“No. I hadn’t seen her in a year. I just met her again. Why is that even relevant?”

“Well, what are you gonna do when she wants to put her hands on you. How are you going to deal with that?”

“I like it when she touches me.” The words are like a backhand for her, so I keep going. “I don’t get anxious. I don’t need distractions. She’s good for me.”

She’s silent for a while before a look of malice appears. “Maybe not any more, though. May not after she sees that picture.”

There’s no point in arguing with her. The conversation isn’t rational. She only wants to cause pain.

I key the code back into her phone and go through the rest of her social media profiles, checking to see where the image was sent. I find it in a group message that included Poppy. She hasn’t seen it yet. But she will.

I hold up the phone. “This was your plan?”

“You spend all this time with her, send her flowers like she’s all yours, but what if she doesn’t want you after this?”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Confusion mars her face. I used to think she was attractive, but now I know what’s inside her.

“I’m helping you,” she says.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Sure it does. Is she worth it if she can’t get over this? I mean, does she even know the rumors about you are true? I bet she doesn’t.”

“You should go get your friend.” I toss the phone to her.

“That’s it?”

I give her a blank look.

“Okay, fine. Suit yourself. I’ll be in Chicago in a few weeks.”

“You’re not getting me, Tash. This is it. There’s no more. We’re toxic for each other, and you need…something I can’t give you. I won’t do this with you any more. I don’t want to.”

“Because of this girl?”

“Yes. And because I can finally see what I was doing to myself, and letting you do to me. I don’t want to be this way, and I don’t have to.”

“I could try—”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want to try with you. Look what you just did to me. I can’t trust you. I need you to stop. Leave Poppy alone. Whatever happens between her and me after this, I can’t have you messing with her life the way you did mine.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

I give her a look. “It would only take a phone call. You know that. It’s not something I want to do, but I will if you force me.”

Tash laughs, but it’s a flat sound. “So that’s it?”

“Aye. You need to go.” When she takes a step toward me, I put a hand up and ward her off.

Her head drops. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“And I mean it when I say no contact. Especially with Poppy.”

Her expression is broken as she regards me. “Fine.”

As soon as the door clicks behind her, I drop to the couch. I’m shaky and on edge, as is typical after altercations with Tash. But there’s a tiny little seed of relief within me too. Tash may not have gotten my message, but I think I did. I’m ready to move forward. Be different. Even if it’s a hard road ahead.

I need something to replace all this unease, so I send a message to Poppy. She’s been so trusting, and now Tash has to come in and try to fuck it all up. What a fantastic legacy that will be if I’ve managed to get rid of her, only just a little too late.

It’s the middle of the night, so I don’t expect a reply. All I can do is hope I’m the first person she calls when she gets up in the morning. If I’m not, things are going to be that much worse.

CHAPTER 22

HOW MUCH REALITY

IS TOO MUCH?

POPPY

My phone wakes me, not because the alarm is going off, but because it’s ringing. I don’t get to it before it stops. I have enough time to note a million and one alerts lighting up my screen before it rings again.

It’s Lance.

My stomach flips. He’s coming home today. He’s sleeping over tonight. Well, he’s staying over; based on the messages we’ve exchanged the past few days, I don’t think much sleeping will be involved.

I answer the call. “Hi.” My voice is sleep raspy.

“Fuck. Thank fuck. Hey. Hi. I woke you, didn’t I?”

Something in his tone puts me on edge. I roll onto my back, willing my heart to stop slamming around in my chest. “I have to get up soon anyway. Is everything okay? You sound…agitated.”

Lance clears his throat. “Everything’s, uh, a little fucked up, to be honest.”

The anxiety I’ve been working so hard to curb via extra yoga sessions, cookies and tea with Mr. Goldberg, and nights out with April this week suddenly wraps its fingers around my throat and squeezes the air out of my lungs.

“I need you—” Noise in the background makes it hard to hear him for a few seconds. “—Please, Poppy.”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Poppy? You there?”

“Here. Sorry. I missed some of that.”

He exhales in a rush, the sound whooshing into my ear. It matches the blood pumping through my veins. “How much you miss?”

“All I got was that things are fucked up and the I need you part.”

“Look, Poppy, I’m gonna ask you to do something, and it’s gonna make you want to do the opposite.”