I royally fucked up. Grabbing the baseball bat Eva discarded, I smash the TV, releasing all my pent-up frustration.
The sound of shattering glass mirrors the chaos inside my head. Each swing of the bat amplifies my regret. I’m haunted by the memory of Poppy’s lips, her warmth, and the coldness that followed.
Why did I bring Cole along? Why interfere in her healing? At the ball, she revealed her bottled-up pain, and it haunted me. I wanted to support her, but instead, I complicated things.
The bat connects with a porcelain vase, sending shards flying in all directions. The destruction around me is a mirror of the mess I’ve made of things. I should’ve respected her boundaries and given her the space she needed. But no, I had to play the hero, the fixer. And in doing so, I might’ve pushed her further away.
I can still hear her voice, the tremor in it as she said, “I can’t, Ethan.” Those words sting more than any physical blow ever could. I thought that moment, that kiss, was the beginning of something beautiful, something real. But now, it seems like the end of a dream I was foolish enough to believe in.
Surrounded by broken objects, I drop the bat, my hands shaking. I sink to the floor, overwhelmed by my mistakes. Closing my eyes, all I see is her confused and hurt expression.
I am good at fixing things, at making things better for people, unless it’s Poppy. Why do I always screw things up with her? Like that stupid “Pauper” nickname back in junior year. I thought I was being funny, trying to get her attention. But all I did was hurt her. And then, instead of fixing it, I made it worse.
I think back to how I accidentally gave her the “Pauper” nickname at the beginning of our junior year, and then I was too proud to take it back. I attempted to invite her for a weekend in Aspen, and, misinterpreting her frown while with my friend, I made a foolish remark about showing her what true wealth was, as opposed to being a pauper. That’s when my friend blurted out, “Poppy the Pauper,” and the name stuck. I was a foolish, self-centered boy feeling rejected—a view she still seems to hold when she looks at me, and my actions today certainly didn’t help, intruding on a moment that should have been solely hers.
Running my fingers through my hair, I feel at a loss. I’m desperate for her to see I’m no longer that clueless kid. That I genuinely care about her. But that realization is hard to prove if I repeat past errors.
I don’t need to apologize. I need to show her, not only with words but with actions, that I’ve changed.
I leave the rage room, the door slamming behind me with a finality that echoes my own sentiments. The facilitator, Ted, looks up, his mohawk slightly askew, probably from all the commotion earlier. I pull out my wallet, handing him some extra cash. “For the trouble,” I mutter, not meeting his eyes.
He takes the money, nodding. “It’s not every day we get that kind of drama,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Hope you sort things out.”
I grunt in response, heading to my car. The drive home is a blur, my mind racing with thoughts of Poppy, of the mess I’ve made, how I can fix things, and also of Cole. That guy is a ticking time bomb, and I have a sense he is about to explode.
Arriving home, my suspicions are confirmed. I walk in to find him half-drunk, sprawled out in the living room, a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. My anger, which was back to simmering just below the surface, boils over. Without thinking, I kick the chair out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor.
He shoots up, his face contorting in rage. “What’s your problem, Hawthorne?” he barks.
I point at him, my voice thick with anger. “You promised, Cole! You said you’d back off from Eva, that you wouldn’t push her anymore. You gave me your word. Why can’t you leave her alone?”
Struggling to his feet, Cole’s eyes blaze with defiance. “You think you can control everything, Ethan? She’s not your concern.”
“She’s Poppy’s friend, and it’s hurting her!” I shoot back. “You promised you’d give her space, let her heal. But you can’t help yourself, can you?”
Cole sneers, taking a defiant swig from his bottle. “Eva and I have history. Something you’ll never understand.”
His voice takes on a bitter edge. “She betrayed me, Ethan. Do you even know what betrayal is?”
I laugh bitterly at Cole’s words and meet his gaze, anger and memories swirling. “I’m a Hawthorne, Cole. I know betrayal all too well.” I pause, the weight of a particular memory pressing down. “Especially when it comes to Poppy.”
Cole smirks, taking another swig from his bottle. “Oh, what did you call her? The pauper, right? What could she possibly have done to you?”
I know he’s trying to bait me, wanting to fight to distract me from what is unveiling now, from his potential moment of weakness.
I take a deep breath, the past rushing back. “Junior year, things were changing between Poppy and me. Despite our silly rivalry, which I admit I started, there was a strange trust. I even started to hope that by the end of the year, we could put everything behind us.”
Cole’s smirk widens, but there’s curiosity in his eyes. “And?”
I clench my fists, the memory’s burden palpable. “Then everything fell apart. My father took me into his library with his lawyer. They told me about Alan Lockwood, about the alleged theft and betrayal. They suspected Poppy and her mother were involved. And I believed them.”
Cole smirks, but it’s devoid of humor. “Looks like the pauper played you.”
My voice carries a note of remorse. “No. Poppy was innocent. But by the time I realized it, I had already lashed out. I said, ‘Now you’ll be living in the slums where you belong… Pauper,’ and everyone laughed, even her so-called friends. I accused her of betrayal, believed the worst about her, and I’ve regretted it every day since.”
Shame floods through me; at the time she needed comfort and care the most, I gave her disdain and mockery. I can’t blame her for reacting to me the way she is now. Thinking back, I think I deserve even far less than what she’s giving me.
Cole’s smirk fades, replaced by a contemplative look. “You think you understand betrayal because of a high school spat?”
“It wasn’t just a spat, Cole. It was a mistake, one that I’m still paying for. But unlike some,” I say, glancing pointedly at the bottle in his hand, “I’m trying to make amends, not dig myself deeper.”
Cole’s eyes darken, his own regrets flashing through. “We all have our demons, Hawthorne. Some hide them better than others.”
“Well, based on Eva’s reactions, you got your revenge.” Cole’s face contorts in pain.
“I thought I’d moved on. But seeing Eva again… It’s become an obsession.”
“Obsession, Cole? Do you hear yourself? That’s unhealthy.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
I grab the bottle from his hand and put it on the counter. “Go sleep it off, and once you wake up with the headache of all headaches, I’ll deal with you.”
Cole glares at me, but thankfully, he grumbles something under his breath and sways his way to his bedroom.
As I begin to clean up the mess in the living room, the front door opens to reveal Liam. He stands in the doorway, silently taking in the scene. He tosses his car keys into the bowl by the door, his movements deliberate and controlled, his gaze shifting from me to the half-drunk whiskey bottle on the counter. Methodically, he begins removing his jacket.
“Don’t say anything,” I warn, retrieving the bottle top from under the coffee table.
Liam’s voice is as cool as ice. “Wasn’t planning to.” He starts to head toward his bedroom, but I can’t let him go without knowing.
“How’s Nessa doing?”
He stops, turning slowly. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a hint of steel in his eyes. “How do you think she’s doing, Ethan?” He pauses, letting the weight of his silence fill the room as he crosses his arms, the gesture emphasizing his broad shoulders. “She’s Nessa. She puts on a brave face, but her friend had a breakdown. I picked up some bottles for her at the liquor store.”
I smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “Liam Ashford buying alcohol for someone under twenty-one… What would people say? And you seem to know her quite well.” I don’t miss his unexpected familiarity with Nessa, though. There’s far more there than he would have us believe.
Ignoring my comment, he continues, “It’s funny, though. I advised you to give them space. To not interfere with their game. Yet, what did you do?”
“Liam, I’m not in the mood for a moral lesson.”
His gaze sharpens, challenging me. “Is that right? And what are you in the mood for? More chaos?”
“It wasn’t supposed to spiral out of control like that.”
His voice rises, a rare show of emotion. “Of course it was! It’s Cole and Eva! Putting them in the same room, especially with weapons, was the stupidest thing you could have done, Ethan. The stupidest!”
I wince, feeling the weight of his words. “Cole promised—”
“Cole is unpredictable even on his best days.” Liam takes a deep breath, visibly trying to control his frustration. “You need to handle this, Ethan. You made this mess; now clean it up.” His voice drips with sarcasm as he adds, “Mr. Fix-it.” With that, he turns on his heel and disappears into his room.
I slump on the couch, staring blankly at the black TV screen. The enormity of today’s mistakes weighs like a ton of bricks on my chest. I can’t shake off the feeling that I’ve pushed Poppy too far this time. She’s fiercely protective of those she loves, and I inadvertently placed her friend in harm’s way. I let out a heavy sigh, rubbing my temples.
The unexpected ping of my phone breaks through my self-loathing. I pick it up, half expecting another rant from Liam or a drunk text from Cole. But it’s from Poppy. My heart races as I read the short message, but it means everything. It’s a glimmer of hope that I’ve not fucked it all up.
I’m up in an instant. This isn’t something to be hashed out over text. I need to see her face to face. I grab my jacket and keys in a rush, the urgency clear. If there’s even a sliver of a chance to make things right, I’m taking it.
