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CHAPTER

SIXTY-SEVEN

CORTLAND

Tristan’s stitches are angry and red, his skin pulled together in lumps.

“He hit deep,” the doctor says while my little brother sleeps.

I have my arms crossed, and Mom still isn’t here. Dad is inside the room, his head bowed. I see him through the glass.

“This wasn’t just a cry for attention,” the doctor continues as I stare at my brother’s pale face. “Whatever he says, I think he wanted to die.”

I see the wound in my head, his palm upturned.

Vertical.

My stomach lurches. “What do we do?”

The doctor sighs. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he does. “You just have to be there.”

I wake up in a cold sweat, sitting up in the dark as my heart races. I fling my arms out, feeling along my mattress, but she’s not here.

My heart skips a beat as I call her name. “Remi?”

Nothing.

Silence. I can still taste her on my tongue, and when I take a deep breath, blinking my eyes in the darkness of my room, I can still smell her, too. But she’s not here.

My throat is dry as I flip the covers back and swing my legs off the bed, my bare feet hitting the floor.

I’m here, baby. Where are you?

She fell asleep with me last night, and if it’s up to me, she’d fucking move in with me. But I know that might be pushing it.

Still. She was in my bed last night, and as I glance at the clock on the nightstand, I see it’s almost three in the morning. Where the hell are you?

I flip on my light and dart my eyes around the room.

She’s not here.

The hoodie she was wearing from the hospital is gone from the back of my chair, too.

My muscles feel tight, and I turn to my bedroom door. It’s unlocked, and I know she locked it last night. A nervous habit, she said.

I twist the knob, pulling open the door.

A narrow slice of light spills down the hallway.

Storm’s door is closed, and for one second, I imagine her in there with him.

My stomach twists into knots and I think I might puke. What we did in the living room, after that camping trip… We are never doing that shit again. I mean, I don’t even watch porn anymore. At all. Ever. So she can’t get Storm’s dick ever again in her life.

But she wouldn’t do that.

She just wouldn’t.

I take a step out into the hallway.

Then I hear a voice.

Straining my ears, I peer over the railing, but from this angle, I can’t see anything.

I hear them talking, though.

Brinklin and Remi.

I take a deep breath in, my hands clenched into fists at my side. I will fuck him up too if he’s touching her.

I step toward the staircase, but then I hear his words.

“For what it’s worth,” he laughs, but he sounds uncomfortable. My temper flares, because it’s three in the fucking morning and I have no idea why she’s downstairs with him, or why he’s fucking talking to her, but still. He helped set that fire.

So I wait.

“I’m sorry, Remi.” He clears his throat. “I never meant to hurt you.”

My skin crawls with his words and I feel itchy, but I force myself to stay right where I am, letting her get this.

I don’t want him talking to her about it.

I don’t want him thinking about it, and definitely not next to her.

But I wait, all the same. Because she deserves all of our apologies. I highly doubt she’d ever get that from Storm, and we had to beat it out of Chase, but she deserves it all the same.

“It’s okay,” she finally says, and I close my eyes tight in the dark, resisting the urge to dig my nails into my skin. Because I don’t want her to hurt like that. Not anymore. And if I don’t want it from her, I can’t do it either. But still, I cheat a little, my nails digging into my palms.

It’s not okay, baby.

Nothing that happened that night was okay.

And that’s exactly what Brinklin says. “No.” He pauses. “It wasn’t. Seriously, Remi. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Silence rings out between them, my blood pounding in my ears. I wish I could see her. I hope he isn’t touching her, but I want to comfort her myself. I know she probably needs it.

Then she just says, her voice breaking a little with the words, “Thank you.”