Page 42 of Win You Over

Holden

I stand in the middle of the living room, watching Remington’s back as he walks out.

I don’t know what to do with any of what just happened.

I’ve never seen Remington angry, not like that.

Nor have I seen that level of hurt in his eyes.

Losing his best friend really fucked him up.

He may come across as unflappable to some, but Remington wears his heart on his sleeve, something I love about him.

Because I love him too.

Moving towards the table I was sitting at with Curtis, I pick up my bag that’s hanging over the back of the chair. The same bag that Finn must have dug through while we were away, and taken the knife out of.

I sling the bag over my shoulder and gather up the last of my things – my sweater, my phone, the pen and paper that were next to me on the table – shoving them all in. The puzzle Curtis and I were building sits incomplete, the wheels of the racecar still to be put together.

“Don’t go,” Charlene says from where she’s standing with her husband. “He’s upset, but he wouldn’t want you to leave.”

It’s hard to know what Remington would want right now. In one breath, he says he loves me and in another that he needs space. I’ll give Remington anything he wants, and if that is a break from me, then so be it. Even if it hurts.

Charlene puts a hand on my forearm. My eyes fall to her manicured fingers, the pinky brushing over a faded heart drawn on my skin. Remington drew that right before we walked out for the party.

“He’s stubborn – you know that,” she starts.

“And he’s hurting in a way he hasn’t dealt with before.

My guess is he’s really overwhelmed by what he’s feeling.

” Charlene’s words resonate with me, because I understand what it’s like to experience so many emotions at once that you struggle to do anything but sink into yourself and hide away from the world.

I look at her, taking in how her usually well kept appearance is missing today. Her blonde bun lopsided, strands falling around her face and her eyeliner creating a smokey blur beneath her eyes.

“What Finn did to you and to him? It’s the biggest rejection he’s faced. And we know how well he deals with rejection.” She smiles and I can’t help but return the gesture, however small it may be. “Stay, Holden. Give him some time and then go up there and talk to him.”

I mull over her words, looking down at my hands that are wringing together in front of me, aching for his hand to hold them.

Remington Langford loves me. Sure, he was angry and sad when he said it, but I know he meant every word.

And in a short while, I am going to march up to his room and tell him exactly how I feel.

I need him to know that I love him back.

More than I have ever loved anyone or anything.

I nod, then put my bag down on the floor and scoot onto the sofa next to Nadine. She rests her head on my shoulder.

“Keep loving him, even when he’s moody,” Nadine says before pressing play on a Christmas movie. I don’t mock her for her choice as the couple on screen share a kiss under the mistletoe.

One awful festive film later, I make my way upstairs to Remington’s room.

Pushing the door open, I find the space dark, save for the light coming from his bedside lamp.

Remington is sitting on his bed, his back to the headboard.

A slowed down version of Mr Brightside by the Killers is playing through his smart speaker and his head is bent, his tattered copy of Death on the Nile in his hands.

He looks up when I close the door, his mouth parting as I walk towards the bed.

Kneeling next to him, I take the book from his hand and wordlessly close it, placing it on the bedside table.

Then, careful not to nudge his healing wound, I swing my leg until I’m kneeling on either side of his body, lightly straddling his waist.

“Holden,” he says, his eyes red rimmed and so fucking sad.

I press my forehead to his and he splays his hands over my lower back. My hands find their spot on his t-shirt covered chest.

“I love you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion, everything in me settling with the declaration.

His eyes widen, and I turn my head and brush my lips to his. They’re salty from his tears, but soft and warm, just like his huge puppy dog heart.

“Tell me again,” I say against Remington’s mouth. “Please.”

His tongue darts out to lick a stripe across my lips, his heart beating rapidly under my palm.

“I love you, baby.” He increases the pressure of his lips on mine, one hand on my cheek as he tips my face to the side to deepen the kiss.

When he pulls back and our eyes meet, his are sparkling with unshed tears. Like tiny diamonds in the sky. Blue and beautiful.

“Again,” I say, lips finding his again. His free hand slides lower, toying with the hem of my t-shirt.

“I love you.” He delivers those three words straight to my heart before stealing the air from my lungs in a hungry kiss. “Love you so fucking much.”

His tongue explores my mouth as he strips me of my tee, only breaking the kiss to pull the fabric over my head before his lips are back on mine.

His hands explore my chest, fingers tracing patterns over my scars.

I had never experienced what it meant to feel beautiful until him.

Until he fell in love with every broken and scarred part of me.

“Thank… you… for loving me,” I whisper. It’s been a few days since I’ve used my words and they come out separated by pauses, but the more I melt into his touch, the easier it becomes. Remembering I’m safe with him, that my heart is safe in his hands, in the same way that his is safe in mine.

Taking my turn, I slide his tee up and over his head, letting my hand brush his skin as I do. He pulls us closer, our naked chests coming together. The connection is electric, my nerve endings sparking everywhere that we’re touching.

“It is my absolute pleasure to love you, baby,” he says, his hands running reverently over my skin.

My heart is full, my soul comfortable and my dick hard. And all I want to do is feel this man, everywhere .

With his hands on my back, Remington rocks his hips, showing me how much this moment is affecting him, too. When he flinches, though, I’m thrown out of my haze of lust and back to reality.

With a hand on his hip, I say, “Just kiss me, my love. Hold me and kiss me. That’s all we need right now.”

Remi nods and we kiss, running soft, searching hands over each other’s bodies, memorising every inch of skin, connecting on an entirely new level. Neither of us is in a rush to get off. This, right here, is all we need. Each other and this abundance of love rushing through our veins.

“I love you,” Remi whispers. “And I’m so sorry for how I acted.” He pulls back until our eyes meet again. “I wanted to tell you when we were doing some romantic shit or something.”

I chuckle, pushing my hair out of my face.

“So, not when you were throwing a tantrum?” I joke, which gets a smile out of him. A smile I have sorely missed. “I’m kidding,” I rush to say, moving in for another chaste kiss. “I don’t care how you told me.”

“I’m going to keep telling you,” Remington promises. “Every day until you’re sick of me.”

“And if I never get sick of you?”

His hand skirts the back of my neck before sliding up into my hair.

“Even better,” he replies. “I’ll tell you forever. Or whatever is longer than forever.”

“Forever is good.”

“Forever it is then.”