look at it.
BB: Want to help me stretch after the game? I can be downstairs in ten.
I assume BB stands for “British Boy” or something of the sort, but all in all, I know it’s Liam. Why they are keeping it a secret, though, is beyond me, but I get we all have our reasons to do things.
The thing is, I want my friend to have her fun; Nessa deserves it. I know she wouldn’t mind staying here with me while I mope in the deadly cocktail she’ll make for the occasion, but I want more for her. She needs whatever Liam will give her—laughter, orgasms, whatever else will be better than being stuck with me here.
Stepping away from her phone, she emerges, ID in hand. “Come on, let’s go buy the booze. I’ve seen some killer cocktails online.”
I grimace. “Do you mind if I take a rain check? I still have a paper to finish, and I have to wake up early.”
“Oh. Are you sure?” She grabs her phone and reads the text, her face flushing a little, and I do my best to hide my smile.
“Yeah, plus I might take a nap.”
“Okay, I will go… umm… for a walk.”
“Yes, it will do you some good, I’m sure.” My lip quivers.
She grabs her bag and practically runs out.
Laughter is still in the air when the buzzer unexpectedly rings.
“Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Startled, I suddenly realize it’s Cole. Of course, it’s him. He’s chosen to torture me now instead of being with Jenny.
Bile rises in my throat.
“Let me up, Angel, or I’ll find my way,” he says, his tone laced with a threat.
A part of me wants to deny him entry, to shut him out of my life for good. But another part, a braver part, decides it’s time to face him, to reclaim the power he’s held over me for too long.
Fine, you want to play… Let’s play.
“Come up,” I say, pressing the button to open the door.
I’m getting my power back tonight. Though he may have the upper hand right now, it’s time for me to have some leverage, too.
