“Shit,” Dallas mutters under his breath, rushing back to his golf cart, to where there is a baby carrier—yes, a baby carrier—fastened right next to the driver’s side. “Aw, I’m sorry, baby, Daddy didn’t mean that,” he coos, lifting the infant out of the capsule and rocking her in his arms.
“I have to say, in my sixteen years playing golf, I can’t recall ever seeing a baby on the course,” I mutter to Happy.
Happy laughs. “Yeah, man. Tell me again, why is your five-month-old baby with us while we playgolf?”
“I told you,” Dallas says, looking up at his daughter, Calla, as he holds her in the air like the opening scene ofTheLion Kingor some shit. “Momma wanted a spa day,” he says, talking like a baby. “And Daddy hasn’t had sex in almost a month, so Daddy said he’d take baby Calla so Momma could relax, so maybe she can give Daddy some lovin’ later… isn’t that right, baby girl?” He bounces the baby just enough to make her cackle with laughter.
“Do you guys have sex in front of Calla?” Robbie asks, his question laced with genuine curiosity, I assume since he’s on his way to first-time fatherhood.
Dallas snorts. “I mean, it’s not like she’s watching us while taking notes, but… if the mood hits and we can’t move it to the next room, then… yeah.” He shrugs.
Robbie nods contemplatively.
“Way to permanently scar my niece, bro,” Logan, Dallas’ soon-to-be brother-in-law mutters, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his beer.
“It is beautiful, and it’s natural,” Dallas states matter-of-factly, spearing Logan with a pointed look. “Besides, our pediatrician told us it’s totally fine until the kid’s like, one,” he adds quickly.
“So, how’re things going with you and your girl, man?” Happy asks, tapping me on my shoulder and pulling me from the complimentary comedy show that his teammates and best friends are unknowingly putting on in front of us. “She seems nice.”
“Yeah, it’s… it’s good.” I nod slowly, trying not to think too much about how different Poppy has been acting today. Yesterday was amazing. But when she came into the kitchen this morning for her coffee, I noticed something flash in her eyes. It was gone so fast, I doubt she meant for me to see it, but it was there. A sadness that hit me straight in the gut.
All day she’s been acting a little different from usual. Avoiding me. Almost ignoring me. It’s like there’s this cloud hanging over her. I keep asking her if she’s okay—probably to the point where I’m being annoying as fuck—and she keeps telling me she’s fine, but there’s something wrong. I can tell. And it has been eating at me all damn day.
I need to keep reminding myself that this isn’t real, and come October, it will be over, and as much as it fucking stings, I’m paying her. But that only makes me feel worse because I think—no, I know, and I’ve been fooling myself these last couple of weeks—I don’t want this to be fake anymore.
I’ve never been in a relationship. Nothing of substance, at least. Hell, I wouldn’t even know the first thing about being someone’s boyfriend. But something changed in Texas. In fact, I think the defining moment was in Tulsa, when I learned about Poppy’s lipedema. Finding out that she has this chronic disorder that makes her feel sick or in pain, something that she’s just learned to put up with, I’ve never felt that overwhelming need to protect anyone or anything before. But I did then. I knew at that moment, more than anything, I wanted to keep her safe, I wanted to make her feel better. And since then, it’s been this ongoing need. Ineedto know that she’s okay. Ineedto know that she’s safe and happy. That’s not normal. Not for me, anyway. I wouldn’t say I’m a selfish a person at all, but I’ve definitely never felt this before, so I know it means something.
“You look happy,” Happy says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Happyandhealthy.”
“I am.” I nod again, realizing he’s right.
I am happy. And I am healthy. And for as long as Poppy’s been around, the voices in my head, the ones that come out at night and try to remind me how long it’s been since I’ve had a drink or popped a pill, the ones that taunt me and make the silence almost unbearable, they’ve been absent. Fuck, I haven’t even realized that until right now.
“I’m proud of you, man.” Happy holds up his gloved hand, and I bump his fist with mine.
“Uh, guys?” Dallas says. “I think we have a code brown situation.”
Happy and I turn right as all hell breaks loose.
Logan is keeled over, hands on his knees, retching. Robbie is hurrying away, holding a hand over his mouth. And Dallas just stands there with Calla in his arms, poop exploding out of her diaper and sliding down her chunky baby legs.
“O–kay,” Happy says on a sigh. “I think that’s enough golf for one day.”
When I arrive back at the villa, the whole place smells like Poppy. She has this scent that is so quintessentially her—vanilla, mixed with a touch of cherry, and what I imagine sunflowers to smell like. I’ve never sniffed a sunflower. I don’t even know if they smell. But if they do, that’s exactly what Poppy smells like, and it immediately makes me smile.
“Pops?” I call out, leaving my golf bag by the door and kicking off my spikes.
“I’m in here.”
I pause outside the door to the bathroom. It’s opened just a crack, but I don’t invite myself in, instead knocking gently. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
I push open the door to find her standing in front of the mirror with nothing but a fluffy white hotel towel wrapped around her, her tan skin all dewy, her long dark hair pulled back into a slick low knot, her face glowing.
Suddenly, I imagine this being part of our day-to-day life. Me getting home from a round of golf. Poppy standing in our bathroom. Maybe a little Poppy or Brookes getting up to mischief somewhere.
Fuck. Where the hell did that come from? I’m forced to rub at the pain that comes out nowhere and stabs me right in the center of my chest.
