Remy(74)

“I know.” She wipes her cheek, turns her head, and kisses the inside of my palm, then she forces my finger closed around her kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Shit, come here.” I crush her in my arms, and she trembles and starts crying for real.

“It’s all right,” I whisper, rubbing her back, but she sobs harder. I whisper it’s all right, but the way she cries guts me. It’s not anything close to right. She needs me. She fucking needs me and she will be here, without me, struggling to keep our baby. Our baby that might just end up being like me, and instead of making the woman I love happy, our baby will hurt her, just like I do. It pains me. Maybe the child I put in her isn’t right. Maybe it’s not strong. Maybe it’s just like me, and everything I don’t want her to have to struggle with.

But I’m so fucking selfish, I still want it.

I don’t want her to lose it.

I want her, I want everything with her.

“You need to go,” she whispers, suddenly pushing me away.

Fuck, I haven’t even left and it already hurts as I breathe her in one last time and set my forehead against hers. I take her face in my hand and wipe her tears with my thumbs, rasping, “You okay, baby firecracker?”

“I will be. More than okay,” she assures.

Her phone vibrates, and she checks the message, her eyelashes wet with her tears. “Melanie is five minutes away.” Her voice cracks in the end as she turns her attention back to me. “Please go before I cry,” she begs.

I curl my fingers around the back of her neck and shut my eyes closed as I lean my head on her. “Think of me like crazy.”

“You know I will.”

I lean closer. “Now give me a kiss.”

She presses her lips to mine, and I spread out my hand on the small of her back, memorizing her, drinking her up because I’m going to be thirsty and there won’t be water for me until she’s home. With me. I feel a tear against my jaw and I lick it up from her cheek when we hear Melanie outside.

“Brookey!! Where’s the hot dad and the upcoming momma?”

I curse and take another hard, fast kiss before I go, sucking on her tongue, taking everything I can, then I ease back and survey her pink swollen mouth and beautiful wide eyes, with the dilated pupils, just for me.

“You’re everything I never knew I wanted,” I huskily whisper, tucking her hair behind her. “And all mine, remember that tidbit,” I add, forcing myself to stand. “Completely mine . . . Brooke Dumas.”

She watches me back up to the door, her chest heaving, her heart in her eyes. “I’m pregnant with your baby, if there was any doubt about whose I was,” she says, with a shaky smile.

“You’re both mine.” I point right at her. “Especially you.”

When I turn, she calls me.

“Hey! You’re mine, too.”

Nodding, I pull out my iPod and toss it straight at her. “Don’t miss me too much.”

She catches it like she just caught my soul, holding it tightly. “I won’t!” she cries, and I memorize every inch of the smile on her face. Brand it inside your fucking skull, Tate.

And I do.

It’s still in my head when I meet her friend out in the hall. “Hey, Melanie.”

She gives me the same doting look all my fans give me. “Hey, Remy.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I want to be the first to know anything. If she’s sick, if she’s lonely, if she needs me.”

She keeps nodding with that ridiculous smile. “Don’t worry, I will call you or make sure she does,” she assures, patting my chest with sparkling green eyes. “Now go.” She pats my chest again, this time flattening her palms and pushing, to no avail. “Go! You sex god! I’ll take care of your girl.”

I grab her wrists, lower them, then force myself to head to the elevator. In the car, I’m drumming my fingers on my knees. In the plane, I’m flying with my headphones at my side, but no music. She has my music now. She’s ALL. MY MUSIC.

When we land and I power up my phone, I get a message from her.

Call me tonight if you want to?

Hell, of course I fucking want to.

I’m still sweaty in the gym as I try to work out, but I grab my phone and call her, dropping down onto a bench while I suck up my Gatorade. No answer.

I call again.

No answer. After several tries, it vibrates with a text message.

My friends are still here. Maybe we should talk tomorrow?

I set my Gatorade aside to text. Same time?

Yes, any time

My thumbs are too blunt and big and I struggle to pound out Ok

Good night Remy

More struggling to write down You too.

Then I stare at the screen, but there’s no more.