Page 14

I ’VE GRADUATED TO PULL -ups.

Remington’s bright stare meets me in the mirror. “You’ve got it, you’ve got it! Just one more!”

I huff through my nod, my muscles boosted by his encouragement. As I hoist myself higher, Remington’s phone rings for the third time in the past three minutes. I’ve rarely heard it ring once in the eight months we’ve known each other, so I peek at Remington.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” I grunt through my fifth rep.

“I’ll check it after. You’ve totally got this. I’ll just give you a tiny boost for the last one.”

With his hands on my waist, Remington boosts me just enough to be able to do a sixth pull-up. I hop from the bar with a bright smile, excited for Remington’s glomping, celebratory hugs.

He laughs, giving me an extra squeeze. “I’m so fucking proud of you!”

“Thank you,” I huff. “I couldn’t do this without you. Like so many things.”

His wide grin lifts my heart. “Same for me, baby girl. Same for me.”

While I guzzle down water, Remington digs his phone out of his gym bag. But when he grips the back of his neck, I freeze. His back tenses beneath his soaked gray T-shirt, kickstarting my heart.

“Rem? What’s wrong?”

Before I can rush to his side, Remington buries his eyes into his forearm, hitching out a sob. My heart drops. I’ve never seen him so upset. I rub his back, but he walks in a circle, glancing around us like someone might be watching.

“Come here,” I whisper, guiding him to a more private corner where the mirror ends.

Squatting behind a weight rack, Remington lifts his shirt collar over his nose, rubbing his eyes with the fabric. “Sorry, I haven't cried over this in a long time.”

“You’re okay - just keep breathing, okay? Can I see the text?”

Keeping his eyes hidden in his shirt, Remington passes me his phone.

Natalia: I tried to call but I don’t want you to have to pick up the phone to hear it from anyone else. Uncle Ernesto died.

My stomach drops. “Oh, God, Rem, I’m so sorry... Were you close to him?”

He flinches. Sitting unmoving for a whole minute, Remington stares into the distance - even as I vigorously rub his back and arms, whispering his name and reassurances.

Until Remington stands, striding to his gym bag. “I need to go home.”

I chase after him, close behind. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, I need to be with you, alone. I’m panicking, hardcore.”

I knew he was gravely upset, but he’s right; I’ve never seen every muscle in his body so taut and his forehead so strained. And after knowing him intimately, I’ve also had many chances to recognize that his anxiety shows up as silence.

Rushing to the parking lot, I keep my arm around his waist. “We’re almost to the car.”

He nods.

What do I even do? Am I making this worse for him? Missing something that could be helping him?

Focus, Lilibeth. This isn’t about me; it’s about Remington. I open the passenger door of Remington’s car, and he glances at me as he steps in. “Sorry.”

I lean in after him as he puts his seatbelt on, sorting his sweaty hair over his forehead. “Please, don’t be sorry. I'm here for you too, baby. Okay?”

He warps back into tears, shredding my heart.

I give him as big of a hug as I can. “Rem, I'm so sorry you're hurting. I wish I could take it away, but I know I can’t.”

“Thank you,” he whispers.

He doesn't say anything else the whole drive home. I cling tighter to the steering wheel, unable to stop checking on Remington in my peripherals. But by the time we’re a block from his apartment, Remington closes his eyes, slackening into his seat.

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

He gives a low hum. “Tired.”

After parking, I rush to help Remington from the car. But he’s already out, heading for the parking lot elevators. Dashing after him, my stomach drops. I knew his heart was heavy, but his dragging, clodding footsteps tell me his body carries an equally unbearable burden. I’ve never seen anything hit Remington so hard.

We lay together in the pitch-black darkness. I snuggle up to Remington in his bed, doing my best to be a grounding force, but he’s far from relaxed. His heart races beneath my palm, just as stressed as his heavy breath. His eyes are closed, and he hasn’t said a word since we got home. He said what he needed was to be alone with me, but I still feel helpless; all I can do is lay here with him as he rides out his anxiety.

It takes an hour for him to speak again. His voice is rough with exhaustion. “L.L.B.?”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t ever explain to you why I got into kink and BDSM, and I’m sorry about that. It’s just not something I like going over.”

“Okay. Do you feel like you want to share it? I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

He hums. “Baby girl, you’re too good to me.”

I prop myself on my elbow to face him in the total darkness, running my hand down the thickness of his torso that I can only feel rising beside me, not see. “You’ve done the exact same. I really want to be there for you, so I’m sorry I’m not too good at it.”

“You are,” he whispers. Remington’s swallow is followed by a deep hum, but it’s not as soothing as usual; there’s a dash of stress in his strained voice. “I wouldn’t have done any of this with you if I didn’t feel safe around you.”

I smile, even though my heart still aches for him. Leaning over his chest, I dip to plant a soft, smooth kiss over Remington’s lips. He breathes into me, dragging a heavy hand across my back in slow sweeps. Goosebumps trickle down my spine, easing my body against him. Remington adjusts himself to face me, and I adjust with him until we lay nose-to-nose in the pure darkness.

“I don’t know how to say this to anyone. It’s weird to just say on a whim,” Remington whispers.

I smooth my hand down his neck before planting a small kiss on his jaw. “Maybe you might need to just say it, even if it comes out wrong - like you have to say to me.”

He chuckles. “Maybe. Then, first off, I have diagnosed PTSD from this, and my ex made it worse.”

My heart flips. Of course I know what PTSD is, but I don’t know-know its symptoms. I’ll have to research it later.

Remington sucks in a sharp breath, then holds it.

I rub his chest. “K-keep breathing.”

His exhale shatters as it exits, tearing at my heart. Flipping onto his back again, he grips my hand to his chest. “We used to have the whole family stay over on Christmas Eve, especially with my cousins. Almost everyone would get wasted after the kids went to bed - or before, to be honest. But either way, there’s one time–” He huffs. “One time in particular was extra bad.”

I cling to Remington tighter. I’d be afraid of where this was going even if I didn’t know him, but since I do, the pieces are falling into place in the worst way.

“Y-you’re doing so well,” I whisper.

He blows out a long breath. “Sweet girl. I don’t want to make you listen to this.”

“What if I want to?”

My heart pounds almost as hard as Remington’s beneath our clasped palms. He shuffles beside me as if he’s itching in his own skin.

Until finally, he whispers, “My uncle got blackout drunk every year. And there wasn’t enough room for all of us, so my sister and I slept in the same bed, which was fine since I was eight and she was only ten. But my uncle came in to–” I wince, and Remington clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is unusually flat. “He came in to touch Natalia, or who knows what else. Anyway, I stopped him, and he didn’t like that, so I offered to take her place, which– Which was not something I wanted, but all that I knew to do to keep her safe. I played the fucking hero and fucked myself up for life. But I don’t know if it was even worth it. I can’t decide if Natalia would’ve felt worse having it done to her or if she feels worse now from the guilt of trading places with her baby brother and having to hide in the corner to watch us.”

I can hardly breathe. I’m so horrified for Remington that I don’t know what to say. He hums again, rubbing my back.

“You okay, baby girl? I know you have your own dragons–”

I choke out a heavy breath. “Remington, no– I’m so sorry you were subjected to this. I just hate that he did that to you so much that I don’t know how to put it into words, I just–”

Remington hums, pulling me into a hug. “It’s okay.”

But I straighten in his arms, cupping his cheek. “No, Rem. It’s not. It never was, and it’s not your fault, even if your sister has trauma now too. It’s all his fault– And I wish I could help you.”

My voice waters beyond my control. I don’t want to take away from him, but Remington’s sweet brushing over my head holds so much more meaning now. He’s not playing the hero because he was unsuccessful at rescuing someone; he’s playing the hero because that little eight-year-old hero needed rescuing too, but no one came to save him.

“You do help me,” he whispers. “You’re grounding me more than you know. I can’t believe I’m relatively okay right now.”

“Even if you’re not, it’s okay. Thank you so much for telling me this, but–” I breathe hard, terrified I’m about to say something insensitive. But I have to try. “I don’t want you to be strong for me. You can be my rescuer while we play, but what if, at least once, we try a scene where I can be your rescuer too?”

Remington lets out a soft, smiling chuckle. It’s not until I hear the nasally sound of his laugh that I realize he’s been silently crying. “Lilibeth, I’m literally telling you you’re rescuing me right now. You’re not seeing how sweet you’re being towards me.”

“It’s not enough. I wish I could rush into your room and protect that little Rem. Go back in time to save you. I so, so wish I could - to at least be there to hold you and heal you after. To be the one who actually showed him love.”

Remington falls quiet. I cup his cheeks, worried I’ve triggered him worse.

His body shakes beside mine, and my soul plummets. I sit up taller, ready to spring into action to help him, but Remington thrusts himself across the bed, tackling me into a hard hug. His breath shudders as he settles into deeper, heart-wrenching tears, but at least I can hold him. I hug his head to my chest with one hand, squeezing his back as hard as I can with the other.

“Thank you.” His voice quivers. “Thank you for always remembering me too.”

––––––––

“W E DON’T HAVE TO DO this,” I say.

Remington hardly dressed up for his uncle’s funeral. He’s been alternating between moody, weepy, and numb all weekend, but now he looks plain ill.

“I have to. I know I sound like a monster, Lilibeth, but I have to see him dead to feel safe in this world.”

My heart flips, but I understand. I’m just shocked that someone else voiced the secret thoughts I’ve had about my father for decades.

Gripping Remington’s hand, I nod. “You’re not a monster. You’ve been running from a dragon since you were eight, and everyone knows you have to make sure you see how the villains die to make sure they’re truly gone forever.”

He shuts his eyes, but a slow, weary half-smile appears. “You’re right, baby. You get me.” Opening his eyes again, Remington tracks his family members as they pass by our car. He ducks his head out of view, kissing my knuckles behind the steering wheel’s cover. “Let’s just get this over with.”

We stand in the very back of the small ceremony. As Remington’s family sniffles and shares various memories about Ernesto, Remington stares at his uncle’s coffin, his expression perfectly flat.

But I can feel the rage brewing beneath his hot skin. It’s a rage I know well.

As they lower the coffin into the ground, everyone moves to say their final goodbyes.

Except for us.

I stand in silence beside Remington, staring at everyone’s agonized backs.

“Do you feel okay sharing what you’re thinking with me?” I whisper.

He clenches his jaw. "I feel like a shit person, but I hate seeing everyone so sad over him. So, basically, I’m standing here, wondering what’s wrong with me.”

“I think hating this makes perfect sense. It’s insulting to see your loved ones support someone who hurt you.”

Remington’s eyebrows flinch, but he turns to me. “You understand, don’t you. Really understand.”

I swallow hard. “I do. I love my mom, but I've felt tremendously abandoned by her for a long time for not rescuing me from my dad.”

Remington scoots a little closer, and my heart flips. Just that little step was enough of a shift to feel like we’re standing here as a unit, creating our own loving, protective barrier over our hearts.

It’s only once the dirt piles over the coffin that Remington’s shoulders finally settle. I can tell by the way he’s fidgeting that he’s sick of being here.

The second it ends, we don't stay to stick around and chat with family, even turning away from Remington’s grieving parents.

But his sister, Natalia, approaches us. She didn't cry the whole funeral, but with one look at Remington's blank expression, she bursts into tears.

Remington finally softens. He dashes to his older sister, pulling her into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Remi.”

I bite back my own tears at Natalia’s breaking voice. I wish I could hug Annabella like this too. To tell her I’m sorry I made her feel just as abandoned, and that I believe her with my whole heart.

“No, don’t blame yourself ever again,” Remington mutters. “I mean it. I’m okay. He’s finally gone.”

She nods, pulling back. “Can I go back to Mom and Dad’s with you?”

He gives her a half-up smile. “Hell yeah. Now I get to ride with my two favorite women in the world.”

Natalia breaks into a smile, extending her arm for me. The three of us walk to Remington’s car with our arms around each other, smiling despite heavy hearts.

Thankfully, Remington’s sister is a safe face amongst the chaos of their parents’ house. But chaos might be underestimating this. Remington has hardly moved: a silent column in a room of shouting, criticizing, and mocking laughter.

Outside of his playful aspects, I consider Remington a soothing person. But his silence today is far from calm. He almost looks unfamiliar, devoid of emotion and unwilling to participate in conversations beyond a few simple words.

At first, I felt horribly sad for him. But the more his family harasses him for not speaking, his cousin even pushing him back into his seat to keep him from leaving, the faster my simmering anger bubbles.

Is this what I looked like all those years, amongst Dad’s chaos? Snuffing the life out of myself until I fell utterly silent, unable to even say “no?”

I grip Remington’s hand, squeezing a few times - our silent safeword. He doesn’t squeeze back, so I lean in as close as possible to whisper, “Can you tell me what color the stoplight was while we were driving, earlier?”

He blinks a few times, as if I’m snapping him out of a haze. “I think... yellow.”

So he’s okay, but on the brink of “red.”

“Let’s just leave,” I whisper.

But his cousin spots us whispering, shouting across the dinner table. “Ahó, cugino! You still into that fucked-up sex shit?”

My heart flips. I can’t believe he said that in front of the whole table. Remington ducks his head, and my gut churns - shame radiates off his tense shoulders, which is the last thing I’d want him to feel about what we do together in private. But with how tightly Remington clenches his jaw, I’m afraid of how this will play out.

Natalia rubs his arm, muttering what Mom used to say to me when I’d get myself too worked up. “Scialla, scialla–”

“She your new toy?” His cousin laughs, lifting one finger from his crossed arm to loosely point at me.

The whole table falls silent. I don’t know what to do or say, my shoulders rising to my ears as everyone turns their eyes on me - and not in a good way.

But Remington lifts dark, piercing irises to his cousin, sending a chill down my spine. His voice shifts from a low growl to a yell. “ Vaffanculo! ”

My jaw drops. I certainly remember that Italian word, but I’ve never heard it spoken so wholeheartedly - to the point where I’m not looking forward to how Remington’s cousin responds.

Thankfully, multiple men hold his cousin back as the whole family erupts into a shouting match. The volume rises loud enough to crackle my eardrums. I flinch into Remington, and he does a double-take.

“Fuck, my poor girl,” he says, tucking me close. “That’s not how I think of you, okay? Please, don’t listen to them. I’m sorry for yelling.”

Staring Remington’s raw fear in the face, I clutch him harder. He’s not okay. Squeezing pressure down his arms as fast as I can, I quiver through my words. “I know, Rem, I know. I’m taking you out of this place, okay?”

When I stand, Remington sucks in a tight breath.

And I raise my voice louder than I have in years. “Hey!”

Everyone freezes, turning to me. Maybe I really have gained some real confidence.

I clear my throat, softening my voice. “I’ve had enough of this conversation now. We’re going home. Thank you for dinner.”

A gasp resounds from the table’s opposite end.

A sea of eyes zips their focus to Remington’s mother. She’s beet red. “You can’t go! Ignore these idiot men – we haven’t finished eating!”

I remain standing. “And I’ve had enough of this conversation now. We’re going home. I hope you have a nice rest of your night.”

I’ve kept my back straight and chin high, but when I peek at Remington still sitting beside me, his eyes are wide.

But they’re filled with hope. That eight-year-old boy sits beside me through his adult body, begging someone to come rescue him.

I steel my jaw, puffing my chest. Truthfully, I’m terrified, but I want to be strong for him. I will. I am.

A sudden calm washes over Remington’s eyes.

His mother leaps from her seat. “Remi, please! Don’t do this to your mother.”

Remington doesn’t spare her a glance. He stands, facing me, and softly smiles. Not his half-up smile, but the gentle one that reaches his eyes. “Sorry, Ma. You heard my girl; we’re leaving.”

Wrapping his arm over my shoulder, Remington chuckles as we stride for the door. His family calls after us, but we keep our eyes locked, smiling wider the further we step away.

“God, you’re such a badass. I’m so proud of you for speaking up so strongly, baby.” Remington kisses my cheek. “Thank you so much for being there for me.”

I smile, ducking my head. It’s been a long time since I stood up to someone I initially wanted to impress like that. I’m a little shy to admit I feel proud of myself too, but I’m especially proud of Remington; as we speed walk down the sidewalk to the car, he lifts his head to the night sky, closing his eyes with a tremendous sigh - as if we just set him free.

But once we settle into our drive home, Remington remains quieter than usual. We’re holding hands over the center console, and I drive as smoothly as possible, hoping he can relax.

About thirty minutes in, he mutters, “Thank you. I’m okay, just tired.”

I bite my lip. I don’t know exactly how to say what I want to say, but I want to try.

“Rem, I’m here for you, always. But it’s okay to still be upset. I know leaving early or me having your back doesn't take away all the awful things they said to you.”

He sighs, kissing my knuckles. “Sweet girl, it’s really okay. I was in a bad place, so I lost my cool, but I have a high tolerance. They’ve said and done far worse. That was nothing.”

Stopping at a red light, I hunch into the steering wheel, breathing through the tremendous ache his words created in my heart. Remington strokes my hair, ready to soothe me, but I grab his hand, holding it to my chest.

My voice comes out fragile. “They’ve done worse to you, baby? I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

Remington bites his lip, dropping his head. The light turns green, so I grab his hand, refocusing on the road. But he pulls our hands into his lap.

“You’re a sweetheart,” he breathes. I can tell he’s trying to hide it, but the wetness in his voice is apparent.

I pull my hand from his, focusing on the road as I stroke his head beside me. He settles into my touch, breathing through soft sniffles as we drive in silence. I continue to rub him the best I can: down his back, across his shoulders, and soft scratches over his scalp.

After watching him be hurt by his family, it kills me to hear him hurting without being able to hold him. I want to be there for him. I want to be his hero too.

But I can also see why it might feel too vulnerable for him to be the one being saved. Showing weakness felt deadly under that roof.

Just like it feels around Dad.

“Can I give you a bath when we get home?” I mutter.

I can’t help it. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want to be the one who’s there for Remington, anyway.

He blows out a whistling breath. “Sure. Thank you.”

With Remington in the bath, my heart softens a little; at last, he’s safe. Dragging a washcloth down his beautiful arms, I smile as Remington closes his eyes, allowing his limbs to nestle limp in my hands. I give every inch of his shoulder, bicep, forearm, palm, and fingertips a rolling massage, loving the way it parts his lips in pleasure. My heart feels nurtured just watching him enjoy himself, allowing himself to be gently jiggled back and forth - his muscles loose as I rub soap over his broad chest.

“I think you’ve fought more than two dragons,” I blurt out.

Remington’s eyebrows crease as if my words were both shocking and confusing.

“It’s not your fault what they’ve done and are continuing to do,” I say.

He’s silent for a while as I trickle warm water over his chest, massaging him between delicately tracing the dark black line down his sternum.

But he scoops up my cheeks to give me a small kiss. "I'm worrying you.”

“No, I just don't know if I’m making it worse or not when I really, really wish I could help you feel better.”

He swallows. “It’s not you. I got silent because I'm afraid to ask you a favor.”

I sit on my heels, leaning against the tub’s edge. “Then all the more reason to ask.”

He gives me a soft chuckle, his focus flickering between my eyes. “Can we–? Um–” He takes a deep breath. “Can we try the scene?”

I’m taken aback. He’s never seemed hesitant for any of our established scenes before. “Which scene?”

Fiddling with my fingers, Remington’s voice remains soft. “The one you came up with when I told you what he did.”

My breath shakes as I stare at his rising shoulders. Remington is referring to the scene where I come in to rescue him instead.

“Absolutely. But when? It’s still so raw, Rem.”

His hard breath sounds startlingly close to a cry. Pulling my hand to his chest, Remington’s tension shoots my heart into overdrive. “I feel physically sick from carrying this, L.L.B. I can’t bear it any longer.”

I choke out a sharp breath as tears prick my eyes.

But Remington continues. “I feel like I have to try. I want to get this out of me, especially now that he’s gone. I don’t want to rot with him.”

As he lifts his chin to find my warped, sobbing expression, his eyebrows arch.

“Oh, baby, please, don’t worry. I’m ready to start trying to let this go, finally. I'm tired of holding it alone. And I trust you. I trust you with my whole heart.”

My heart swells until I can’t stand it anymore. The bath sloshes as I push a wet kiss into his mouth, hiccupping through tears. His hot hands soaking my upper arms remind me that he’s okay. He’s here, and he’s giving me the power to support him in a tremendous, raw way.

Hurriedly swiping the tears from my cheeks, I smile. “Sorry. I just feel for you so deeply. But I trust you too, and I want to be there for you so badly.”

He softly smiles. “I know. I can feel it. It helps more than I think you realize.”

I fetch the giant, fluffy, white towel Remington usually saves for me. “T-then, do you mean you want to work on this now?”

“Please.” He eyes me up and down. “If you feel like your heart can handle it tonight too.”

As I gently rub him dry, I steel my heart. “Okay, my sweet Rem, I’d love to try. Lay down and get cozy in your bed, and I'll turn off the lights when you tell me you’re ready. Is that okay?”

“Yes. Let’s do a quick run-through first, please.”

Setting the towel aside, I hand Remington clean boxers. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do: after I turn off the lights, you’ll be alone in bed. I'll leave the kitchen light on, so you'll see my shadow in the doorway. You won’t know who it is looking into your room yet, and it might feel very scary. But when I step in, you'll see it’s just me. I’ll be there, by your side, to keep you safe in the dark.”

Remington nods, seeming to want to cry again.

“It’s okay to cry, okay? You’re just feeling a lot, which is so good.”

“Thank you. I'm getting in bed.”

He suddenly seems so young that I feel nauseated with him. But I know how much my fairytale role play genuinely did break the ropes binding my heart. I’m dying to help him untie himself.

Once I’ve given him a minute to get in bed, I step into the hallway with a racing heart.

“Remington?” I whisper.

“I’m ready,” he calls out.

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

We fall silent - my cue to flick off his bedroom light. I don’t look at him lying there, popping my head in just enough to spot the light switch, but his silence is heavy. As I disappear back down the hall, my eyes squeeze shut. How did Remington tolerate binding my wrists again and again, even when it triggered me into heavy tears? All I want is to bring his smile back.

But he’s giving me a chance to rescue him tonight.

With a slow, shaky exhale, I turn around, striding down the hall with louder footsteps. Stopping in Remington’s doorway, I can see him, but he can’t see me. I didn’t think of it so clearly - that this is what his uncle must’ve seen. Rage thrusts my heartbeat throughout my body. I breathe through it, hating how Remington is laid out on his back, trusting his bed to keep him safe enough to sleep.

I can’t believe Remington braved these feelings for me too.

But as he tugs his blankets higher, my heart shatters.

“Hello?” He whispers. His voice comes out so small.

Everything in me begs to protect him. I grip the doorway for stability, dying to be his hero. “Remington? Are you okay, sweet boy?”

He’s silent for a long moment. “No. I’m scared someone will come in.”

My heart flips. “Can I come in to hold you?”

There’s another silence. This time, it’s broken by choppy, laborious breaths. “Yes.”

I’m tempted to run. But I know that might startle Remington, so I open my arms, softening my footsteps. To my surprise, he opens the blankets. But he doesn’t just allow me into his safe space: Remington scoots over for me, giving me the spot he warmed.

I huff out the loving ache in my chest, climbing into bed beside him. “Oh, sweet boy.”

Remington huddles into me quickly, pressing his forehead against my collarbone. The second I stop moving, I’m hit with a wave of his anxiety - physically experiencing his trauma shakes with him. I wrap my arms around his back to protect more of him, squeezing my watery eyes shut.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Remington finally allows himself to let out a soft, vocal cry against my chest. “Sorry.”

“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you now.”

Nodding, Remington breathes deeper, his frantic grip softening into a firm squeeze. Every muscle I rub on his back is rock-hard, and I know it’s not from our workouts. He’s uncomfortable, but he’s allowing me to see it. I love how vulnerable he is with me: this big, athletic, tattooed man, trusting in me to witness him reliving his darkest moments. It makes me feel so special to him.

“Sweet boy,” I whisper. “You’re so precious. You deserve to feel safe.”

He shudders through a tearful breath, wrecking my heart.

I cuddle him closer, kissing his forehead. “I’m here to protect and save you now, the best I can. No one can come in to hurt you without anyone to stop them anymore. You’re not alone.”

After a few hard, tense swallows, his voice comes out fragile. “Thank you.”

My heart pounds wildly. All I know to do in traumatic moments is burrow up and hide, just like I would when I was a kid. Normally, that would seem immature to suggest in our thirties, but as Remington quivers beside me, maybe he really is leaning into that younger side of himself, and little Lilibeth has the best idea of all.

“C-can I hide with you under the blankets?” I whisper.

He lets out a soft, smiling huff. “Okay.”

Lifting the blankets for us, Remington waits until I sink deeper into the covers with him before tucking them over our heads.

I feel for his hand in the muffled darkness, squeezing it tight. He lets out a slow, steady breath.

“Good job,” I whisper. “We’re safe in here together. It’s okay to cry or feel scared.”

The whimper that erupts from him bristles my nerves. He rushes for me, frantic hands scooping around my waist to press me hard against his chest.

With our torsos compressed, every desperate heave of his lungs rattles against my ribcage. I stroke his head, struggling to quiet my fear.

“Rem? I’m checking in, baby.”

He chokes out a hard sob. “I— I don’t know, I’m freaking out. I’m—” He groans in vivid frustration. “Alligator.”

Throwing off the blankets, I sit up with wide eyes. Clicking on Remington’s bedside table lamp as fast as I can, I whip my focus back to Remington. His hand is placed on his heaving chest, but he’s clinging to my shirt like he’s desperate to keep me close.

“Look at me, Rem.” I pulse loving, quick squeezes down not only his arms, but also his whole chest. When he meets my eyes with a frantic stare, I do my best to smile. “I’m sitting beside you on your super cool bed, with all sorts of harnesses and toys on the walls - definitely your adult bedroom.” He gives me a soft, weary chuckle, and I smile even wider. “There you go, sweet boy. It’s done. You’re okay. You made it.”

He nods, loosening his grip on me as his forehead relaxes. But it warps just as quickly as his shaking hand stretches to brush my cheek. “Fuck, thank you, L.L.B.”

I bite back fresh tears as Remington shifts into softer, aching ones. “Thank you for letting me try to rescue you back.”

As he huffs, Remington attempts to give me a sweet smile. “Come here, baby girl.”

Diving into his open arms, I cuddle Remington as closely as possible. He shifts to meet me, melding our bodies as our legs wrap as tightly as our arms.

Placing a wet, shaky kiss on my lips, Remington smooths his hand down the back of my hair, deepening our kiss. My lungs swell in adoration, cherishing this moment; he made it here to be with me. He survived, just like I did.

We hold each other for minutes upon minutes, staring into each other's eyes. We’ve stopped crying, but the bewildered look in Remington’s eyes tells me we share a similar sense of awe.

Remington breaks the silence with his fingers brushing down my cheek. “I feel so close to you. I’ve never let anyone else rescue me. I trust you so much.”

I breathe out the heavy, grateful ache in my chest. “God, I feel so safe with you too. And I never used to let anyone else rescue me, either. I’d usually pacify things to smooth everything over, but being around you helped me realize I’m tired of that. I want to say ‘no.’ I want to let you say ‘no’ too. I want to be loved by you just as much as I want you to feel loved by me.”

A sense of peace washes over Remington like I’ve never seen before, erasing every minor evidence of stress from his features. Closing his swollen eyes, he breaks into a genuine, sweet smile - his body drooping into mine like I eased him back into a warm, safe bath. As he allows me to witness his pure comfort, I feel like his hero.