Page 76 of Keeper
“And I promise that if we try this and it doesn’t work, you won’t lose me. We will work our way back to being Booker and Poppy, no matter what.”
I’m not even able to wrap my mind around the fact that she said she is pregnant because all I can focus on is the fact that she’s fucking gone. I’ve lost my best friend. Again. This time feels worse than Germany because, even though I’m not able to love her the way that she wants, I know what it’s like to feel her. Taste her. Desire her.
Miss her.
Her absence is a trigger, bringing back all the horrid memories of the first time this happened. In the two months she lived here, she became a part of my day-to-day life. I got used to her constant presence. Then the sex intensified our connection. Sped things up. Losing her feels like I’ve lost a limb.
When you get so close to someone and they disappear on you, you’re not the same person anymore. Your voice doesn’t sound the same. Your reactions aren’t as natural because that person—whose affirmations you need to feel right in the world—is gone.
I miss my best friend.
I even miss all her nutty quirks. Like the way she lets out a sexy moan every time she crawls into bed, as if the feel of the sheets is a turn on. Or the ridiculous show tunes she blasts during her showers. Or all the girlie shit she stuffs into the bathroom cupboard. The hair products, the makeup, the lotions. So many lotions.
Doesn’t she need her stuff? How has she gone through the last several days without it? There’s no way she’s been back to the flat. I would know. I’ve been holed up in here like an agoraphobic, terrified of the outside world and holding my breath every time I hear someone climbing the steps.
Bloody hell, my flat feels empty without her. It makes me realise that I’ve never actually had to live alone. When my brothers and Vi moved out, I still had Dad. He was a quiet flatmate in a mansion of a house, so he wasn’t much company. But there was another human around. Someone to talk football with. Someone to breathe the same air, share a meal with, and make sure I’m not dead.
Fuck me, what if something’s happened to Poppy? It was getting dark when she left last week. I shouldn’t have let her go. What was I thinking? What if she was taken? What if she’s been drugged and sold into sex trafficking?
Before I know it, I’m dashing out of the loo and throwing on a dirty T-shirt from the floor. She’s got to be at her parents’ and is forcing them to screen my calls. Her dad never liked me. The second Poppy and I became mates as children, he looked at me like he wanted to crush me with his bare hands. Considering he’s six-foot-five and nearly as wide as he is tall, I’m sure he’s man enough to do it. But I need to know she’s okay.
I head for the door and pull her name up on my mobile, kicking myself for not going over there days ago.
When I open the door, Andrew is standing there with his fist held up in the air. His eyes narrow. “Booker.”
“Andrew?” I say, my jaw slack as I look all around the hallway in hopes that Poppy might be with him. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes drop to the ground where a large wheelie suitcase sits. Avoiding my glower, he clears his throat and replies, “I’m here for some of Poppy’s things.”
His request surprises me. “Her things?”
Straightening his shoulders, he replies, “Yes. She asked me tae grab some items she needs for work…and some clothes and…toiletry thingies.”
My hand slides up the doorframe and grips it tightly. “Is she staying with you?” If he says yes, there is nothing that will stop me from breaking down his door to talk to her.
“Nae,” he replies and my shoulders drop.
“Is she at her parents’?” I ask knowingly, my voice tight with annoyance.
Andrew shakes his head and sighs. “She’s no at her parents’.”
My brows furrow. “Andrew. If she’s at her parents’ and commuting from Chigwell for work, I need to know. It’s not bloody safe.”
The corner of his mouth turns up as he huffs out a snide laugh. “I dinnae think she’s yer concern anymore,mate.”
His bravado gets right up my nose. “I’m not your fucking mate!” I bark as anger courses through my veins. How much does this prat even know? Why the fuck is Poppy sending him to my front door? “I’mPoppy’s mate, and she will always be my concern. If you know where she is, you better bloody tell me.”
“Fuck off,” he scoffs, not the least bit intimidated. “Ye dinnae get tae sit here and make demands. No after ye get her knocked up and then break her fucking heart.”
His loud voice echoes in the hallway and I see red. Blinding, angry, hot as fuck red as I lunge for him and clench my hands around the lapels of his prissy button-down. Shoving him up against the stairwell railing, I roar, “Tell me where the fuck she is!”
“Booker William Harris!” Vi’s voice carries up the flight of stairs below us. I glance down and see her head peering up the foyer. “Let him go right the fuck now!”
I squeeze harder around the fabric in frustration and then yank him back into the hallway, nearly tossing him on the ground as I do. “You can get fucked,” I state, pointing a finger at him and heaving big gulps of air back into my lungs. “You’re not getting any of her shit.”
“Booker,” Andrew argues, straightening his collar. His face is beet red. “Ye have no right to keep her things.”
“I haveeveryright!” I seethe and walk toward the top of the stairs where Vi appears. “She’s my best friend.”
