Chapter 11 #2
Right now, she feels like I’m the one carrying both of them.
But she’s carried me, too. When I went through the fire academy, it was her and Owen there at my graduation with my sister.
When things were bad with my parents, it was Poppy’s window I used to sneak into to stay the night.
Poppy’s been there for me more than she’ll ever know.
And I would do anything for her. Anything. I need her to understand this.
I don’t say it right away.
I reach for her instead, my hands settling lightly on her hips, drawing her in just enough that I have to tilt my head to meet her gaze, just enough that I can read her face. Her palms land softly on my shoulders, her body leaning slightly into me as she steadies herself.
The idea’s been brewing for a while now, solid, and right, but it’s big. Once I say it, there’s no taking it back.
I’m not hesitating because I don’t want it. I’m hesitating because I don’t know how she’ll react.
I take a breath and go for it. “I think we should go down to the courthouse and just get married. Make it official and move in together. That way, we protect Owen. We establish a stable home in the apartment. We get out from under your dad’s mess, and the CPS mess, and we live a simple, good life.
We can figure out everything later. Let’s just do it. ”
She looks like she’s trying to steady herself. “You really mean this?”
“I do,” I say, letting her see it in my eyes. “I want this.”
She paces the room, still catching herself. “Wow.”
I reach for her hands. “Do you want this?”
Her eyes meet mine. “I… I do. But what would that even look like? Being married...”
I squeeze her hands, smiling softly. “I love you. I take care of you. You have somewhere and someone warm and safe to come home to at the end of every day. You and Owen. You’re my best friend, always.
We eat, talk, laugh. Nothing really changes except we sign a legally binding contract to be best friends for life.
You, me, Owen… we could be a family. Stable. Loving. Real.”
Her lips part, eyes glistening. “That… that actually sounds… possible.”
“Because it is,” I say, my voice quiet but certain. “If you want it, we’ll make it real. Together.”
“I just feel like you’re doing too much for us, Ollie. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.”
“Love isn’t transactional, Poppy. We’re here for each other, we always have been,” I say as I twitch my hands, wanting to reach out and pull her to me.
The room goes quiet. So much isn’t being said out loud that probably needs to be.
I take a breath. “I love you,” I say quietly. “I always have. And I always will.”
It’s not a confession. It’s a truth we’ve been standing on for years but afraid to say out loud, instead I showed it through my actions, it’s the only way I knew how.
She doesn’t speak for a long second. When she finally looks at me, her eyes are bright, like she’s holding something fragile together with sheer will.
“I love you so much,” she says, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t breathe at the thought of losing you.”
“You and Owen are my world. My family.” The word lands exactly where it’s meant to. Family. Not longing. Not want. Not romance, at least not the kind either of us is brave enough to name.
This is the love that shows up. The love that stays. The love that doesn’t ask for anything in return.
And that’s why neither of us questions it.
And this is what happens when two people who grew up in loveless homes try to find love as adults. We struggle because we were raised with conditions.
I’m still sitting on the edge of the bed while she paces in front of me, hands twisting, shoulders tight.
Standing like this, she’s taller than me, all restless energy and motion, like she doesn’t know where to put herself.
I reach out and catch her wrist gently, grounding her just long enough to get her attention.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She stops. Looks down at me.
I lean forward and rest my forehead against her stomach, right where she’s warm and real and close. It’s not dramatic. It’s instinct. A quiet anchor.
“I’m gonna meet you where you’re at, Poppy,” I murmur. “We can figure it all out.”
She exhales shakily, one hand coming to my shoulder, fingers curling into my shirt like she’s holding on.
And for a moment, the world slows enough for both of us to breathe.
She nods a little and I tug on her to sit down next to me. I pull her to me and give her a big hug. She smells so good and feels so good. God, I love hugging her.
Her voice is small. “Can we just start out fake? Then...”
“You want this to be fake, we’ll do fake,” I agree. But it kills me. There’s nothing fake about my love for Poppy. And I’m going to show her that. But damn if I don’t love her so much that I’d do anything for her.
“Pretend,” she corrects. “Not fake.”
I shrug. “We can pretend.”
She nods, tears shining but not falling. She looks relieved and happy.
“So,” I say lightly, because if I don’t make this funny, I might explode. “Are you gonna marry me, Poppy Grace Murphy, and make me the happiest man in the world?”
She snorts through her tears. “I’d love to get rid of the Murphy last name.”
“Me too,” I say. “I’m very excited to upgrade you. Although I’m not sure what kind of upgrade Kendrick is.”
She laughs, really laughs, and it’s my favorite sound in the world. “But I hate to leave Owen behind and not have his be the same as mine.”
Ours. I want to correct her, but I don’t. We’re still pretending, I remind myself.
“Okay, so we’re really doing this,” she says. “We’re getting pretend married.”
“We’re getting married.” I wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll wear something hot.”
“You always do,” she mutters.
I grin. “Poppy, are you flirting with your fiancé?”
She scoffs, trying to hide her grin. “No.”
“Kinda sounds like it,” I say, pulling her in close, loving the warmth of her and feel of her.
“Are you sure you’re okay with us moving in with you? That’s a big step,” she says as she bites her lip.
“Babe, we’re getting married. That’s a natural step after marriage,” I tease.
Her eyes soften when I call her babe, and I make note of that.
“Okay, then. I have to figure out how to get Owen on board. Should we tell him it’s pretend?”
“He’s on board with whatever,” I say. “He just needs to know the plan. We can be straight with him.”
She looks at me, worry flickering across her face. “What do we tell our friends?”
“What do you want to tell them?” I say softly, taking her hand in mine.
“I think we should tell them privately what we’re doing, but I think we need to act real with everyone else.
We don’t know who turned me into CPS. And I think you’re right.
If Monica gets wind that this isn’t real, she’s going to think we’re even more messed up and take Owen away,” she says, shaking her head.
“First off, we’re not messed up,” I say, cupping her chin. “We’re real. And we’ve always been there for each other and for Owen. That is real.”
She nods, her voice dropping. “How do we act in public? Are we supposed to kiss? What if it doesn’t look real?”
I smile, slow and knowing, letting my gaze linger on her mouth for a little too long. “Trust me,” I say quietly. “When we kiss, no one’s going to question whether it’s real.”
“Well, what if we kiss and it’s weird?” she says, quieter now. “Like it looks awkward and they think we’re bullshitting.”
My gaze drops to her mouth before I catch myself. I lift my eyes back to hers, voice low. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
She nods, swallowing. “Yeah. I want it to look real.”
I lean closer, close enough that the air between us changes. “It would,” I say softly. “Nothing about kissing you would be fake.”
Before she can think better of it, I kiss her, slowly and deliberate, like I’ve waited my whole life for this exact second. Because I have. My lips settle against hers, and she exhales into me, melting instantly, like her body’s been holding this in just as long as mine has.
She kisses me back, tentative at first, then her fingers curl into my shirt.
I deepen the kiss, tilting her just right, my hand sliding to cradle the back of her neck as I take my time learning her.
Every breathy soft sound she makes goes straight to my cock, and I have to work damn hard to regulate that because holy shit, I’m kissing Poppy.
I pull her closer until she’s straddling my lap, warm and genuine and exactly where she belongs, my hands framing her face as the kiss turns slow and hungry and impossibly intimate.
My tongue finds hers, and she moves over my cock with her pussy, feeling it and kissing me even harder, making breathier noises. Just like I thought, there’s nothing pretend about this. We have it all. The friendship and the chemistry.
It steals both of our breath. And I know, without a doubt, that no matter what we call this, pretend or real or somewhere in between, this is the hottest thing I’ve ever felt in my life. I know she feels it, too.
Her hands grip my hair, pulling me in, riding my cock and moaning softly as I kiss her deeply, my hands gripping her bottom, pulling her onto me, entirely making out now.
She pulls back, breathless, her forehead resting on mine.
“Nothing pretend about that,” I whisper.
“We’re so fucked,” she whispers.
God, I hope so.