Katy Evans - Mine

He fists his hand in my loose hair and looks directly at me. “I’m not going to make you choose.”

My eyes burn again.

He crushes my mouth in a hard kiss, then stares determinedly into my eyes with a look that blazes through me. “I’ll save her as many times as she needs saving. For you.”

The steely glint in his gaze swamps me with unease. “No,” I moan. “No, we don’t even know what’s happening anymore.”

He clutches me tight. “I’m going to need your mettle out, little firecracker. I need to know you’re safe every second of the day. You don’t go anywhere alone. Don’t answer calls from any numbers but ours and Melanie’s. Don’t receive any packages. Don’t believe anything you read or hear about me. No contact with your sister without my knowledge.”

His eyes flicker over my face, as though he’s making sure I’m all right and unhurt. He then stalks into our bedroom and I follow him as he grabs some clothes and tosses me one of his T-shirts. “I want to talk to them.”

“What? Who?”

“Your parents.” He comes and tips my head back, his jaw set at a determined angle. “I brought you here to be safe, guarded, taken care of. I want to talk to your parents. I want them to look me in the eye and give me their word they’re taking care of you. I’m posting a guard at your door, one at the building elevators, and one inside your place—don’t argue with me,” he stops me before I can start.

I cover my face with an angry sound of frustration. “Why are we talking about me? I’m worried about you!” I cry, dropping my hands. “He wants to fuck you, Remington. I swear if anyone hurts you I’m going to hurt them back tenfold!”

He pats my rump. “I’m a big boy. Now let’s go meet your parents.”

“I couldn’t survive what you did last time! It’s her decision now.”

“This won’t be like last time.”

* * *

WE WAIT FOR my parents in my living room.

I’ve gone through everything in my head, wanting to protect them, wanting to protect Nora, but in the end, I just don’t feel like lying for anyone or to anyone anymore. My parents deserve the truth, even if it hurts. I won’t sit by and watch them judge and withhold any affection from Remington because they believe he will hurt me, when I, I was the one who hurt him with my false sense of heroism wanting to save my sister.

God, but what if she’s unsavable?

What if she’s so far in that she will never come out, and if she does, what if, like a true junkie, she falls back in, over and over again?

When my parents arrive, they hardly look at me—their eyes fly straight behind me and up to Remington’s face.

My father bristles. “You’re her boyfriend? You’re the one who knocked her up, then dumped her on our doorstep?”

Remington walks around me, a tower looking down at my dad. “Yes, that’s me.” He puts his hand on my stomach, adding, “It better be me.”

I expel a breath. “It’s you. Now, let’s all relax a bit.”

“I’m not relaxed,” Remy counters in that low voice of his as he eyes my father, then my mother. “She’s been alone. If I’d wanted her to be alone, I wouldn’t have brought her home.”

“I am fine, Remington. Dad, ease back and sit down.” I grab Remy’s wrist and he lets me pull him back and draw him to the sitting area, my parents following. He sits down next to me and splays a hand on my stomach, quiet.

I drag in a breath and look at my parents.

“Mom and Dad, Nora fooled you. She wasn’t traveling the world last season. She was going out with a man they call the Scorpion. She was not in Hawaii or Timbuktu; she was traveling with him, at the same time I was traveling with Remington. Scorpion is a fighter too.”

My mother’s hand flies to her mouth but doesn’t quite manage to smother her distressed little gasp.

“The Scorpion fed Nora drugs and kept her enthralled with him. In order for her to be released, Remy gave away the championship. And I think she might need our help again this year.”

My mother’s eyes dart to my right and up, and my father doesn’t bat an eyelash, for he’s been staring at nothing but Remy the whole time. By the tension of all those muscles next to me, I know Remington is keeping his eyes on him too.

“Oh, Nora,” my mother sighs drearily as she clutches her head.

“You took a dive for little Nora?” my dad suddenly asks him. My father is a coach—and he respects athletes. “Threw the match for her?”

Remy laughs softly and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “No. I threw it for Brooke.”

My dad immediately stands, and in that same instant Remy slowly, in that lionlike way of his, comes to his feet.

“Remington, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” My father comes around the coffee table and extends his hand. His entire hostility has vanished. He looks a thousand pounds lighter now and even wears a little grin. “I’m Lucas Dumas.”

Remy doesn’t even look at the hand—he immediately takes it and shakes it, hard and firm like he is, his voice gruff with emotion. “I’m Remington.”

She left me a message.

In my room the night Remington left, I discovered a note tucked under my pillow.

It’s not what you think. I will be back after the season. I’ve got this. Please don’t come after me!

What. The fuck?

Puzzlement doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction to the note.

I can’t stop reading it. It’s as though I want to read something hidden between each of the scrawled letters, but there’s nothing.

Mom and Dad have been coming over daily, going Nora this, Nora that. They’re used to her being flighty and irresponsible, but on this occasion, they’re very concerned about what we told them. My guess is that the only reason they aren’t completely losing it is because, before Remington left, he asked them to make sure I’m well taken care of, and he’d make sure Nora came back home.

My parents beamed. And me?

I excused myself to the restroom. Where I sat for a little while, trying to breathe. I still can’t breathe well, just thinking about anything, anything at all, that has to do with Scorpion . . . and Remy. I considered showing Mom and Dad the note, but how can I add to their worry when they essentially can’t do anything about it? I just can’t.

However, I did show the note to Melanie.

“What the fuck does this even mean?” Melanie demands when I show it to her the next day.

She looks at me in complete bewilderment. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell you what it means. It means ‘I’m a little shit, just like you’ve always known I am but refuse to believe it. I’ll be back once I fuck up you and your boyfriend’s life again. Don’t try to stop me.’ That,” Melanie says angrily, “is what it means.”

Yet again, I remember what she told me about Scorpion, and I wish I’d paid a bit more attention.

“If she went back to Scorpion, then Scorpion is what she deserves,” Mel huffs.

Feeling as confused about the note as the first moment I read it, I sigh and address the other woman in the room. “Josephine, do you want something?” I offer my in-building bodyguard, the “she-male” Melanie had said had been following us previously at the fight. I hadn’t even known Remington—the adorable possessive jerk—had already hired someone to protect me. And Josephine is actually a very sweet, but clearly big and dangerous, woman.

“No thanks, Miss Tate,” she says in her rather gruff voice from the corner, where she’s keeping one eye out the window and the other on a magazine.

Melanie brings her hand up to stifle a giggle. “Do you call Riptide ‘Mister Tate’?” she asks her.

Josephine nods politely. “Of course, Miss Melanie.”

“Brookey, I can’t believe anyone would call your guy ‘mister’ in any way. ‘Mister’ is for dudes in suits. Do the other two female guards call him ‘mister’ too?”

Josephine nods, and Melanie continues giggling delightedly.

Kendra and Chantelle are my other two bodyguards, purposely female because Remy would not have a male around me, but they’re always doing rounds outside my building or around the elevators. Remington left in an extremely restless state because of Scorpion and Nora—damn them.

Pete assured him, “They got her sister now. They don’t need Brooke to fuck you anymore—they’ll do it through Nora again.”

“No. No, I won’t let it!” I promised. But I have heard nothing, nothing, from Nora—nothing but this stupid note.

“The anger I feel is beyond words, Melanie, beyond description,” I tell her as I tuck the note into my pocket again.

“Chicken, I’d be fucking fuming. She does not. Deserve. A hero. Like Remy to save her. PERIOD! She wants Scorpion? Scorpion is what she deserves!”

“Mel, just thinking about what he did last year because of us makes me sick. I won’t let him hurt himself for me or for anything of mine. Anything. Not even for this baby!”

Melanie hugs me. “I know, just don’t work yourself up for the baby.”

“Mister Tate is a very lucky man,” Josephine blurts out from her chair, nodding.

“Oh, Josephine, there should be a new word for love between these two,” Melanie says, pushing her blond hair back and tapping a manicured nail to her lips as she narrows her eyes thoughtfully. “Josephine, we should give them a name like Bennifer and all those famous couples. Help me think of one now that you’re into all those gossip magazines. How about ‘Bremy’?”

“Why don’t I invent ‘Miley’? For you and Riley?” I shoot back.

Melanie grins and plops down closer to me. “I do like his friendly little visits. He came over every night, and we had a blast. But he’s got a good thing going, Brooke. He’s loyal to Remy in an incredible way. He’d never leave what he has for me, and I’d never leave my life for him.” She sighs and drops her head back to stare at the ceiling. “So I guess we’re friends.”

“With benefits.”

She smirks cheekily. “Yeah.” Then she grabs my hand. “But I want what you have. I’ve fallen in love a hundred times in my life! But never like you. So I wonder if I really fell or just tripped, you know?”

Smiling, I cup the tiny bulge in my stomach and grab her hand with the other. “Here. Feel this. This is the little bubble I told you about . . .” And even Josephine comes over.

“Is that the baby moving?” Josephine asks.

I nod and take her hand and put it next to Melanie’s. “I think he’s already starting to learn how to hook. But don’t tell Mister Tate yet.” I tease her with the Mr. part. “I want him to feel it when I know it’s the baby for sure.”

* * *

THE EIGHTEENTH DAY arrives tomorrow.

The eighteenth day arrives tomorrow.

I have not died. No tragedy occurred. Nora did not try to make contact and put me in an awful position. Remy did not go black. My penance has been lifted and I. Am. Going. HOME. To Remy. TOMORROW!

With my beautiful baby safe in my womb, exactly twelve weeks old today.

I feel a thousand and one tingles inside me as I pack my stuff. And there’s quite a lot of stuff to pack. So, yes, ultimately, I was given a platinum credit card and was feeling a little sad missing my man. And with the devil called Melanie perched on my shoulder as we goofed around on the Internet, I caved in and bought a lot of baby things and a couple of pregnancy things for myself too. It seemed that the more I bought, the more I was telling the energies around me—this baby is happening.

So I have tiny, tiny red Converse tennis shoes, some tiny baby outfits, just in case, and a onesie outfit that says MY DADDY PACKS A GOOD PUNCH. I also pack my What to Expect When You’re Expecting book. Which is not a book, as I told Melanie—it’s the damn pregnancy bible. So all that is tucked in the baby’s suitcase.

I’m getting all my exercise stuff back in a separate one, because I will finally be able to resume light running again and I swear right now, running equates in my mind to flying. I cannot wait! And along with my sports attire, I add some jeans with the ridiculous pregnancy waistband—it’s even more ridiculous how anxious I am to need to wear those instead of my normal jeans—and I’ve also got some loose pregnancy tank tops.

My phone rings as I continue packing and I answer to hear Pete’s voice. “He’s excited to come get you,” Pete tells me.

“Oh, Pete, I’m so ready,” I say as I glance around my room, happy I won’t be seeing it again for a while, then tuck my running shoes into the zippered shoe compartment on the side.