by K. Webster
Love changes everything.
* * *
I chose her.
Chose her over my plan to destroy him.
Some days, I can’t believe it. Me. Camden fucking Pearson. The man who has planned and planned for so damn long, threw everything away for a woman. I’m thinking with my heart and not my brain. It’s almost inconceivable. When my brain takes over and the anger surges through me, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake—if I’ve been duped.
But all it takes is her honest, loving smile first thing in the morning to remind me I chose well. Poppy may have been pretending in every aspect of her life, but not with me. With me, she gives me her real self. The fun, bubbly, happy-go-lucky girl who used to be my babysitter. And when she sees the storm brewing in my eyes, she comforts me with her touch, her body, and her words.
She’s fucking healing me.
It’s been weeks since I admitted what her father did to me. Weeks since she told me what he also did to her. The waters had been rocky, but we found balance together. Just having someone to talk to—someone who understands me and wants to help me—has been incredible.
I want to cling to my past and use it for an accelerant on my hate, but she forces me to let go. She’s a distraction. A gorgeous one at that. For years and years, I’ve let this revenge plan drive every action in my life. My past has paved the way for my future. It’s exhausting to continuously be making moves for an ultimate agenda.
She lets me rest.
I’m safe with her. To just close my eyes and live in the moment. I don’t have to think ahead or dwell in the past. I just enjoy her scent and her soft skin. I live for the sounds she makes right before she comes. Breathy and beautiful.
I’d thought Poppy was a tool to use for me to destroy others.
Turns out, she’s a tool to heal.
I should have known someone as sweet and perfect as her couldn’t be used for dark deeds. Poppy is light and laughter and love.
She’s mine.
“New Zealand?” she asks as she sips on a blue coconut and rum fruity drink she loves so much at our favorite clam restaurant.
I shake away my daze and take in her sexy appearance today. Under the bright Tampa sun, she’s this city’s golden girl. No fucking doubt about it. Her blonde hair is still wet from her shower earlier where I took her roughly and passionately from behind. A pair of my sunglasses she stole from me sit perched on top of her head, revealing her pretty blue eyes to me. Her face is bare, not a speck of makeup. The freckles on her nose peek back at me, and I smile. She looks gorgeous as hell.
“You want to go to New Zealand?” I smirk at her.
“Who doesn’t?” She grins and takes another sip of her drink. Those things get her wasted fast so I’ll have to make sure she doesn’t drink too many. Stress continues to be her captor and the perpetrator of her still-constant headaches, but she seems happier. Despite the fact that she knows her father was my abuser and has written him out of her life, she’s finding joy again.
“We’ll go to New Zealand then, baby,” I tell her as I reach for a cheesy roll. “That’s more than a weekend trip, though. Where do you want to get away for a couple days, Miss Globe Trotter?” I munch on my roll while I wait for my answer.
Her nose scrunches as she looks off behind me toward the bay. It’s something she does when she’s thinking. I’m still every bit in tune with her tells, but no longer to use them against her. Now, I study her so I can draw more smiles from her. So I can hear her laugh or talk rapidly about something she’s excited about.
While she thinks, I drag my gaze down her outfit. A bright yellow sundress that shows off all her lovely curves. It didn’t seem that long ago that she was here with me wearing a suit and sadness. All that pretending was wearing her down. Today, she’s a poster child for freedom. Sure, she has to be at the office tomorrow, but this afternoon, she’s happy and free.
“We could go to LA and visit your brother,” she muses aloud.
“I’ve already walked in on one too many threesomes,” I say with a snort. “Pass.”
She giggles. “I like Brock, but I don’t want to see his ass.”
“My ass is better,” I say, flashing her a wicked grin.
“I don’t doubt that for a second.” She sips her blue drink again. I love how her pink lips have turned purple from the drink. Later, I’ll suck that bluish-purple tongue until I turn it pink again.
“LA is scratched. Where else?” I have a break coming up at school and would like to go someplace with my girl.
My girl.
Sounds fucking awesome.
“What about New York?”
“You want to meet Grandad?” I ask, grinning.
“I mean, he sounds like a great guy. You think he’d buy me a Bugatti too?” she teases. “I want pink. Like Lucy.”
“Lucy has a Maserati.” I try not to cringe at that awful pink car.
“Depending on how much Grandad likes me, I may ask for both.” She’s just fucking with me, but she’s cute as hell doing it.
“Grandad will love you,” I assure her. “He’s a Pearson after all.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. We thread our fingers together. This is right and perfect. I chose wisely. With my heart. Love is a much more palatable emotion than hate. So sweet. The bitterness that usually clings to me is nothing but a fading aftertaste. Love is a flavor I’ll certainly get used to, and soon.
“Let’s visit your Grandad,” she says firmly. “I’m sure he misses you and would love to hear how well you’re doing in life.”
“College is damn near kicking my ass because my girlfriend demands all my time to go on vacations,” I tell her playfully. “You call that doing well in life?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re the only person I know who aces all their exams and assignments without cracking a book. I studied my ass off in college and barely made it out of there with passing grades. You’re kicking college’s ass, not the other way around.”
When she starts to pull away, I tighten my grip on her fingers. “Poppy…”
Her brows pull together in that concerned, protective way she gets over me if she thinks I’m mentally struggling. I hate that she feels responsible for what her father did. It’s not her fault. “What is it?”
I grit my teeth together and look up at the sky. Clear and flawless. The present is easy and free. Because of her. I let out a sigh, ridding myself of the negative energy that sometimes brews to unhealthy levels inside me. She helps me purge it all. “Thank you.” I look back at her, pinning her with an intense stare.
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
I pull her hand closer to me and kiss the inside of her wrist. “Thank you for being you. For choosing me.”
Releasing my hand, she stands and walks around the table to sit in my lap. Her arms wrap around me in one of her comforting hugs. I squeeze her middle, kissing her collarbone.
“I’ll always choose you,” she whispers.
I tilt my head up and stare at the beautiful woman. Mine. “Promise?”
“Always.” Her lips press to mine and she kisses me in a way that feels as though she’s sealing a vow. The little cracks in my heart are filled each time I’m with her. “You’re mine, naughty Camden Pearson. Don’t go forgetting that.”
I stare at my angel, shining brightly under the sun. All for me. A reward for an awful life endured. “I’ll never forget, baby.”
I kiss her so deeply, so intensely, she’ll never forget she’s mine too.
At one time, I thought revenge was the answer, but my revenge would destroy the one I love—and fuck, I do love her. So revenge has been deleted from the plan. The plan now resembles that of my brother Hayden’s. Love. Marriage. Babies. I want whatever I can get with Poppy Beckett. Revenge would steal my only bit of happiness, and I’ll be damned if I let that be stolen from me. The past already took so much. It fucking owes me this.
It’s a hard pill to swallow, giving it all up for her, but at the
end of the day, I choke it down and drink from her. My sweet, beautiful Poppy. She’s the only medicine I need.
“Camden,” she murmurs against my lips. “I lov—”
I devour her sweet sentiments with a crushing kiss.
I know, Poppy, because I love you too.
Chapter Sixteen
Poppy
Two months later…
I walk out of the office on the fifty-seventh floor and head toward the elevator bank. My heart is in my throat, but I feel good. This was the right thing to do. Two months ago, when my boyfriend admitted my father had molested him, I revealed to him everything that had happened at my dad’s house. John Ham pulling the gun. Roger Bowers holding me down as my father brutally whipped me. The way Roger groped and tried to kiss me. It shamed me to tell him, but I owed him those facts. Relationships are built on trust. Camden needed to know I was on his side.
It took some time to cool him off. He wanted to beat them to death, but I finally calmed him down. It was then I mentioned to him that I thought maybe they were doing other things that were bad. Like Project Good Boy. As soon as I mentioned the name, Camden exploded. He revealed everything his friend Cronk had discovered on their computers.
Hundreds and hundreds.
So many children.
Camden wasn’t the only one.
I’d thrown up that day and cried until I was tearless. Camden, strong as hell that man, held me through it all. My father is a monster. End of story. His friends are monsters too. Camden had been working tirelessly all these years to obtain evidence against them all—to see how far the evil roots were. Because it was a judge, police commissioner, senator, and mayor, he was tight lipped and careful. Bided his time. He was ready to go to the FBI with it all, but then this thing between us exploded.
The Camden who walked into Mateo’s that night months ago is not the same one I’m madly in love with now. The Camden I know and adore would do anything to protect me. Even from the onslaught of the media. Because the moment he goes forward, my career will be over.
But it’s not about me.
It’s about him and those other children.
His stubborn ass refused to give me what I needed. The proof. He said to just move on. I can’t move on. I know, and knowing means I have to proceed. With or without him. So, today, I decided to go forward and tell my story to the Tampa Times. Everything I know. Everything Camden has told me. It’ll be enough to push him to hand over the evidence to the FBI and bring that ring of sick fucks down—especially my father.
It hurts because he’s my dad.
But my dad has been gone for some time. He morphed into this monster after my mom died. A monster I don’t recognize. When he chose his friends over me and whipped me, I knew there was no getting him to step up and be a man about this. My dad is shady and sick. There is only one way out for him—prison.
Once the Tampa Times releases the story, Camden won’t hold back anymore. The only reason he’s held off is to protect me. To keep me from getting shamed along with my father. I’m a big girl, though. Tampa’s Golden Girl may be tarnished, yet again, but she’s with the future president of the United States. If anyone can dust her off and pick her up again, it’s him.
My phone buzzes, and I smile upon seeing a text from Camden.
Cam: Where are you?
I text out a reply.
Me: On my way.
I’m nervous about having dinner at his brother Nixon’s. I’ve gone over there a few times and really like his wife, Rowan. She’s an adorable pregnant woman, and her daughter, Erica, is a spitfire. They’re the cutest family ever and it gives me hope that maybe Cam and I can have something just as special.
What I’m nervous about is Mateo being there. Everyone will be there. I haven’t seen Mateo since that night. He knows I’m dating Camden. Hayden, Cam’s oldest brother, proudly blasted that fact out over dinner one night. But knowing and seeing are two different things.
I drive along the road toward Nixon’s admiring the view. Camden and I spend a lot of time on his boat. He’s having a house built near his brother, and I’ve been told that’s where I’ll live when it’s finished. I love it when he goes caveman on me.
Cars already line their driveway by the time I arrive, and another bout of nerves threatens to consume me. Camden will be pissed that I’ve gone around him and forced his hand. But then, like the beast he is, he’ll run forward to do damage control on our end. He’ll make my father pay. And Camden will come out great on the other side. His future is solid. His future with me is impenetrable.
I’m barely out of the car when he emerges from the house. He looks good in a black polo and cargo shorts. At ease and happy. Shit. What have I done?
I panic as I close the door and worry I’ve made the worst decision on the planet. His smile falls as he stalks over to me. I’m drawn into his muscular arms and let out a sigh when he squeezes me.
“What’s wrong?” he demands.
I tilt my head up and frown. “I did it.”
He blinks at me. “Did what?”
Desperately, I kiss his mouth, because it’s better than saying the words. He’s stiff at first, but then his palms are roaming my ass and squeezing. His teeth nip at my lip before he pulls away.
“What did you do?”
“The right thing,” I mutter.
His face transforms from worried to briefly angry. Then, he smiles. Beautiful and heartbreaking. God, I love him.
“Which newspaper?” he asks, knowing me better than I know myself.
“Tampa Times.”
He kisses my nose. “Good choice, baby. They’re honest and will make a big fucking stink over this. As it should be.”
“You’re not mad?”
He laughs. “You chose me over that filthy bastard. Of course I’m not mad. It means you love me.”
I hug him and sigh. “More than anything.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he vows. “If you want to—”
Shaking my head, I look back up at him. “I’m done. I want out. Maybe take some time off to travel or just relax. I don’t know. And maybe I can teach once the dust settles. This is the life he chose for me, and I don’t want it. I just want you.”
He pulls away and reaches into his pocket. “I got you a present.”
I gasp at the sparkly watch. “A Cartier Tank Anglaise!” His love affair with watches is catching. I’ve become quite obsessed with each one he’s now given me. “It’s beautiful.”
“Just like you,” he says sweetly, winking at me. He can be so charming when he wants to be. I let him put the watch on me and then we hold hands. “Ready to go meet that fucker?”
I groan. “Shouldn’t we be more worried about how they’ll respond once they realize I’ve sent your story to the press? Are your brothers going to kill me?”
He squeezes my hand and tugs me along behind him toward the house. “Nobody is going to kill you. They’ve been begging me to move forward with this. You did everyone a favor.”
“I did it for you,” I tell him. “And for them.”
We both grow serious. The nameless children. Just faces in a catalogue. Disgusting horrors. All of that will be ripped apart and exposed. Cronk says they’re just pictures and there isn’t any proof of any illegal sex trafficking or anything, but we’ll leave the FBI to uncover the truth. What I do know is they’re all guilty of having that sick shit on their computers and my father is guilty of molesting Camden when he was a boy. Hopefully, this will end now. Those four bastards won’t go through life as though they’re untouchable. They are all going down.
Camden guides me inside to the flurry of activity. People are laughing and drinking. Kids are shrieking. The house smells like barbeque. I love it. It’s chaos and happiness. Uncontrolled and wonderful.
“What do you want to drink?” Camden asks, kissing my forehead.
“I’ll have what you’re having.” I wink at him.
Water. We’re having water.
<
br /> My guy abides by the rules and keeps his reputation squeaky clean. And drinking underage is a risk to his future. A presidential hopeful can never be too careful. He saunters off to grab something to drink, and I find the girls.
“Isn’t she the cutest?” Lucy chirps when I walk over to them. She’s squeezing Brock’s girlfriend’s cheeks and gushing over her.
“Adorable,” I say, laughing. “Where are the boys?”
Camila grins. “Trying to teach Erica how to surf. Brock is great at surfing, but not a good teacher. Lucky for him, Ethan is. They’re figuring it out. How have you been?”
We chatter and catch up. I want to keep this moment frozen in time. Where everyone is happy. I don’t want to tell them by the time they go home tonight, one of the Pearsons they know and love will be the center of every tabloid from here to California. Camden is confident we’ll be fine, and I trust him.
He sidles up behind me and offers me a bottle of water. I lean my back against his chest and sigh.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my ear. “You were always mine. I was always coming for you. He may have had you for a bit, but it wasn’t ever going to stop me.”
I follow where he gestures to Mateo across the room. Mateo has his son on his hip and is grinning widely. His girlfriend is fussing over the boy’s collar. Their family dynamic seems natural and right. Nothing about Mateo right now is stiff and mundane. We were a pretend, wannabe family. We could have never been that. I wouldn’t want that because I have this. Turning, I stand on my toes and kiss Camden.
“I love you too. Thank you for coming for me,” I say, smiling.
His grin is devilish as he stares at my lips. “And you’ll be coming for me tonight. You know Lady Vindicta loves to hear you scream.”
* * *
“Is it bad?” I ask, groaning from where my face is buried under the pillow.
“I imagine the shit is hitting the fan right about now.”
I tug off the pillow and smile at him. “But…”
“But we’re miles from land with no cell service. They can interview us when we get back,” Camden says as he walks through the cabin, his swim trunks low on his hips. His smile is wicked when he notices me checking out his defined muscles in the perfect shape of a V.