Chapter 49
POPPY
Brookes: Can you do me a favor, baby?
My eyebrows knit together at the message that flashes on my phone from Brookes.
He’s been gone all day. In fact, he’s been gone most days for the last week since we’ve been back from Puerto Rico, busy with meetings and interviews, practice sessions, and training, and, of course, daily tee time with his eighty-year-old bestie.
Brookes is prepping for the Open next week, and that’s probably a good thing, since I’ve been so busy with my own work, creating new designs for my range that will be sold exclusively at June’s boutique.
I’m so excited. But also nervous. Scared that no one will buy them.
Worried people will hate them. Terrified to fail…
Shaking my head to rid those self-sabotaging thoughts from my mind, I tap out my reply to Brookes.
Me: Sure. What do you need?
Brookes: [waggling eyebrow gif]
I bite back my laugh.
Me:
Brookes: Can you go into the loft over the pool house and see if I have any Big Swing boxes left in there?
I hop up from my place at the dining table where I’ve been busy working all day, walking outside and basking in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.
Me: I didn’t even know there was a loft over the pool house.
Brookes: Can you hurry? I kind of need to know right now.
Me: Sheesh. Patience is a virtue, Brookes.
I walk into the pool house. Although I’ve seen it through the walls of glass, I’ve never been in here before. It’s really just a recreational room, with a pool table, some couches, some old school arcade games, a huge television, and a wet bar which is, of course, liquor-free.
Brookes: You and I both know I don’t like to wait for what I want.
My skin flushes at his innuendo as I walk up the stairs.
Me: Big Swing box? How big?
Brookes: Massive, baby.
Me: Are we talking about the box, or… something else? I’ve lost track.
Brookes doesn’t respond immediately, but I assume he’s busy and quickly clear the landing, reaching the loft and scanning the sprawling space once my eyes adjust. But when I realize exactly what I’m looking at, my jaw falls open and I suck in a gasp, taken aback by exactly what this is.
Natural light floods the room thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the pool, the main house, and the ocean.
Crisp white walls, brushed oak floor. On the left side of the room, there’s built-in storage cabinets and shelves with a rolling ladder to reach the ones that go all the way up to the ceiling.
In the center of the room is a big L-shaped desk, one side a tilted drafting table, the other side a sit-stand desk that houses what looks to be the latest pink iMac and matching MacBook pro.
Next to the desk is a brand new, state-of-the-art laser cutter, even better than the one I was looking to buy in the one-day sales that are coming up.
There’s a plush white sofa in the corner that looks out over the view, and to the right is a mini photo studio, with what I can tell is a really expensive camera and lighting setup.
I blink hard, studying the space, my heart rate increasing with every beat. I’m forced to grip onto the banister to stop myself from collapsing and falling back down the stairs.
When my phone starts to ring, my hands are trembling so bad I almost drop it, fumbling in my haste to answer the call.
“H-Hello?” I stammer, breathless.
“Hey, baby.” Brookes’ low voice washes over me.
“Brookes…” I say his name on a rushed exhale. “W-What did you do?”
He chuckles. “You like it?”
I balk, scoffing. “I-I… I mean, of course I—you did this for me?”
“Yeah,” he answers simply, like it’s no big deal. But I know how much that laser cutter cost him. Not to mention the computers, the camera, all of it.
“Brookes, I—”
“Baby…” He interrupts whatever I was about to say, hell, I don’t even know. “Just say thank you.”
I hold a hand to my mouth, stifling the sob that’s trying to escape. Because this is so much. Too much. No one has ever, would ever, do something like this for me. Tears prick my eyes, and I sniff back my emotion as best as I can, choking out a garbled, “Thank you.”
“Aw, baby,” Brookes groans. “I wish I could be there with you right now. I wanted to be there to show you, but I’m at the club waiting on fuckin’ Blake. Asshole’s thirty minutes late.”
I grimace at the name. Blake. Brookes sat down with Cam and Blake the day after we returned from Puerto Rico and told them everything. He admitted to them that he and I are together. That he’s in love. With me.
Cam made Brookes promise to keep up with his therapy sessions, but he was otherwise happy.
Blake, on the other hand, was apparently indifferent.
Brookes promised me I don’t need to worry about him, but I can’t help but worry, because I simply don’t trust him.
Not with me. And definitely not with Brookes. The man makes my skin crawl.
“I wanted you to see it while it’s still daylight out.” Brookes’ voice cuts through my thoughts, bringing me to the now, to this beautiful, unimaginably thoughtful thing he did for me.
“This is everything, Brookes,” I say, enamored. “Everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”
“You’re gonna do amazing things, Pops,” Brookes says softly. “And I will be right by your side, cheering you on, helping you any way that I can.”
Swiping at the tears that have fallen onto my cheeks, I’m suddenly more excited and motivated than I’ve ever been. “I’m going to go and grab everything from the dining room right now!”
Brookes chuckles again. “If you wait, I can help you when I get home.”
Home. Brookes saying that word. To me. God, it does something to my insides, something I’ve never felt before. This is home. Here. With Brookes.
I sigh, more content than I’ve ever been. “I love you.”
“I fucking love you,” he says immediately in return and with just as much raw conviction in his tone.
“When will you be back?” I clear my throat. “I mean… home. When will you be home?”
“Fuck, when you say it like that…” he utters under his breath, and I’m not sure he meant for me to hear. “I’m gonna give this asshole five more minutes and then I’m leaving.”
I grin. “I’ll be here. Waiting...”
“Chrissake, baby.” He groans, his sound almost inappropriate considering he’s somewhere in a public space.
“Bye…” I say in a teasing sing-song lilt, ending the call.
And, clutching my phone to my chest, I take another long look at the space—my space—and I swear I feel my heart swell at the thought that Brookes did this all for me.
I’m still smiling to myself like a goof as I walk back into the house. The kitchen table is a mess, and I start packing everything I have into one of my big bins to start moving it into the loft—or my design studio, I guess. I’m still giddy at the thought.
“Hey, Poppy.”
A scream slips out of me, and I startle so suddenly, I drop everything onto the floor, spinning around to find Blake standing right there in the kitchen, leaned casually over on the island counter, watching me with the hint of a smile.
I shift nervously on my feet, suddenly aware that I’m only dressed in a pair of short cotton shorts and a tank top with no bra.
In my defense, I hadn’t planned on leaving the house, and I wasn’t expecting company.
Folding my arms across my chest in an attempt to cover what I can, I move back a few steps, desperate to put as much room between us as I can.
“Oh… H-Hi.” I roll my lips together, my gaze flitting about nervously. “Um…I-I think Brookes is waiting for you… at the-the club,” I say, suddenly confused.
“At the club?” Blake scoffs. “I told him I’d come here….”
He pushes up from the counter, his smirk growing into a full grin but one that doesn’t reflect in his icy stare, and as he walks around the island, heading directly for me, I swallow hard, my fight or flight beginning to stir.
“I can call him,” I say, moving down to pick up my phone from where I dropped it on the floor, but Blake beats me to it, crouching down in front of me and collecting it.
When he stands back up to his full height, his eyes darken as he stares down at me while gripping my phone.
I hold my hand out but he doesn’t give it to me, just continues watching, an unreadable look in his eyes that makes my stomach knot.
“You didn’t really keep up your end of the bargain now, did you, Poppy?” Blake’s conniving smile doesn’t match the goading tone in his words and when he steps even closer, almost touching me, I smell the liquor on his breath and immediately this big house feels so much more cavernous.
“Brookes will be home any minute,” I say, my voice almost lost to the tight hold of fear that’s wrapped itself around my throat, my body shuddering.
“No.” Blake shakes his head. “He won’t. He’s at Vista Palms, waiting for me.” He sniffs a humorless laugh, and then his hand reaches out and his finger skates up my arm, fixing the strap of my tank top that’s starting to slip.
I slap his hand away.
“Whoa.” He laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Avoiding his eyes, I stare down at the floor, feeling myself start to disassociate while willing myself to stay strong.
Brookes will be home. He said he was only giving Blake five more minutes at the club.
But Vista Palms is at least fifteen minutes away.
My heart thunders so hard it hurts, like it’s about to crack a rib and break free.
“What do you want, Blake?” I ask, not looking at him.
“I told you.”
I do look up then.
His smile remains, but his eyes darken. “I told you that if you didn’t stick to our deal, then…” He trails off, his threat hanging in the air.
I wrap my arms around myself a little tighter, fear consuming me at the thought of having to go through everything all over again. It was bad enough when it happened, but now, with the spotlight of being the girlfriend of the biggest name in golf? Tears sting my eyes.