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I smile. “Just know that I’m not happy about this. I want you here.”

“Noted, too.” She kisses me softly, then takes a step away. “I’m going to grab a few things upstairs.”

I nod because I can’t speak. If I do, I’m going to tell her that I love her. That none of this is fake to me, and it never has been. That I don’t give a shit about what anyone else thinks or says about me or her or our relationship—any of it.

But I’ve told her everything short of those three words, and she’s still walking away. All I can do is let her go. I have to let her make the decision to let me love her on her own.

I stand in the middle of the living room, listening to her footsteps overhead, trying to convince myself that giving her what she asks for is the right thing to do. That overriding the voice yelling in my head is the answer. That what I want doesn’t matter at the moment.

Because I know what I want. I want Poppy Quinn. Every chaotic, stubborn, gorgeous piece of her. I want the life we’ve been pretending to have, and I want it forever.

And this time, when she comes back to me, I want her to know she can have it all—all of me, all of this life together—without giving up a single thing.

I want her to choose herself. Then to know I choose her, too.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

Finn

I sling my bag over my shoulder and make my way through the parking lot, squinting into the bright morning sunlight.

Half the parking lot is filled with my teammates’ vehicles, which annoys me. I like to be one of the first, if not the first, guy in the building every day. It sets a tone, sets expectations of what’s expected in the locker room.

But this morning, I’m dragging ass because the night took forever. I kept reaching to Poppy’s side of the bed only to find cool sheets. Without her next to me, my bed felt too big, too cold, too empty. I wound up crawling out around three this morning and adjusting the thermostat even though I knew the temperature wasn’t the problem.

Wes meets me at the door and does the honors of opening it for us. He steps to the side, letting me go first, and I give him a nod as I pass.

“You ready for day two?” he asks, following me inside.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

“Can’t wait. I’ve been waiting for this since I was a kid.”

I smile at his eagerness, hoping the newness doesn’t wear off too fast. It’s always interesting to watch the rookies come in and see who folds the fastest. I have a feeling that Wes will be okay.

He heads straight for the locker room, but I’m not ready for that madhouse just yet. The guys will be loud, full of piss and passion, and it’s usually a damn good time. But the idea of listening to their stories and dick-measuring contests is the last thing I want to do today.

I don’t even want to be here.

I pull out my phone to see if Poppy replied to the text I sent her before I left the house. There are no missed messages. I sigh, sliding it back into my pocket. Hopefully, she’s still asleep. It is still early, and I know from talking to Layla last night that Poppy took the day off work.

At least she texted me last night. That’s a good sign.

I turn toward the cafeteria, hoping to score a smoothie before the day kicks off. My mind, though, is still on Poppy and the story she told me last night. I had to keep myself from looking up her ex. I’m not sure that I trust myself to have his address or other contact information. But restraining myself from doing it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done—almost as hard as watching Poppy leave.

What I still don’t fully understand is why the fuckhead talked to Exposé. As Poppy said, it has been over a decade. He’d threatened her dad’s freedom, and she’s kept her promise to stay silent. So why say something now?

The only semi-reasonable excuse, apart from the fact that he’s a controlling narcissist piece of shit, is that there was money on the table for him if he gave them something controversial. It was low-hanging fruit for a scumbag.

“Hey, Miller.” Gunther, the tight ends coach, stops in front of me. “Did you just get here?”

I’ve seen him a couple of times over the past couple of weeks, and we briefly shot the shit yesterday. “Yeah.”

“Kepner wants to see you in his office,” he says, swirling a wooden stick around in his coffee. “I told him that I’d send you his way if you hadn’t been there by the time I saw you.”

My jaw sets. Surprise fucking surprise.