Property of Pops

“Yes,” Wanda exhales, her gaze on the restaurant entrance. “That Coco.” She slaps her hands over her face. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Linden. I thought if I brought you here, my grandfather would realize someone his age is much more appropriate. But now I’ve hurt my best friend’s feelings. I—”

“What do you mean, you’ve hurt her feelings?” I roar, my throat closing up, choking off my oxygen. “Where is she?”

Wanda gulps, face stricken. “I saw her in the lobby. I told her you were meeting Mrs. Linden for a date and she…she ran…”

My insides are on fire. I can’t swallow. The restaurant sounds recede around me and all I can hear is the stutter of my heart. I can find Coco. I can explain, but right now, this very second, she’s hurting and that is causing turmoil to attack my chest. My girl has a fear of being left, abandoned, and she must be feeling that in spades right this very second, under the false belief I would agree to a date with anyone but her.

Meanwhile, I left her sleeping upstairs a couple of hours ago to buy an engagement ring.

“Which way?” I wheeze, already turning for the exit, a pit yawning wider and wider in my stomach. “Which way did she go?”

Wanda looks miserable. “I’m sorry. Out the front entrance toward the beach—”

I’m already running, sweat streaming down the sides of my face. Find her. Find her.

The beach is huge. She could have gotten into an Uber. There are endless possibilities and I hate them all. I want her sleeping in my bed, safe and warm, without a care in the world. The longer she suspects I went on a fucking date, the more pieces of me seem to crumble and fall to the ground. Go on a date when I’ve found my soul mate? It’s preposterous and yet, her issues run so deep, they might cause her to think without logic.

I will reassure her every day of her life that I’m not leaving.

She’ll never doubt me again.

My feet hit the sand out of instinct. This is the way she’d run. And my theory is confirmed a moment later when I notice heads turned in one direction, as if the crowd is collectively watching something. Someone gasps and starts speed walking toward the sight, while their companion jogs for the hotel, saying something about calling an ambulance.

Red sparks wash over my vision, stomach pitching with sickness. No. Please.

I pick up the pace and run toward where everyone is looking, speeding over dunes until I see her. She’s curled up, teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Her complexion is gray. And a bellow of denial fires off from the deepest recesses of my body.

Is that goddamn blood coming from her head?

I stumble at the sight, horror making my muscles stiffen. “Coco.” My instinct when I reach her is to lift her into my arms, but years of tending injuries in the field holds me back. “Where are you hurt?”

“I hit my head,” she whispers.

“Poor baby.” I rasp, leaning down to press kisses to her hairline, my hands shaking with the need to hold this perfect angel. My perfect angel. I took my eye off the ball, I missed the hazard in our path. This is my fault. Mine. “Anywhere else? Your neck…”

“No.”

I don’t allow relief to sweep in because she seems to be having a hard time keeping her eyes open and that terrifies me. As does the stream of blood traveling down her temple and cheek. Without another thought, I drag off my shirt, ball it up and press it to the head injury. “Can you hold this to the wound, Coco? I’ll bring you back to the hotel. I’ll fix it for you, baby. Just need you to stay away. Stay awake.”

Her hand is pale, too pale, where it presses to the wadded-up T-shirt.

My stomach dips drastically and then I’m run over by a sense of anger and fear. Helplessness. “Why would you run like that? How could you believe I’d even go near someone besides you?” I carefully lift her into my arms and storm back toward the hotel, relieved to see flashing red and white lights in the distance. “Don’t you know I love you? Don’t you?”

Tears leave her eyes, mixing with the blood.

Wanda and my son come into sight, my granddaughter throwing her hands up to cover her miserable gasp. I keep moving. I have one focus right now and that’s getting my future wife medical attention. I did this. I should have told her sooner that I love her. Maybe if I made her feel more secure, she wouldn’t have believed that bullshit about me being on a date.

“I have a ring in my pocket, Coco. You’re going to wear it on your finger for the rest of your life. Understand? You’ll wear it while I’m going down on you, when you graduate college. You’ll wear it while you’re delivering my babies…”

I need to keep going. Need to reassure her of my commitment by painting a picture of our future together, but when I look down and she’s lost consciousness, it’s all I can do to remain standing, breathing. “No!” I shout hoarsely. And I run toward the flashing lights.

* * *

Coco

When I wake up,I feel like I’m floating. There’s no pain, only disorientation.

But I’m not so buoyant that I can’t feel the new weight on my ring finger.