My finger hovered over the call button.
What would I say?
The elevator pinged for my floor and I got off. With a deep exhalation, I tucked my phone back in my clutch while at the same time digging for my key card.
“Where is it?” I muttered, riffling through the zipped side pockets.
Awareness that I wasn’t alone in the narrow hallway seeped in, and my eyes swept the area. No one was going to or leaving their room, but at my door I saw a male figure reclining on the floor, his head dipping into his chest as if he were asleep.
What was he doing here?
I walked over to him and bent down.
“Dax, wake up.” I shook his shoulder gently. “Hello?”
Heavy eyes fluttered, squinting open. “Remi?”
“Who else would it be?” I plopped down on the carpeted floor next to him. “The question is, what are you doing outside my hotel room?”
Bloodshot, tired eyes roved over my face and landed on my lips. “After you left, I got this weird feeling. Paranoid that Chad knew where your hotel was or that he’d gotten your full name. I called you but you didn’t pick up, so I came over to make sure you were okay. I tipped the porter to give me your room number.”
“My phone was on silent since we talked to the police. I just now turned it on. Sorry.”
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, coming more awake and scratching at his unshaven jaw.
“We walked from the Tower of London. Guess I was too hyped up from everything.”
His eyes narrowed. “You should have come straight back.”
I arched a brow. Smiled. “Since when do you keep tabs on me?”
He let out an exasperated sigh, stood, and put out a hand to heave me up. “Maybe I’ve decided you need a bodyguard 24/7 just to keep you safe.”
“You applying?” We faced each other inches apart.
“You don’t want me to fill that position. We both know it.” He blew out a breath. “Come on, get your key out and let’s get you inside.”
I found my key, slid it through the slot and opened the door. Dax stepped inside in front of me and held the door open as I came through.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Give me a sec,” he said. “I want to check the room.”
What? I was fine.
No one was in my room but him, and he was the one I didn’t need to be alone with.
He stalked around the space, checking the bathroom, under the bed, inside the closet, and even outside the window to the small iron balcony.
“Only a ninja can scale that,” I said, watching him in bemusement.
“Looks clear,” he said, stumbling over his feet as he walked toward me.
“Dax. You’re exhausted. Please, sit down.” I pointed at a chair. “Why don’t I get some coffee sent up for you before you head back?”
“No, that’s okay. I didn’t drive. I took a cab right after you.”
“Well, I’m pooped.” I set my clutch down, kicked my shoes off, plodded over to the bed and fell backward right in the center of the plush duvet. Rose petals the maid had placed there flew in the air.
I lifted my arms above my head and stretched. My eyes closed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to be in this big bed tonight even if it is without getting laid. Although the night is still young.” I giggled, opening my eyes and winking at him.
I meant it as a joke, of course, but his face darkened and I immediately stiffened.
The room stilled, filling with tension.
I sat up and pulled my shirt down.
His eyes landed on my lips. Bounced away. Came back.
He raked his hand through his hair and it fell back into a perfect tousled mess. “Um, I need to head home.”
He turned to go.
“Wait.”
What are you doing, Remi?
I stood up, suddenly breathless, and met his intense gaze. He was beautiful—even tired. My eyes went over him, taking in the steely eyes, the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his hands were clenched at his side—the obvious bulge in his jeans. Oh.
I swallowed and nudged at the comfy chair and ottoman in the corner of the room next to the window. “Do—do you want to sleep here?”
“No.”
My arms crossed and I forced out a laugh. “Don’t be silly. Stay, I insist. We can have coffee in the morning and talk. Here, let me grab some extra blankets and a pillow from the closet. I saw them earlier when I was unpacking.” I brushed past him, but he grabbed my hand, causing me to come to a halt.
“No, Remi.”
“Yes, Dax. It’s what friends do. We help each other out.”
“It’s not a good idea.” His voice had grown husky and he hadn’t let go of my hand.
“Why not?” My thumb was stroking his palm as if directed by a part of my brain I had no control over.
“Because if I stay in this room with you, it’s going to be in that bed, and we aren’t sleeping.” His eyes searched my face, lingering on my mouth.
“Why—why do you always stare at my lips?”
His eyes darkened.
“Dax?”
He sent me a hooded look. “Because I want them on my mouth, kissing me. On my skin, sucking me. Everywhere.” His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, gently tugging it down.
I shuddered, quivering from the picture he painted.
He dropped his hand and exhaled deeply. “We agreed to be friends, but when you stand this close, all I can think about is stripping you out of that shirt, pushing you down on that bed, and screwing you until you moan my name a hundred times before noon.”
“Only a hundred?” I said.
Stop it, Remi!
His lashes dropped. “You’re in dangerous territory, Remi. Tread carefully . . .”
“Just . . . let me touch you. That’s all.” I reached my hand out and rested it on his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
We stared at each other, and a million what ifs raced through my head.
What if we had sex? Would it ruin our fragile friendship?
What if he immediately moved on to some sorority girl this fall? Would I fall into that pit of despair I’d been in three years ago?
What if I let go of the past and just did what my body was screaming for?
You’d have one hell of an orgasm tonight.
His eyes narrowed, a muscle jerking in his cheek. “I can’t handle this. I’m barely hanging on here.”
“Me too.”
He lowered his head until his mouth was an inch from mine. “Forget friendship. I want to fuck you.”
His words banged around in my head.
My tongue darted out to wet my lips. “Hartford . . .” I stopped abruptly at the anger flaring in his eyes. God. I hadn’t meant to say his name. He hadn’t even been on my mind.
“Exactly.” He let go of my hand, a pulse beating at his temple. “Goodnight, friend.” He sent me a final look and turned and walked out the door.
8
I woke up at one in the afternoon to the smell of bacon frying and the sound of Spider yapping on the phone. Rubbing my face, I crawled out of bed and sat on the edge, snippets of last night in Remi’s hotel room coming back to me. I groaned. I’d really cocked it up with her last night, and I hadn’t even been drunk.
Clearly I’d been thinking with my dick, especially when she’d been flashing those legs, prancing around the room and offering to let me sleep in the same room as her. No doubt—us in a hotel room was a recipe for disaster.
I got angry again, remembering her saying his name and not mine. Sonofabitch.
Moving on from thoughts of her, I looked around the room. I’d be leaving next week, I thought as I took in the cream and white color scheme Spider had gone with. Roomy and furnished in mostly chrome and leather, it was a nice flat, and he was quite proud of it. He’d hired a designer and had a hand in picking out all the rugs and accessories. He took it seriously because it was his, and eve
n though I could be a messy bastard, I’d picked up after myself.
My phone pinged with a text. Declan. He and Elizabeth were the two people I missed the most this summer. They’d fallen hard for each other last fall—two of the luckiest people I knew. Just watching them together made me envious, and part of me wanted the magic they had, but I was too scared.
I picked up the phone. I’d called him yesterday to see if he could find me a place to rent around campus and put a deposit on it until I got back into town.
There’s nothing to rent close to Whitman, but I found you an older house: 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, 2500 square feet. Even has a little patio out back. Seventy thousand and it’s all yours. Steal of a deal.
What the hell?
I didn’t want to buy a place. I wanted a place to crash until I graduated.
I FaceTimed him since it was free.
“Hiya, bro, what’s up?” I said as soon as he answered. His hair was wet as if he’d come fresh from a shower. It was eight in the morning there.
“Hey, man, what’s up with the black eye?” Rustling sounds as he moved into his kitchen.
I touched my face, seeing the ugly gray bruise under my eye on the screen. “You know me, always into something.”
He squinted at me. “Be careful. I still haven’t taught you all my moves yet.” A grin popped up on his face. “Not that you’d ever be as good as me anyway. I’m the best.”
“I’m the best at everything else.” I chuckled.
“Whatever, tosser. Just tell me how you’ve been.”
“Trust me, you’d be impressed. I run ten miles a day, work out and, sit down for this one, I actually read some books this summer. I’m just starting one you might be familiar with. Pride and Prejudice. It’s a little slow and there’s no sex. I pretty much hate it.”
He laughed.
I saw Elizabeth in the background, her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. She waved enthusiastically.
I blew her a kiss. “Hey, love. I miss you.”
She blew me one back and called from across the room. “Miss you more. Come home soon, please. I need a shopping buddy. Declan refuses to help me pick out purses like you do.”
In my viewer, I watched Declan smile as he took in Elizabeth pouring a cup of coffee. He chuckled and turned back to face me. “I guess you got my text?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to buy a house. Or I could move my arse in with you guys, and then Elizabeth will fall for me . . .” I laughed.
“Dude. We barely have room for our shit.”
“Yeah.” I was mostly kidding anyway.
He continued, “I checked with the housing department for open dorm rooms, but got nothing. That number will change once classes get started, but that would put you living with Dad until they had an opening.”
Ugh. Dorms.
Even worse, though, was Father.
I groaned, picturing my father’s three-story mansion with fancy furniture, housekeepers, and my five-year-old stepsister. “No way.”
Declan grinned. “You could do it. Save some money. Hang out with the horses. Swim in the pool. Have family dinners.”
“And never have sex again.”
“True.” He laughed.
“You sound happy. Things going good with the gym?”
“Thanks to Dad,” he said, “and Elizabeth.”
He sent a grin to Elizabeth, who’d popped up to kiss his cheek. “Anyway, maybe you’d like to invest in an older home, live there, and maybe do some work on it, and then resell it. Or rent to college students. The real estate market is on fire, and you’d be good at it.”
I smirked. “Me?”
“Why not? You’re a smooth talker and handsome, so why not capitalize on those traits? I’ll help out with the business side if you need it, although I think you’ll be just fine.”
Hmmm. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m smart enough to graduate, and this is my fallback?”
“No, wanker, I’m saying this house is a steal for the money and you have that and more in the bank. Even if you don’t sell it, maybe it would be nice for you to put down some roots. That’s all.” He sent me a brotherly scowl through the phone.
Interesting. “Ah.”
We moved on to other conversation, mostly about the upcoming trial of Elizabeth’s attacker who’d broken into her apartment and attempted to kill her back in November. In the fray, he’d sliced the artery in Declan’s leg, and it had been touch and go for a while until we’d known he’d make it through surgery.
“He didn’t make bail, thank God, so he’s sitting it out in jail until the trial in January,” he told me.
“Any chance he’ll get off?” I asked. His father was a senator of North Carolina, but our father had deep political connections as well.
“I don’t know. Time will tell.”
That didn’t sound good, and I could tell he didn’t want to delve into the explanations with Elizabeth there, so we talked for a few more minutes until he had to leave for the gym, and then Elizabeth got on. We chatted for half an hour until she finally had to go take a shower.
Falling back on my bed, I stared up at the ceiling. Mulling. Brooding.
This summer I’d turned a corner; perhaps the day I’d driven out to the Hampstead Rehab Center to bring Spider home. He’d come out the front doors a withered version of himself, face gaunt, lines feathering out from his mouth. Drugs and being on the road had worn him down to a skinny whip of a guy. Even with the guiding compass of his bandmates, he hadn’t held his shit together.
And the thing that struck me the most—he was alone.
No groupies. No girlfriends. No parents that wanted him.
I knew the pain of being alone, when greedy people want something from you because you’re the son of a rich man or because you’re popular.
Remi had never been like that. She hadn’t kissed my ass when I’d treated her indifferently. Hell no—she’d strutted out of my room like she owned the place, sweater and all. Most girls would have gone along with whatever I said just to be near me, but not her.
She’d wanted a version of me that I couldn’t be at nineteen.
She’d wanted love although she’d never said it out loud.
I slipped on some jeans and walked into the large bathroom attached to my room. I washed my face and arranged my hair with my fingers, my brain running in all directions, mostly about what I’d do after I graduate. There’s not much out there with a degree in psychology if you didn’t go to graduate school.
What did that leave?
Bartend? Maybe. I did have four years’ experience of drinking at the Tau house and knew a lot about mixing alcohol. Billy, the owner of Cadillac’s, had offered more than once. He claimed I brought people in the door.
Work at Declan’s gym? I’d spent all last spring working out with him at his gym, and had really gotten into the fitness groove, but working for Declan? Mixing family with job responsibility is tricky.
Invest in the housing market? Hmmm. I didn’t know shit about houses.
You could learn. Maybe. The idea grew on me.
As if by instinct, my feet found themselves at my closet, and I reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a letter. It had been written from Mum before she passed away, and I carried it everywhere. Father had given one to each of us when we were thirteen years old: one for me and a different letter for Declan.
Letter in hand, I sat down on the bed.
Dear Dax,
This letter is goodbye, but please know I’m writing it with smiles not tears. I’m rejoicing because someday, when the time is right, you will read this, and there will be a connection, a gossamer thread that binds us together—you on earth and me in heaven. Perhaps a star will twinkle extra bright or a comet will race across the sky. Perhaps a dragonfly will land on your shoulder or a rainbow will be in your backyard. It’s me, becoming part of our infinite universe as I watch you grow.
I’m dying with cancer. There’s a slight chance I might liv
e a few months longer with medication but it would make me very sick and tired. I don’t want to waste away in front of you. I want you to remember me as the fun mum, and with the time I have left, I want to spend every second with you playing Monopoly, making bangers and mash, singing “Hey, Jude” and “Here Comes the Sun.”
Am I scared as the hour of my death closes in? Yes. My heart breaks to know I won’t be here to carry you through the pain of losing me, the tumult of your upcoming teenage years, see you fall in and out of love, or experience the feeling of holding your own children.
But what I can leave you with is advice. You are young now, but someday I hope it gives you comfort to know that I too have been where you are, and I was far from perfect.
I got pregnant with you unexpectedly and married a man I’d fallen madly in love with but barely knew. You were both born, and soon he realized he’d never loved me. He wanted to go back to his home in the United States. It was not his fault. Please know this. Have compassion for him even though you barely know him. You can’t make someone love you and you can’t make them stay with you. But look at the blessings I received. YOU. If I could go back and change a thing about meeting your father and what happened, I wouldn’t, knowing you and Declan were waiting for me at the end.
I recall the moment you first saw the beach on holiday in Italy. You took my hand and we walked out as far as we could. You played for hours, and when the sun finally set on the horizon, you reached for my hand. “It’s like a painting, Mum,” you whispered, and I knew then your heart was special. You saw that we are but particles of dust on this earth and there are things bigger than us.
As a baby, you rarely cried and I often worried why, but as you grew into a headstrong yet kind lad, I realized God had sent me a child much like myself. Impulsive and fun. Full of joy. He knew I needed you. Your mischievous nature and giggles get me through my weepy days—even though you may not realize it.
“Your wings already exist . . . all you have to do is soar.”
My little darling, I didn’t write that quote, but I’ve said it to you since you were in my tummy. It’s our mantra, and every time you say it back to me, I have the assurance of knowing that, if anything, I will leave you with hope and a belief that you can be and do anything you want.
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