Page 97

CHAPTER

SEVENTY-TWO

REMI

The stadium is packed.

I have to sit at the top of the bleachers, and it’s fucking freezing out here. I glance down at the orange painted end zone, TIGERS written in white letters.

I’m shivering, and my eyes catch sight of the cheerleaders in their black and orange uniforms with their matching pom poms.

I’m not envious of their plastered-on smiles and the streamers in their hair.

I wonder if he’ll see me, because the game is ending, and the Ely Tigers are up 31 to 17. Now, they’re just running down the clock.

I glance once more at the cheerleaders, and I don’t see Maya among them, but then again, I’m kind of far away.

I try not to think about it, a flutter in my stomach when I do.

Oh, well. She’ll stay away now.

Van and Sloane offered to come with me, but I thought Cortland might appreciate it if I came by myself. I told him I would help with dinner for tonight, and I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to ask me here.

But he knows how I feel about football.

And even now, nerves roll through me and I’m not so sure this was a good idea. Especially as I spot his dad and Tristan in the front row, easily recognizable by the jerseys they’re wearing even in the cold, Adler printed on the back.

But I run my fingers over my scars and take a breath. We only get one fucking life. Bad ideas, good ideas… what’s it matter when you can only do things once?

The timer runs down and the cheerleaders and coaches and fans rush the field, and I push all of that from my mind.

I stand, beaming down at the action, watching number four take off his helmet and rake his hand through his thick, brown hair. He’s engulfed by his teammates and his coach, but he looks up, his eyes darting around the bleachers.

My heart skips a beat.

And his eyes find mine.

For a moment, it’s like he’s frozen, getting jostled around by the crowd.

But then… then he’s running.

I don’t get to say a word as I meet him halfway down the bleacher stairs. He wraps me up in his arms, his lips coming to mine. He’s damp with sweat and I feel dizzy as he spins me, my hands coming to his shoulder pads as I laugh against his mouth, literally swept off of my feet.

For a second, I’m nervous, terrified that when I tell him what I have to tell him, he won’t react like this.

But for now, he’s kissing me so fucking hard I can’t breathe, then he’s biting my piercing and my legs are wrapped around his waist, his hands under my ass. It feels strange without any metal in his own mouth, a clear retainer through the hole instead.

I hear people cheering down below, chanting his last name.

Adler. Adler. Adler.

And for the first time, I contemplate it. What it would look like.

Remi Adler.

“Baby,” I finally say, pulling away, trying to breathe. His gray eyes are on mine, lit up with joy.

I did that.

“Baby, I have to tell you something?—”

“God, you’re so mine,” he says as I lean down close, my temple on his. “You came. You’re fucking mine.” As if my appearance here makes me more his than sleeping most of the past month in his bed.

“I need to tell you something,” I manage to gasp out again before he’s kissing me all over and I’m letting him pull me under with it, letting myself dive headfirst into his love.

He pulls back, panting. “What is it? Spit it out, Remi.”

Before I can, he grabs my ass, hard, and I yelp, my face flushing as I realize his dad and his little brother are probably watching us right now. “I?—”

But he moves his hand from my ass and pulls something between us, cutting off my words.

My heart nearly stops as he holds up the pregnancy test.

He glances at the two pink lines.

“I fucking knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Before he can attack me again, I’m talking fast, knowing his hands will be all over me soon. “There are conditions to this baby,” I sputter, grabbing his wrists as he beams down at me.

He cocks a brow. “Conditions?”

“Yeah, I still want to finish school and?—”

He kisses me again, wrapping his arms tight around me, hands back on my ass as he lifts me in the air again. “I know.”

“And I wanna be a writer and they don’t make shit for money and?—”

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes, his lips over mine. “I don’t give a fuck about anything you’re saying right now. I’ve got money. I’ll get more. Let me take care of you.”

My mouth drops open, my mind spinning.

Then he’s kissing me again, stealing my words.

“Let me take care of you and let me take care of our baby.”