Remy(58)

“But I’m good now.” I take her letter and my training gear into the bathroom, then I open the letter and read it again: I love you, Remy.

I close my eyes and throw it away.

Then I go get it, read it, and trace her letters. Damn you, Brooke. You should’ve told me to stay away. That you hated me. That you can’t live with someone like me. Instead you tell me my team is your family. That you’re happy. That you think about me when you hear my songs. You tell me that you fucking love me. Now, Brooke, I’m coming after you.

♥ ♥ ♥

EVERYONE, EXCEPT DIANE, rides in the Escalade. We’re only blocks away from the building and there’s a war zone in my chest. I drum my fingers on my thighs while the knot in my gut tightens as we get nearer. Brooke needs to be set fucking straight, and I’m sure when she sees the little package we’ve brought, there won’t be much explaining to do.

I rub the back of my neck and then ram my hand into my jeans and grab the letter. The letter burns me. I’ve read it until my eyes cross and they burn from my rage. She held me like I was golden. She said she’d never leave and every inch of me believed her. I want to know what I said. I want to know what I fucking did. I want to know if she meant what she said in her fucking letter or if it’s all a load of fucking bullshit.

“Oh, there’s Brooke, and Melanie,” Pete says from the back.

My head snaps toward the two figures trotting down the sidewalk as the car heads farther down the block to stop before her apartment. Holy god, it’s her.

My heart starts pumping, the arteries in my heart widening to feed my muscles. I curl my fingers and yank open the door, but Pete and Riley descend from the car first. I step out on the sidewalk after them, and I see her. And she sees me. And we stare, neither of us moving. My eyes have been so starved, they hurt when I take her in—ponytail, running shoes, exercise gear, the oval face I dream of and those marshmallow lips of my fantasies and those gold eyes shining as they look back at me.

God, I love you.

With every bit of my fucking being, and every inch is buzzing at the sight of her. She wears tight running gear and sweat glistens on her forehead and throat, her hair held back in a cute ponytail, and she’s frozen on the spot as she looks at me. I don’t know if she’s going to launch herself at me when she starts to move; all I know is, if she does, I’m so fucking ready to catch her. I’m going to catch her and never set her down on the ground.

Jesus, she looks so right and so glad to see me, I get all knotted up as they start heading for the three of us.

“Miss Dumas?” Pete asks her as she and her friend keep heading over. “We believe this belongs to you?”

He signals past me, and from our Escalade Nora emerges.

Brooke looks at me first, then blinks. “Nora?”

“Nora?” her friend Melanie repeats.

“We just wanted to make sure she got home safe,” Pete says.

“Nora?” Brooke can’t take her eyes off her sister, and my chest swells at the joyous disbelief on my little firecracker’s face.

“It’s me!” Her sister runs over for a hug, and I’ve never been jealous of a woman before, but I want Brooke’s arms around me, her scent in my nostrils, in my lungs, caressing my soul. “It’s me, big sis! I’m back! I’ve done work in rehab. Pete helped me. And I got the tattoo off.” She points to the place where Scorpion’s fucking ink used to mark her face. “I felt so little when you looked at me that day, Brooke. I felt so little and so . . . dirty.”

“No! No, never!” Brooke hugs her again, and my gut clenches in jealousy and my arms feel leaden with the want to go around her.

“Nora! Nora Camora Lalora Crazyora!” Brooke’s crazy, funny friend dives for Nora and swings her around, and Brooke turns to stare at the group of us, my heart kicking in anticipation.

But she looks at Pete, only making the knot in me tighten even more. “Pete, what’s going on?”

“Surprise.” He signals happily at her sister. “She’s done great. She’s such a sweet girl.”

Then he nods in my direction, and Brooke’s gold eyes return to me, but I can’t take standing here, like she’s not mine, and I’m not hers. I ram my hands into my jeans pocket and can’t stop checking her out, the way her curves fill out, her sweat clings to her pretty skin.

“The night Remy went to fight with Scorpion, Scorpion offered your sister to him instead of the championship. And Remy agreed,” Pete explains.

I watch her, and her eyes meet mine in utter confusion, and I wait for her to say something.