Remy (25 page)

They get me on the bed and I hear Pete telling Riley to “Get the other side” and ask me what the hell he’s going to do with me.

“Brooke,”
I angrily tell them.

“She’s coming, dude!” Pete says, laughing at my stubbornness.

They prop a pillow up behind me and I see her. Diane is helping her to bed, and I look worriedly at her.

My girl. God my girl hurt because of me.

“Okay?” I rasp out.

She smiles softly at me as she eases into bed and pulls the cover over us both, sliding her fingers into my hair.

“More than okay,” she says, her eyes bright with love and understanding. All the tension in my body leaves me when she speaks to me. I was fighting not to succumb to the sedative, but her voice makes me unwind, and I succumb to her.

BROOKE HASN’T RECOVERED from the stings, and I’m still black as fucking midnight.

She’s been sleeping too much, and she spent the flight to Las Vegas sequestered in the toilet. The word pregnant has been popping out of Diane’s mouth.

Pregnant.

Eight letters, one word that makes my chest swell, my cock hard.

“I’m not pregnant!” Brooke’s been telling me.

She keeps denying it, but I swear to god I can almost smell it on her. I smell it on her and it makes me even
harder.

While she takes a home pregnancy test, I’ve run around a worn path on the hotel carpet, but the urge to fuck is still acute. Now I’m shadow boxing between the bed and the seating area, trying to get rid of all this extra energy and pull the blood out of my cock. Pump, swing, pump. Holy shit, she could be pregnant. My balls draw tight at the thought and my cock jerks again. God, I hope she’s pregnant. Now. I fucking
pray
she’s pregnant. Sensing her all of a sudden, I turn around, and she’s watching me with a lost, thoughtful look in her eyes.

“You check yet?” I ask impatiently.

She jerks at my voice and looks at me, looking thoughtful and delectable. Once again, my cock goes up.

“Brooke?”

She gnaws on the inside of her cheek and frowns, her expression uncertain.

“Did you or did you not pee on a stick, baby?” I prod.

“I did! I told you I did!” She goes back into the bathroom and comes out with a white stick. She looks at it, and I’m so restless, and so primed to mate, I continue pumping the air.

I swear if she’s not pregnant, we’ll remedy that soon. I’ll keep fucking and taking and claiming her until she
is
. I want to be the father of her children. I want her to be mine. Every breath, every sigh, every moan of hers,
mine mine mine
. Her body mine, to have my children, to have me inside her. Mine to protect, to pet, to kiss, every inch mine to run my tongue over.

Feeling hot and hungry for her, I watch as she studies the test result, and I want it so bad, I’m running out of patience. “What’s it say?” I demand.

“It says . . .” She stares down at the stick, then she sets it aside, and starts walking over to me, and she looks fucking adorable, and womanly, and vulnerable.

“Remington, don’t forget this,” she whispers, framing my face in her hands and looking into my eyes. “You’re black right now, and I don’t want you to forget what I’m going to tell you. I need all of you here
with me
.”

“Hey.” I frame back her face in mine, looking deeply into her eyes. “I got you.”

“God, please do.”

“Yeah, I do. I got you. Now what’s wrong here? Hmm? If you aren’t, then we figure out what’s wrong with you. If you are . . .”

She runs over to get the test, then she returns and extends it out. “Two lines means, supposedly, that I am.”

My eyes remain on hers for a moment. Does she want to be? Fuck, she better want to be. She
better
be.

I stare at the screen at the end of the stick and immediately see the double lines.

I frown because I need to be sure, but already, my insides are buzzing with pride.

I still see two lines.

More buzzing in my body, buzzing in my skin. I think I just grew ten sizes wide and high.

I lift my gaze to her, and she looks uncertain, as if she doesn’t know whether to be worried or happy. “Come here.” Unable to hold back my smile, I pick her up and lift her into the air, smacking a kiss on her abs, then I toss her down on the bed. She squeals and bursts out laughing as I fall on her.

“You’re a crazy man! You’re the only man I know who throws his pregnant girlfriend onto a bed!” she cries.

“I’m the
only
man,” I correct her, “as far as I know. There’s only one man in your world, and it’s me.”

“All right, but don’t tell my dad I agreed so easily . . .” she whispers, rubbing my shoulders, gold eyes shining on me. I want this baby to have those eyes. That perfect smile.

“Brooke Dumas pregnant with my baby,” I tell her. In case she didn’t see the fucking test, now she fucking knows she’s pregnant by me.

She grins happily, and that pure little grin feels like a kiss all along my pulsing cock. “My head is reeling. Kiss me.”

I drop my head and trail my tongue in to mate with hers, then I drag the back of one finger across her cheek. “Make it look like you,” I whisper.

“You’re the one who gave this to me,” she counters.

“No,
you’re
giving this to me.”

“All right, we’re both such giving souls.”

She laughs, and I laugh with her and roll to my side, gathering her in my arms so I can kiss her all over. “You’re mine now, from the top of your pretty dark head to the soles of your little feet.” I caress her face and kiss her eyelids, and I’m so fucking delighted, I swear things are actually moving in my chest. “Don’t even think about leaving me again or I’ll come after you and so help me god, I’m going to tie you to where I am, and where I sleep, and where I eat. Do you hear me, Brooke Dumas?”

She nods breathlessly. “There isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t know I’m yours.”

She seizes my hand and spreads it over the curve of her breast, right over her heart.

I clench her breast possessively so she remembers its mine, and I bend my head and kiss her. “
I’m so crazy about you,”
I rasp, and I drag my hand down her lovely curves and pet her.

Gah!”

The only sound in the silent church comes from one of the front rows, and it is followed by soft laughter nearby.

“Rem, that boy is priceless. He already feels like he’s the shit and he’s not even one,” Pete murmurs behind me.

I glance at my son and he’s slapping Josephine now, saying, “Gah!” every time he hits her. Brooke says he’ll be just like me, but I hope he’ll be better than me.

The doors of the church swing open, and I straighten and stand in place, like I’m supposed to, the anticipation slowly gnawing at me. I rub my thumb along my ring when a figure in white steps forward—and my lungs empty in a whoosh. Fuck me, look at her. Only Brooke does this to me. The noise inside me stills and I feel whole and content, at peace, the instant my eyes lock on hers. And she’s so fucking beautiful in that dress my collar suddenly chokes me.

Music starts playing. My bride’s music.

When she starts walking toward me, I feel like every step makes me grow inside my suit the way only she can make me, and I’m about ten sizes too large now and burning beneath the fabric. She didn’t hide her face behind a veil. Every step, I see her smile. Her huge, wide, I-fucking-love-you-Remington-Tate smile.

This is my woman pledging her life to me.

This is me, pledging my life to her.

My eyes run over her face, and it’s the same face I look for every morning in my bed, and every moment I’m in the ring, and every second in between. She’s that girl, with the marshmallow mouth that looks soft and inviting, and those eyes, gold as a lioness’s, and yet she tells me she’s no longer a girl. She’s a woman now. A mother. A wife.
My
wife.

The dress covers her completely, tight around her top and spreading wide at the skirt. She looks so fucking beautiful I want to mate her, take her, right now, slammed by thoughts of grabbing her into my arms, ripping off the dress’s buttons and her panties, then spreading her open so I can claim my wife, every sigh of hers, every inch of skin.

I’m so fucking ready for this, I step off the platform to receive her a couple of steps earlier and I lock gazes with her father when I approach. He’s unsmiling, his eyes wet, but there’s no antagonism in his stare. “She’s all yours,” he tells me thickly.

I’ve already slipped my hand to her small one when I nod and murmur, “Thank you,” then I bring her up with me to the altar. She stands trembling in excitement at my side, and I duck my head and lean over, brushing my nose against hers so she tips her head back to look at me. Our stares hold.

“Ready?” I ask when we hear the priest begin the ceremony.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony . . .”

Sometimes I wonder if it’s me.

If there’s something about me that repels the good. And the pure. Or if I’m just not meant to have a family.

Brooke is having trouble keeping our baby, and now we’re flying in silence to Seattle.

I carried her to the plane; no Pete, no Riley, no Coach, no Diane flying with us. I want her all for me. All for fucking
me.

I can’t even talk.

I can’t even fucking think.

My girl. Our baby.

Breathing slowly, I sit on the bench on the back of the plane and stare up at the ceiling, breathing in and out as I stroke my fingers down her soft hair, her head propped on my lap as she lies down the length of the bench. She’s so sad and quiet I can barely take it.

The doctors don’t want her traveling with me.

Brooke thought it so ludicrous, she laughed when the last one left our hotel suite, then she looked at me, not laughing anymore.
“You can’t seriously be thinking of sending me back? Right? Remington, I’ll lie down. I won’t fucking move. This is your son. He’s going to hang in there! He will. I don’t see how being sent away will stress me any less. I don’t want to go home. I’ll stay in bed all day, just don’t take me back!”

My god, I felt like someone was whacking my chest with an axe, especially when I slowly spoke to Pete, who was quietly standing nearby, and I watched her face crumple when I told him, “Get the plane ready.”

She cried all night, and all I could do was hold her. “You can’t protect me from everything,” she whispered, sniffing.

“I can try.”

Now we’re flying in silence, heading for Seattle.

Where I won’t touch her, smell her, or see her.

Bending down to my lap, I kiss the top of her ear, her earlobe, the center of her ear, and there, I whisper that I’m going to miss her, that I’m going to need her to be good, to take care of herself, that I fucking need her.

She doesn’t want to talk. She’s sad and I don’t even know how to make it better. She’s my woman and how do I make her smile again? How do I protect her from the child I gave her?

Quietly, I pull out the extension of my credit card I just got her. “Use it,” I whisper.

She stares at it in stubborn silence, but she doesn’t take it.

“Brooke,” I warn, placing the card into her palm. “I want to see charges. Daily.”

She looks unimpressed by the fact that I want her to spend whatever she fucking wants, and put it on me. I smile down at her, while Brooke looks somberly up at me, not smiling.

Reaching up, she drags her fingers along my jaw. “When I came back, I promised myself I’d never leave you.”

“I promised myself I’d never let you go. What else do you expect me to do?”

I brush her dark hair behind her face, surveying her for a moment. “We’re going to be all right, little firecracker,” I tell her. I glance at her flat little stomach and spread my hand out, trying to encompass as much as possible. “We’ve got this.” I rub her gently and look deep into her eyes. “Don’t we?”

“Of course we do,” she says, but she studies me as if she’s not certain. “It’s just two months, right?”

I tweak her nose. “Right.”

“And it’s not like we can’t communicate in other ways.”

“Exactly right.”

She sits up and starts massaging my shoulder. “Let your body rest. Ice yourself after your workouts. Warm up properly.”

Fuck.
Her warmth. The sound of her voice. I dip my nose into her neck and inhale, listening to her breathe me in. I pull her closer and lick her neck, then whisper, so she understands, “I can’t let anything happen to you, Brooke. I can’t. I had to bring you back.”

“I know, Remy, I know.” She runs her fingers through my hair and looks at me, as tormented as I feel. “We’re going to be all right, all three of us.”

“That’s the point of all this,” I whisper, reminding myself as well as her.

“And like you say, we’ve got this. We really do.”

“Damn right we do.”

“You’ll be back before we even have time to feel sad or miss each other too much.”

“That’s right. I’ll be training and you’ll be resting.”

“Yeah.”

When we fall silent, we stay close, and she whispers, “I left some arnica oils in your suitcase. If you have any muscle soreness or any pain.”

“Are you still seeing blood?” I ask, and when she nods, my concern and frustration feel like a spiked ball in the middle of my chest.

“Every time a cramp starts, I feel like it’s going to come out of me,” she admits.

Soothing a hand down her back, I press a kiss to her forehead. “I know it’ll kill you not to run. Stay off your feet for me.”

“Not as much as it would kill me to lose our baby,” she whispers.