Page 18

Remy

Three days later…

I can’t lie, three days of hiding from the world at Stone’s place, playing nurse to my injured boyfriend, have been amazing—despite his love for cheesy cop movies from the 80s and increasingly ridiculous crafting ideas. We’ve had a very healing, relaxing, peaceful time together, filled with laughs, great food, and more Barb cuddles than any human deserves, but it’s time to rejoin the real world.

The admin office won’t run itself, and Juliet’s “take all the time you need” texts are starting to carry an edge of desperation.

I’m gathering my things for work at the kitchen table when Stone hobbles in from the bedroom on his crutches, Barb tailing after him like the most loyal nursemaid ever. It’s still hard to see this man, who used to be able to pin me against the wall with one arm, struggling to get around.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” I ask. “I can dip at lunch if you want. As long as I make an appearance, I?—”

“Oh, stop,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep. “I’ll be fine. Barb’s here, ready to wait on me hand and paw, isn’t that right, Barb?”

Barb barks on cue, making us both smile.

“Go, do your thing,” he adds, pausing to kiss my cheek on his way to the coffee. “Save the Badgers from death by paperwork. I’ll still be here and in need of your gentle healing touch when you get back.”

“But seriously, what if you need something Barb can’t reach?”

And what if I run into Dad in the halls at the arena, and he ignores me in person the way he ignored my text yesterday? What if this rift between us really is permanent?

What if I’ve lost him for good?

If so, I know it won’t be because I’m a horrible daughter or asked for anything that an adult child shouldn’t be able to expect from a parent, but still…

My anxiety levels are much higher than usual today, and a weak part of me would be just fine with hiding out at Stone’s for another three days.

Or thirty.

Or three hundred…

“I’ll text if I’m in trouble for any reason, but don’t worry. I can always call Sophie if there’s an emergency.” Stone pours his coffee. “And I won’t be alone for long, anyway. Martha from my decoupage class is coming over at ten. We’re going to craft while she makes me cookies because I’m just a poor, precious baby who needs cookies.”

I arch a brow. “Right. Did you tell Martha that your mom already sent you three different kinds of cookies? And she’s coming down on Friday to make you more?”

He flashes that golden retriever grin that charms me every time, even when I know full well he’s using it to manipulate me the same way he’s manipulating every soft-hearted baker in a five-mile radius. “Hush, woman. What are you? The cookie police? Martha loves to bake. And she loves my vintage National Geographic collection for sourcing decoupage. It’s a win-win. But I mean…if you have extra time before work, there is one thing I would love.”

“What’s that?”

He shoots me his best puppy dog eyes. “Well, if I’m going to eat cookies all day, I should probably have a healthy breakfast first. And what’s healthier than low-sugar roasted peach oatmeal with extra peaches and pecans?”

“From The Grainhouse?” My brows lift. “That’s at least a ten-minute walk, and there’s no easy way to drive there. Build in time to order and get back, and we’re talking a thirty-minute side quest before I head to work.”

“Oh, is it that far? I didn’t realize.” His innocent expression wouldn’t fool a toddler, and his heavy sigh is ridiculously tragic. “Never mind, then. They don’t deliver or even let other delivery drivers pick up there, so…I guess I’ll just grab something from the fridge. Like an old yogurt or a crusty piece of cheese. I’m sure the cheddar isn’t too moldy yet…”

“Oh my God, you’re terrible,” I say, laughing as I slap his ass before heading for the door. “Fine, but I’ll have to leave right now. No time to fix Barb’s pup cup or do my makeup.”

His triumphant grin is equal parts adorable and eye-roll-inducing. What must it be like to be born a golden boy? I have no idea, but at least I’m not alone in having a hard time saying no to him. And it’s not like he doesn’t spoil me every chance he gets.

“Thank you,” he calls after me. “You’re the best girlfriend ever, and you don’t need makeup to be prettier than all the princesses. Right, Barb? Remy is prettier than Ariel and Merida. Sexier, too.”

Barb barks in agreement, a fact I acknowledge with a small bow before grabbing my coat from the closet. It’s getting chillier in Portland, with the fall foliage fading from its peak and winter just around the corner.

“Thank you, Barbara,” I say. “Make sure he stays out of trouble while I’m gone.” To Stone, I add, “If I don’t have time to bring the food up myself, I’ll have Bruce bring it, okay?”

Bruce, the doorman, is a huge Badgers fan and has offered at least a hundred times to do whatever it takes to get Stone back on the ice ASAP. He thinks Stone is the glue that holds the offense together, and I can’t disagree.

“Sounds good,” Stone says. “Thank you! Love you.”

“Love you, too,” I say, the words still new enough that they make me goofy grin in the elevator.

It’s sappy.

Even sappier? A part of me suspects that hearing him tell me that he loves me is never going to get old. Not even when we are. I actually think about growing old with him, a thing that’s never crossed my mind before, but with Tyler, it feels right.

Outside, it’s a crisp, clear morning in downtown Portland, and I actually find myself grateful for the chance to take a walk before jumping straight into my car. I’ve been so busy taking care of Stone, I haven’t had time to get out and enjoy the last fading gasp of autumn.

I indulge in an amble, at first, but at the end of the block, I speed my pace, hopefully making it clear that I’m in a hurry if Roger spots me out and about. Roger, a member of the local homeless community, talks my ear off every chance he gets. I usually don’t mind—he’s a smart and interesting guy—but I don’t have time to visit this morning. Thankfully, it looks like he’s still asleep in his doorway of choice.

Portland’s homelessness situation is depressingly widespread, but Roger refuses to go to a shelter or to one of the motels Stone offered to pay for until he gets back on his feet. Roger likes his freedom and hates capitalism too much to have any interest in “getting back on his feet” in a world like this one.

The evil of capitalism is his hyper-fixation of choice, and he’s a damned convincing speaker on the topic. By the third time he lectured me about how the exploitation of vulnerable people is baked inexorably into the system, like the world’s most violent and racist Ponzi scheme, I was sold. Apparently, our economic model is so deeply broken, there’s probably no hope of fixing it. The only real answer is to tear it all down and start fresh with something new.

But starting fresh is a lot harder than it sounds.

Human beings cling to our systems, our habits, so fearful of change, we have to be dragged out of our unproductive ruts, kicking and screaming. Sure, the ruts are often muddy and cold and smell like rotten garbage, but they’re familiar, dammit, and we like familiar.

And ruts aren’t always so bad…

The rut I was in with my dad made me feel stuck and unseen, but at least I had a father. Now, if we can’t find a way to evolve, I might as well be an orphan.

Though I imagine having a dad who is alive and well, but uninterested in a relationship, would be much worse than one who’s dead. After all, I’m never mad or upset with my mother. I know she would have given anything to be here for me. She just can’t be.

Cancer made that choice for her.

For all of us.

It hits me all of a sudden how sad it would make her…to know that Dad and I are struggling like this. She wouldn’t want us to give up on each other, not ever.

The thought is barely through my head when I push through The Grainhouse’s front door to see none other than my father sitting at a table by the window.

Across from him is Grammercy, who takes one look at my face and surges to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste to escape whatever emotional tsunami is about to hit.

“Sorry about the ambush,” he blurts out, already maneuvering around me and reaching for the door. “Stone made me do it. Well, he didn’t make me, exactly, but I owed him for saving my ass at the game, so I couldn’t very well say no.” His gaze darts between Dad and me. “Don’t be pissed, Coach. From what I heard, it sounds like this is for you own?—”

“You’re excused, Grammercy,” my father cuts in, his voice as calm and cool as ever.

Only someone who knows him well would be able to see the hint of worry in his gray eyes or the tension in his jaw.

But I do know him well, and I’d bet my annual bonus he’s as surprised to see me as I am to see him.

“Right. Thanks, Coach. Bye, Remy,” Grammercy says.

He’s through the door and out onto the sidewalk before I can reply.

Pulling in a deeper breath, I turn back to face my father. For a beat, neither of us says a word, the tension building as I hover awkwardly by the door. I’m about to say that we can talk later, in private, if that’s better, when he motions to the empty chair across from him.

“Would you like to join me?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Sure,” I say, uncertainty in mine, too. “If you want me to.”

“I would.” He nods toward the paper coffee cup Grammercy abandoned in his haste to get out of Dodge. “That’s a vanilla latte. He didn’t have time to drink any of it. So, if you’d like coffee…”

“Sure, thanks.” I slide into the seat and instantly start picking at the paper cup sleeve before forcing myself to stop. Dad hates fidgeting. So, do I. And this isn’t the time for fidgeting. It’s time to be calm, kind, but direct. “I texted you yesterday.”

He nods again. “I received it.”

Silence falls again.

Thick, sticky, poisonous silence that makes my larynx feel too big for my neck.

“I don’t know what to say,” I finally confess, figuring honesty is the best policy, though maybe not the radical honesty I embraced at the hospital. “But I’m sorry I said all that stuff. About Mom.”

“Are you?” He looks up, the raw emotion in his gaze hitting like a sucker punch. “I mean, you were right. I was so focused on saving her, on controlling everything I could control that I…” He clears his throat before continuing in a softer voice, “I didn’t give her what she really wanted. I knew that, even back then. I could see how disappointed she was when I shut down her little adventures and convinced her to keep taking it easy. I just thought there would be time. I thought, when she was better, she would eventually thank me for putting her health above everything else, but…” He swallows, making a visible effort to pull himself together before adding, “But she didn’t get better, and there wasn’t time. And I should have taken her to the damned beach. Every day, if that’s what she wanted.”

Heart aching for him, I murmur, “It’s okay, Dad.”

“It’s not,” he insists.

“Okay, maybe not okay, but understandable,” I say. “Honestly, I do understand. I get it. If my partner were sick with a potentially terminal illness, I would be laser-focused on saving them, too. Especially if we had a kid.”

He gives a tiny shake of his head. “It’s no excuse. I should have helped her make the most of the time she had left. I should have told her that I was going to be lost without her. I should have made sure she knew she was…everything to me.”

Tears sting the backs of my eyes. “Were you? Lost without her?”

“More than you know,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. He keeps his gaze locked on his coffee cup as he adds, “But I had you. I couldn’t afford to fall apart, so I…did the same thing I did with your mother. I focused on control, strategy, and optimization. But it’s come to my attention that you can’t optimize someone into feeling loved, especially not a little girl.” He lifts his gaze, his eyes shining now, too. It’s the second time in my life I’ve seen my father close to tears, and it’s nearly as scary now as it was the first time, next to Mom’s grave. “But I’ve always loved you, Remy, and I always will. And if you’ll give me the chance, I’ll try to be better at showing it in a way that makes you feel it.”

“I do feel it, Dad,” I say, swiping a tear from my cheek as I reach out, taking his hand across the table. “I’ve always known you loved me. I just couldn’t tell if you liked me. Or if you would still be proud to be my dad if I wasn’t killing it all the time.”

He winces slightly before gripping my fingers tight. “Of course, I would be proud. You’re an incredible woman, Artemis Lauder. You’re smart and talented and fierce, but kind. You’re the best parts of your mother and me, all wrapped up in one beautiful person who I feel so lucky to call my daughter.” We’re both sniffling by the time he adds in a slightly lighter voice, “And I like you as much as I’ve ever liked anyone. You know I can’t stand people.”

I exhale a soft laugh, grateful for the reprieve from all the heavy emotional lifting. “Well, people are really annoying,” I agree, releasing his hand as I reach for a napkin from the dispenser to dab at my damp face.

“That boyfriend of yours is all right, though,” Dad says, accepting the napkin I extend his way. “Nosy and deeply unserious at times, but…all right.”

I smile. “That’s high praise from the feared and mighty Coach Lauder. So, I guess I can tell Stone that he’s forgiven for parent-trapping us with oatmeal? Or dad-and-daughter trapping or whatever this was?”

“This time,” Dad says, efficiently wiping his cheeks before balling the napkin in his hand and sitting up straighter. “Next time, I’ll rip him a new asshole. I’m not a child who has to be tricked into making things better with my daughter. I’ve already hired a therapist, and I was going to stop by your office today after work to talk.”

I fight to conceal my shock that he’s finally getting therapy as I say, “That’s good to hear. But I think this was better, don’t you? This way, no one we know will see us leaving the arena with red, puffy eyes.”

He grunts, but his tone is warm as he admits, “I’m glad to start the day on the right foot. I didn’t like being at odds. I knew your mother would be upset with me. She wouldn’t want anything to ever come between us.”

I nod. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. She’d be proud of us right now.”

“She would,” Dad agrees.

We share a smile, soft and bittersweet.

“Well, I should probably grab Stone’s order and get back home,” I say. “Otherwise, I’m going to be late for my first day back at the office.”

Dad scoots his chair back with a nod. “I should go, too. We’re starting practice early so the team can have the rest of today and tomorrow off before the game on Thursday night.” He stands, his brows lifting as he adds, “Oh, and I’ve reserved seats for you and Stone in the box at the second home game next week. No need for him to sit the bench until he’s in less pain, but I don’t want him to miss a chance to study the evolution of play as we move forward.”

“Sounds good, thanks, Dad.” I step into the hug he offers, squeezing him tight, things feeling easier between us than they have in a very long time. When we step back, I add, “I’ll reach out later this week. Maybe we can grab dinner or something when you guys are back from Utah?”

His lips curve. “I’d like that. We could go to that sushi place you like.”

“Sounds perfect.” I lift a hand as I move toward the counter to order. “Have a good day. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he says, looking like a different man than the scowling one I encountered when I first walked through the door.

Stone did good work here.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make him sorry that he sent me in blind. After all, I would have been happy to meet my dad for oatmeal. Stone could have warned me and still left my father in the dark.

I ponder the best way to get my revenge as I wait for his order.

Halfway home, the answer becomes clear as Roger spots me from his usual hang-out spot at the base of the largest tree on the block. “Remy, how’s it going, girl?” he asks, a big grin on his lightly wrinkled face. “Come chat with an old man for a while. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“I’m actually on my way to work, Roger,” I say, pausing at the corner. “But if you’ve got some time this morning, Stone is stuck at home with a bum leg. And he was just telling me the other day how much he’d love to hear more about the C.I.A.’s involvement in the Chilean uprising and how that pertains to the U.S.’s role in suppressing the evolution of democratically chosen socialist governments in foreign countries.”

“All in the name of pushing their own oppressive capitalist agenda,” Roger says, falling neatly into my little trap.

But it’s a gentle trap, and he’s obviously looking for some company this morning.

“Totally.” I nod toward the other side of the street. “You want to come back to the apartment with me? You and Stone can have some coffee and hash it all out.”

Roger’s blue eyes light up. “Make that tea for me and you’ve got a deal, lady.” He bounds up from his perch, slinging his big backpack over one shoulder as he joins me at the corner. “I’m trying to cut back on caffeine. A little’s good, but too much, and my heart starts racing something fierce.”

“I hear you,” I say as we cross the street, the charms and bells on his pack jingling pleasantly. “I cut my afternoon coffee, but I need at least two cups in the morning to feel fully alive.”

He hums beneath his breath. “You’re alive even when your mind’s sleepy and your heart is easy. Don’t let the bastards convince you that wired for sound and grinding your way into an early grave out is the only way. You gotta keep questioning the premise, Remy. Every day, every premise, every thought, this toxic culture indoctrinated into your head and told you was the natural order.”

“You’re right. Excellent point, Roger.” I smile as I add, “You should talk to Stone about that after you give him his history lesson.”

Ten minutes later, we push through the door into the apartment. When Stone sees Roger behind me, he looks surprised, but not displeased.

He’s had Roger over a few times before, usually to let him have a shower in the men’s locker room at the gym or go for a swim with Stone in the summer.

So, while unplanned, this is not a completely shocking development.

“Hey, Roger. What’s shaking, man?” Stone asks, lifting an arm from where he’s settled at the kitchen table.

“Nothing, brother,” Roger says, dumping his pack at the door and dropping down into a squat to pet Barb, who’s wiggling happily at his feet. “Sorry to hear you’ve got a bum leg, though. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you entertained. All the best education is entertaining, too. That’s the only way you ever get people to listen. You gotta make the medicine taste good on the way down.”

“Oh yeah?” Stone asks, widening his eyes meaningfully at me over Roger’s head in a way that asks “what the fuck is this?”

“I told Roger how excited you were to learn more about the coup in Chile,” I say, smiling as I quickly breeze over to set his oatmeal bag in front of him. I avoid the hand he swipes at my arm as I hustle back across the room. “I’d love to stay, but I have to get to work.”

At the door, I turn back to Stone. “My dad says hi, by the way, and thanks. But we’ll both kill you if you ever do something like that to us again.”

“Noted,” Stone says, forcing a slightly nauseous smile as Roger moves to join him at the table.

But then, Stone did mention that he might “stab his eardrums out with a rusty nail” if he had to listen to any more of Roger’s anti-capitalism spiels…

“So, the first thing you’ve got to accept to understand how things got so ugly in Chile,” Roger begins, clasping his hands together, “is that the global financial system is designed to keep developing nations down.” He pulls out the chair closest to Stone’s, careful not to crush Barb, who seems much more excited about lecture time than her dad. “When other countries socialize for the good of the people, we label them enemies of freedom and attack. Full steam ahead. And why’s that, Stone?”

Stone pulls in a breath, presumably to ask why, but Roger’s already answering his own question. “Because the prosperity of the global north has always depended on extracting labor and resources from the global south. On subjugation and oppression, Stone. It’s not a bug in the system, friend, it’s a feature.”

With a final smile and a flutter of my fingers, I head out, not feeling an ounce of sympathy for my meddling boyfriend.

Martha will be here to save him with crafts and cookies before too long.

And I’ll be sure to thank him properly for his sweet intervention as soon as we’re cleared to do more than hand stuff. We’ve been extra careful the past few days in the name of helping Stone heal as quickly as possible, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t already counting the days until his next scan.

Until I can bang my gorgeous man again and show him with every kiss, every touch, how much I love him.

Even when he’s in meddling mode.