Chapter 23

“Say why,” he pressed, his voice tight now. “Say it like it’s not just some rule we made up to make ourselves feel better.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“You want me to say it?” she snapped. “Fine. Because it’s wrong. Because our parents would lose it. Because it would ruin everything. Because she—” her voice caught for half a second “—she’s my best friend.”

The words hung there.

Heavy.

Real.

Undeniable.

Madden’s jaw clenched.

“I know all of that,” he said.

“Then act like it.”

“I am acting like it!” he shot back. “I’m trying to be with her, Poppi. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

The question hit harder than anything else.

Poppi blinked, thrown off for a second.

“I—” She stopped. Reset. “Yes.”

“Then why do you look like that?” He asked.

“Like what?” She said, scrunching her face.

“Like I just did something to you.”

Her throat tightened.

“Because you did,” she said before she could stop herself.

Silence cracked between them.

Madden stilled.

“What does that mean?” he asked, quieter now.

Poppi shook her head immediately. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted, her voice rising. “That’s the whole point. None of this matters because we’re not doing anything about it.”

He let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Then why does it feel like everything matters?” he asked.

She looked at him then—really looked at him—and that was the problem.

Because he looked the same.

Same eyes.

Same tension.

Same pull.

Nothing had changed.

Not really.

“That’s the part we ignore,” she said softly.

He took another step closer.

She didn’t move this time.

“That’s not working,” he said.

“I know.”

“Then what are we doing?”

Her voice broke, just slightly. “Surviving it.”

He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah? Because it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like we’re just… dragging it out.”

“Better than destroying everything in five seconds,” she shot back.

“Or maybe,” he said, stepping even closer now, his voice dropping, “we’re just too scared to admit what this actually is.”

Her breath caught.

“You don’t get to say that,” she whispered.

“Why not?”

“Because if you say it out loud, it becomes real.”

“It is real.”

The words hit like a spark to gasoline.

Poppi’s chest rose sharply. “Stop.”

“Why?” he pushed. “So we can go back inside and pretend I don’t feel anything when you walk into a room? Pretend you didn’t just walk out because you couldn’t sit there and watch me with her?”

Her eyes burned.

“You don’t know why I walked out.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.”

She opened her mouth—

Nothing came out.

His gaze softened, just slightly.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s what I thought.”

The space between them shrank to almost nothing.

Too close.

Way too close.

Poppi’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We’re not doing this again.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Their breathing was uneven now, matching without trying.

“That’s exactly why we can’t do this,” she said, but her voice lacked the strength it had before.

Madden’s hand twitched at his side—like he was fighting himself.

Like he was losing.

“I tried,” he said, almost to himself. “I went in there and I tried.”

“I know.”

“And it still felt like I was doing something wrong.”

Her chest tightened painfully. “Because you’re not supposed to want me.”

The words landed between them like a confession.

Like a line drawn and immediately blurred.

Madden’s eyes searched hers.

“And you’re not supposed to want me,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t move away.

And that was enough.

The tension snapped tighter.

Pulled.

Dangerously close to breaking.