39
CHARLOTTE
Ewan slowsthe car along the Pacific Coast Highway. I look out the window to the homes in Malibu. “Is this what Jobe and you were quietly talking about the other night?”
Brandon smiles at me. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Surprise me? You told me it’s where you wanted to buy.”
“A new home is a surprise. Hopefully, our weekend home, especially in summer.”
I grin at him. “So, you bought this?”
“Surprise.”
I laugh. “I packed my swimwear just as you asked.”
Brandon struggles to contain his excitement as we pull into the garage. He is out of the car and opening my door before I have a chance to collect my bag and cell. Then he takes my hand and leads me inside, leaving Ewan to close the doors behind us. Pulling me by the arm, we rushthrough the kitchen and living area and out onto a lower-level balcony.
“Last one in the water has to cook dinner tonight.”
What?
On the balcony, Brandon strips out of his clothes down to what I thought was underwear, only to discover he is wearing boardshorts.
“Cheater,” I shout.
He is already down the stairs, grabbing a surfboard from beneath the balcony and sprinting toward the ocean. With the board under his arm, he jumps the waves until he plops on the board and paddles into the deep.
Ewan comes to stand beside me. “I’m going to marry a child.”
He smiles, eyes straight ahead on his asset. “Your life will never be boring.”
I smile as I watch my man stand, legs bent, and surf into the shallow. “It makes him even more irresistible,” I murmur. We watch Brandon for a few more minutes. “Did he really expect me to join him?”
“No. He asked me to show you around, and then you could decide if you wanted to take a swim.”
“Ewan. Show me the champagne. You and I can sit on the balcony and celebrate his new home.”
The followingday Ewan drives Brandon and me to the office. Brandon has a team psychology meeting to help the players level out their emotions after being on a high after winning a championship. The celebrations can last for weeks, and we want our guys to know they have the support they need if they find themselves gambling and partying a little too hard.
Knock. Knock.
“Come in.”
Brandon peeks around the door. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
My chest tightens with his flat tone.
Something has happened.
He closes the door behind him and sits in the chair opposite my desk. “During the meeting, I received a text from Dad asking me to call.”
“Is everything okay?”
He shakes his head, his eyes fixed on his cell in his lap. “No. Mum wanted to tell me herself and decided to wait until after the championships.”
Fuck.
