Suddenly I’m transported, once again, to the hospital, to Remington trying to tell me something, and me running away . . . and then him, trying to cope, with a thousand women in his bed.
I swear I ache deep, so deep, right where my soul is.
Before I know it, I’ve wrapped my hand around my abdomen, as though I can feel him there. In me. In our baby.
“He’s an amazing fighter,” Diane tells me admiringly, her eyes glowing with praise. “All the effort he puts into being well. You’ve got to have noticed Remington never eats something that isn’t completely right for his body. Not ever.”
My stomach rumbles as I remember his healthy mountainous breakfast and compare it to the mineral water and crackers I had. But I can’t seem to get anything into my stomach in the morning, not even my mouth-watering seedless organic dates. But of course I’ve noticed how well Remy eats. He eats the cleanest foods, and keeps his body in the most natural state possible. I love this. I love how he is, and how he treats his body kindly with food after demanding the most from it for hours and hours of each day.
And then I look at Diane, and I really see her, see how well she gets him, this woman almost in her forties, with her big smile and kind eyes, and all the aura of comfort she emanates, and all the warmth she instills into every one of our hotel suites, and I know how well she takes care of him, how she could very well be the closest thing to a mother Remington has ever had. Impulsively, I let go of my cart and hug her, whispering, “Thank you. For taking care of him, Diane.”
“Oh, bah! How can I not, when he takes care of me so well? If you think I take good care of him, I can’t say enough about all the things he’s done for us, anytime he hears we need anything. He even went to my mother’s funeral.”
She pauses at my look of surprise, and as we start down to the cashier and start unloading, she adds, “He doesn’t even have a mother, not a real one, but he knew I cared about mine, and he flew across three states to the funeral for me. He didn’t say a word—he just hugged me in the end—but just him being there . . .”
Her voice cracks unexpectedly, and I understand so much how Remy’s quiet show of affection gets to her that my throat feels tight too.
“We’re so excited about the baby,” she blurts out, changing the subject. “All of us. Pete. Riley. Coach. We’re so excited about this little baby. We think it’s the universe giving back something good and pure to Remy, we really do.”
She comes around my cart as if she wants to make contact with the baby somehow, and then she hesitates before touching me. I reach for her hand and slowly spread it on my flat stomach. I whisper to her, “I never knew how much I wanted this baby until I knew he was coming.”
Her brows quirk up in complete intrigue. “He?”
I just have this feeling in my gut. I don’t know if it’s that sixth sense females are supposed to have. If it’s the way I instinctively envision a little Remy in my head when I think about this baby. I don’t know why, or how I think I know, but it feels so certain to me, as certain as I am right now of his father’s love, that I nod excitedly. “He.”
? ? ?
VEGAS IS COMPLETELY sucked in by Riptide.
Young college students cram the arena, and the girls? The girls are the noisiest, jumpiest group of young women I’ve ever encountered. They’re crushing on him so bad that all my jealousy, which I’ve come to realize is magnified to the tenth power by my pregnancy hormones, has been fully unleashed inside me. Girls scream, and I even hear them talk about him close behind, talking about how big his hands are and what that means.
Pete also seems to hear that, and he chuckles at my side and shakes his curly head.
Across the ring and to the left, a group of friends wear red shirts with each of his letters stamped on one, and they’re all practicing standing up at the same time, so that everyone can see they spell R I P T I D E!
There’s even an exclamation mark for the poor friend who didn’t get a letter.
By the time his fight approaches, I’ve already observed each and every one of these ladies with my jaw clamped, and then, suddenly, I love them because they love him too and he deserves the adoration.
What do I want? For them to cheer for an asshole like Scorpion? Hell no! So there. I think I’ve conquered my jealousy nicely for the evening.
In fact, I conquer it so nicely that I’m feeling as jumpy as the fans when they announce him. “Riiiiiptiiiiiiiide!!” the announcer yells, with all the enthusiasm I swear every announcer I’ve heard reserves for him. “The one and only, people!! The ONE and ONLY!”
He appears like a beautiful red bolt of lightning and then hops up into the ring. The man is strong as an ox but aerodynamic as hell, and as he jerks off his robe and I see it flutter in the air as he passes it to Riley, I can almost feel it on my skin. The satin on me, how I love the way it hugs me, and the way it smells of him.