44. Brookes
brOOKES
Me: Are you okay?
Me: Did you go back to the villa?
Me: I just went back to the villa and you’re not there.
Me: Where are you?
Me: Baby, please let me know you’re okay.
As I stare down at my phone, at the string of unacknowledged text messages, my heart thunders in my chest. I feel sick.
We’re on an island, in a private resort surrounded by dense rainforest. I’m sure she couldn’t have gone far, but I hate that she’s alone right now.
I want to be with her. And if she doesn’t want me with her, then I just need to know she’s okay, goddammit.
Looking up, my gaze automatically lands on the half-empty lowball of amber liquor across the table, and suddenly it’s as if everything around me—the music, the voices, the people—it all fades away until it’s just me and my one vice staring right back at me, taunting me, goading me.
My palms sweat. My skin pricks. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
“D-bag Devereaux.”
Startling, I look up to find Hannah standing above me, one hand on her hip, one eye dubiously narrowed.
“Hannah Banana.” I force a smile.
“Wanna dance with a bride?” Hannah holds her other hand out.
My forced smile relaxes into a genuine one, and I take her hand, rising from my chair. “Sure thing, Mrs. Slater.”
“Has a nice ring to it, huh?” she says over her shoulder as we walk out into the middle of the dance floor, right next to where Happy is currently dancing with his daughter, Lucky. Happy lifts his chin at me, winking slowly at his wife, as we dance to “Run” by Snow Patrol.
I smile down at Hannah, taking her in. “You look really beautiful, Han.”
She beams up at me. “Thanks. I know.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You sound just like Poppy.”
Hannah’s smile turns contemplative. “Where’d she go?”
Forcing my eyes away, I look out over the space, trying to remain indifferent, casual. “She… needed some air.” I shrug a shoulder.
Hannah blinks at me, narrowing one eye when I meet her gaze.
“She was crying.” It’s a statement—an observation—more than a question.
I nod anyway, swallowing hard and looking down between us, at a loss for words to even try to begin explaining why Poppy walked out in tears.
Hell, I don’t even know the answer to that.
“Talk to me, Brookes.”
Looking back out over the party, avoiding Hannah’s scrupulous gaze, I huff a humorless laugh, considering my words. And, forcing myself to meet her eyes, I decide what the hell. “We’re not… really together.”
Her eyebrows tug together.
“Poppy and me. It’s… fake.” I answer her unspoken questions, gritting my teeth before continuing, “I’m paying her.”
Hannah’s blue eyes go wide as she processes what I’ve just told her.
“I needed to clean up my act to keep my tour card,” I say with another casual shrug, like it’s no big deal. “Poppy was a cart girl at my course, and I offered her the job. We’re not… it’s not real.”
Hannah studies me, her curious gaze flashing with a glint that highlights the smile ghosting her lips.
“What?” I question her silence.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Brookes, the way that woman looks at you.” She laughs softly. “The adoring sideways glances. The way her cheeks flush when you touch her…” Hannah trails off, shaking her head to herself, her smile knowing. “You can’t fake that.”
I open my mouth to object, but Hannah cuts me off. “Fake or not… trust me when I tell you that that woman is head over heels in love with you, Brookes.”
I stare at her for a long beat, allowing her words to sink in. And when they finally do, they hit me like a goddamn freight train, straight in the chest.
Hannah’s lips curl with a knowing smile. “Go find your girl, Brookes.” Her gaze flits to the side, to Happy, her smile turning watery as she looks back at me. “And when you find her, hold onto her.”
Leaning in, I press a kiss to Hannah’s cheek. And then, huffing a breath, I push my hair back from my face, my gaze scanning the space as I rack my brain with where she might be. Then, when I get an idea, I offer Hannah one last smile before turning and practically running out of the tent.
It doesn’t take me long before I find her a few hundred yards up the beach. Perched there on the white sand, hugging her knees, staring out over the ocean, barely lit by the faint glow of the crescent moon hanging up above.
For a moment, I just stand here, watching her, contemplating my next move while the music from the wedding reception floats through the gentle breeze, a faint tune battling against the contradicting crash of the waves and the hammering of my heart.
I love this woman. I love her more than I thought I could ever love anyone.
It’s scary and exciting and fucking crazy as hell, and I’m almost certain that I’ll fuck this up in one way or another, but I know, without a doubt, that I need her in my life.
I want her. And I’m not willing to let her go without a fight.
“Truth or dare?” I say on my approach, loud enough for her to hear me over the ocean.
Poppy startles, turning to look at me over her shoulder. She blinks, her gaze raking me up and down. And then, so softly, she says, “Truth.”
With a hard exhale, I take a seat on the sand next to her, pulling my legs up.
“Truth,” I repeat, glancing at her and offering her an encouraging nod before looking back out over the inky water and waiting for her to talk.
“My dad isn’t really dead.”
A thick swallow works its way down my throat at her whispered confession, but I keep my gaze trained on the horizon, waiting for more.
“He’s… in prison.”
From my periphery I see her look down then, and it takes all I have not to reach for her, to pull her into my arms. I don’t though; I just wait.
“A few months after I was… raped,” Poppy continues, her voice small and broken as she says the word.
Fuck, it tears my heart in two. “My dad was a mechanic, and he was working in his garage… and one of the—” She pauses, and I glance at her, watching as she rolls her lips together, biting them between her teeth before finally continuing.
“One of my rapists brought his car in to get fixed. And… m-my dad, he just…” She shakes her head then, staring vacantly out over the water.
“He snapped. He… um, he b-beat him to death with a socket wrench… right there, in front of everyone.”
“Shit, Poppy,” I whisper, unable to stop myself, turning to gape at her. “I—” Lost for words, I shake my head, dragging a hand down over my face. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“He was on trial for murder. He would have been sentenced with the death penalty,” she continues. “But his lawyer was able to have his charge reduced. He’ll be in there for life… he’s not eligible for parole because of how… violent… the attack was.”
I stare at her for a long moment, watching as she stares straight ahead, not looking at me, and my fingers itch to touch her, but still, I refrain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Poppy looks at me then. “Remember that first night, when you were waiting for me in the parking lot?”
I nod.
“One of the first things you said to me, when I asked you why me,” she continues, “was that you didn’t want messy.”
I go to speak, but she continues.
“My dad is in prison for killing my rapist,” she says on a humorless laugh. “How much messier can it get?”
Cocking my head to the side, I frown, searching her tearful gaze. “Poppy, I—”
“I don’t want people to know, Brookes.” She shakes her head, vehemently, and I see the way her chest hitches with a panicked breath.
“It’s all so messed up,” she continues, her words rushed.
“My father doesn’t want me to go see him.
He won’t call me. He doesn’t even touch the money I send to his commissary account every month.
He said I’m better off pretending he’s dead. ”
I do touch her then, placing my hand on her shoulder, unable to stop myself because I can see just how worked up she’s getting.
“My mom all but hates me. She’s never said so, but I’m sure she blames me for everything.
But I still took her husband’s name the second she remarried.
” Poppy sniffles, wiping her tears with the back of her shaky hand.
“When I moved away for college, I escaped that part of my life. But I didn’t want that constant reminder that I made a shitty mistake one night that cost me almost everything.
I can’t risk anyone finding out about this, Brookes… ”
“No one will find out about this,” I assure her, moving to kneel in front of her so she’s forced to look directly into my eyes. Cupping her tear-soaked cheeks, I steady her with an earnest look. “I promise, baby. I will never let—”
“Brookes,” she interjects, her smile sad. “With you… people will know.”
I shake my head. “No. They won’t. I’ll make sure of it. I don’t know how, but I—”
“Blake knows, Brookes.”
Poppy’s words are like a slap to my face, knocking me senseless for a few seconds. Blinking hard, I stare at her closely, wondering if maybe I misheard her. “What?”
Clearing her throat, Poppy smiles despite her tears. “He knows.”
And as I stare at her, processing exactly what she’s just told me, thinking back over the last couple days, back to when everything between us changed seemingly overnight, an uncontainable rage surges through me, bubbling beneath the surface of my skin and searing my veins.
I take a deep breath, holding it a moment before releasing it as steadily as I can.
With a hard swallow, I try so hard to keep my voice calm as I say, “Poppy, I need you to tell me right fucking now… what did Blake say to you?”