Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove #1)(73)

"I'm not home!" he yelled, but the noise didn't stop. Whoever was out there was either deaf, or stupid, or both.

Unless it was Poppy.

He was on his feet before he knew it, striding for the hallway. But he'd been horizontal on the living room floor all afternoon and his balance was screwed. He banged straight into the table and was cursing the pain shooting through his knee when he flung the door open.

"Oh." His heart sank. "It's you."

Mackenzie glared at him with murder in his eyes. "What the hell are you playing at?"

Cooper closed the door in her face.

"Cooper Tiberius Nicholson!" her voice carried. "You open this door right now. I've just spent the afternoon with Poppy crying all over the damn place because of you. The least you can do is be a man and explain yourself."

Shame crashed through him. Goddamn. He wasn't drunk enough for this. Hell, he wasn't even drunk anymore.

He cracked the door. "She was crying?" he asked, his head already pounding with guilt. Mackenzie sighed.

"She was trying to be brave about it, but yeah. You did a number on her, Coop, and I never figured you for a guy who just cuts and runs."

He swallowed. "I'm doing her a favor," he mumbled, but somehow, all his justifications didn't sound so convincing out loud.

Mackenzie clearly agreed, because she pushed past him and marched inside. She took a look around at the debris-the takeout wrappers and empty beer cans and the old record player that was skipping so he had to take the whole damn thing apart-and sighed. "Come on, Coop. What's going on?"

"Nothing," he said stubbornly. "Except you're interrupting my hangover."

"The last time I saw you guys, everything was fine. Great, even," she said. "I've never seen you happy like the kind of happy you were around Poppy. Then you just break up out of nowhere, no reason, no explanation? Cut the crap and tell me what happened. Did Poppy do something?" she demanded. "No, scratch that, the poor girl doesn't have a clue why you suddenly walked out on her. Was it Laura?" She narrowed her eyes. "Is that what this is about? Are you still in love with her?"

Cooper flinched back from her barrage of questions. "Can't you just leave a man in peace?"

"Nope." Mackenzie sat herself down on the couch. "I'm not leaving until I get answers. I've got all night."

Cooper sighed. She was the only person he knew as stubborn as he was, which meant she wasn't going anytime soon.

So he did.

He grabbed his keys and jacket, and headed for the door. "Lock up on your way out," he called behind him, and didn't stick around to hear her complaints. He got in his truck and gunned the engine.

Couldn't a man get a little peace in this town?



       
         
       
        

Not that he deserved it. She was right, Poppy didn't deserve this, and the longer he thought about the way she'd looked when he broke the news-how her face had cracked wide open and those heartfelt eyes of hers filled with tears-the more he hated himself.

Goddammit, Cooper. What the hell have you done?

He drove carefully along the highway. The sun was sinking low in the sky, and his buzz had long since worn off, leaving nothing but self-loathing and bitter regret.

It had all seemed so simple. He wasn't made for happy endings, he'd known it all along. Better to save them both from the slow-motion car wreck of a relationship, and let Poppy move on and meet a man who wouldn't let her down. But looking her in the eye and telling her it was over . . . it still sliced him clean through the chest. He'd wanted to spare her from the pain of disappointing her, but instead, he'd put a betrayal in her expression he would never forget.

He took the turn through town, down towards the beach. He'd stayed away from the construction project all week. He'd told himself his guys could handle it, but the truth was, he didn't trust himself to be a few dozen feet away from Poppy without throwing all his good reasons aside and marching over there to try and win her back.

Especially when he wondered if his reasons weren't so good, after all.

But June's cottage was dark when he pulled up, and nobody was home. Which was a good thing, he reminded himself, as he went to check the progress on the house next door. It was coming together now: the roof on, the walls up and sturdy, and those problems with the foundation all sorted. Walking around inside, he could finally picture the home it would become-more than just renderings on a page. A little drywall, a few salvaged beams, the new flooring . . .

Some lucky family was going to be happy there.