I’ve read this letter over and over today. I’ve read it in disbelief, in anger, in self-loathing, in loneliness, in desperation, but never in detachment. And now, I read it another time, and it’s finally sinking in that she—my girl—has left me. My body implodes and I groan and drop my head with the sort of intense pain they don’t make painkillers for. My eyes blurring, I scrape my thumbs over the I love you, Remy over and over while I hear Pete out in the living room, talking as if it’s a normal day.
Another fucking day of the life of Riptide.
Before he ever met . . . her.
“Fifteen hundred shares of that one. Sell. . . . Yes.” There’s a silence that makes me figure out he hung up, and I watch the doorknob turn as he peers into the bedroom. The curtains are open, and he starts when he sees me. “Your eyes are blue.”
I rub my face and try to piece the past weeks together in my head, but all I can think of is bits of this letter. I love you, Remy. . . . You have made me deliriously happy. . . .
Pete steps into the room and strides over. “You’ve been out for almost three weeks. Do you remember?”
Silent, I just look at him, holding the letter in my hand.
“Remington, do you realize what you did? You lost the fucking championship. You threw. The fight! You gave up everything you’ve worked for. Every last penny of your liquid cash is gone. Years of endorsements and work. The championship . . . gone.” His voice breaks, and he looks at me. “Do you remember that?”
“I know what I did, Pete. Nothing I gave up is something I can’t get back.”
“You, you moron. You could have fucking died! Remington, who fucking does that? You willingly let him beat you unconscious.”
Twisting around, I sit on the side of the bed and rub my neck with one hand as I stare down at the letter and impulsively smell it. Fuck, it smells like her. Even the sight of her handwriting gets me.
Riley comes in.
“He’s blue,” Pete instantly informs him.
“Hell, that’s fucking great! Hey, Rem.”
I look at them, and they’re my brothers. My brothers I care about. “You’re disappointed,” I tell them.
“We’re not disappointed, dude, we worry about you. No woman is worth that,” Pete says.
“She is.” But I’m so fucking pissed at her for leaving me, I crumple the letter in my fist and stand. “I’m sorry about the fight. I’ll make it up to the team.”
“We’re not sorry for us,” Pete repeats.
I stretch one biceps, then the other, testing my body while I ask, “Scorpion?”
“Somewhere in the Bahamas or some shit. Having fun spending your money,” Pete says, still sounding glum.
“Put the Austin home up for sale,” I mumble. “That should get us through this season.”
He nods. “We’ve also got some endorsement interest. You’ve been doing great—”
“What about her? Is she all right?”
They blink.
“Brooke.”
“Dude, why are you asking?” Pete looks at me in alarm, then at Riley, then at me. “You’re getting over her, Rem. You’ve had like dozens of ladies over! They’re wild for some Riptide, just like old times!”
“Yeah, Rem, the kinds of ass you get,” Riley says. “Jesus!”
An image flashes in my head of gold eyes, brimming with tears, in a hospital room. I stare down at the letter and uncrumple it from my fist, aware of Pete and Riley watching me, and then watching each other.
“Dude, hand that over, I can put that away from you.” Pete comes over for the letter.
I instantly fist my hand around it. “You touch it, you die.”
He drops his arm and sighs, and I look at both of them. “Where’s her sister?”
“Not out of rehab yet. Another week.”
I keep testing my body. Coach must be using the TENS machine on me to maintain muscle mass. I fold my muscles, they’re hard as ever. All electronically manipulated to make them believe I trained—when I did not.
“Coach has been shocking every inch,” Riley says, confirming my thoughts. “You’re filled up with glutamine and all kinds of supplements.”
I drop to the floor and do a push-up. Nice. It flows. My back isn’t fucked from lying in bed. I jump up and twist my neck, then I open my suitcase and spot my boxing robe. And I know, with every inch of me, if I grab it, it’s going to smell like her. In that moment the urge to expend all my rapidly building energy becomes acute. “Call Coach, let’s hit it hard.”
“You’re seriously going to train? You’ve been in the hospital for over two weeks and getting shocks in the head! That’s the only way we could pull you out of your depression.”