I expel a breath. “It’s you. Now, let’s all relax a bit.”
“I’m not relaxed,” Remy counters in that low voice of his as he eyes my father, then my mother. “She’s been alone. If I’d wanted her to be alone, I wouldn’t have brought her home.”
“I am fine, Remington. Dad, ease back and sit down.” I grab Remy’s wrist and he lets me pull him back and draw him to the sitting area, my parents following. He sits down next to me and splays a hand on my stomach, quiet.
I drag in a breath and look at my parents.
“Mom and Dad, Nora fooled you. She wasn’t traveling the world last season. She was going out with a man they call the Scorpion. She was not in Hawaii or Timbuktu; she was traveling with him, at the same time I was traveling with Remington. Scorpion is a fighter too.”
My mother’s hand flies to her mouth but doesn’t quite manage to smother her distressed little gasp.
“The Scorpion fed Nora drugs and kept her enthralled with him. In order for her to be released, Remy gave away the championship. And I think she might need our help again this year.”
My mother’s eyes dart to my right and up, and my father doesn’t bat an eyelash, for he’s been staring at nothing but Remy the whole time. By the tension of all those muscles next to me, I know Remington is keeping his eyes on him too.
“Oh, Nora,” my mother sighs drearily as she clutches her head.
“You took a dive for little Nora?” my dad suddenly asks him. My father is a coach—and he respects athletes. “Threw the match for her?”
Remy laughs softly and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “No. I threw it for Brooke.”
My dad immediately stands, and in that same instant Remy slowly, in that lionlike way of his, comes to his feet.
“Remington, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” My father comes around the coffee table and extends his hand. His entire hostility has vanished. He looks a thousand pounds lighter now and even wears a little grin. “I’m Lucas Dumas.”
Remy doesn’t even look at the hand—he immediately takes it and shakes it, hard and firm like he is, his voice gruff with emotion. “I’m Remington.”
THIRTEEN
THE WAIT IS OVER
She left me a message.
In my room the night Remington left, I discovered a note tucked under my pillow.
It’s not what you think. I will be back after the season. I’ve got this. Please don’t come after me!
What. The fuck?
Puzzlement doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction to the note.
I can’t stop reading it. It’s as though I want to read something hidden between each of the scrawled letters, but there’s nothing.
Mom and Dad have been coming over daily, going Nora this, Nora that. They’re used to her being flighty and irresponsible, but on this occasion, they’re very concerned about what we told them. My guess is that the only reason they aren’t completely losing it is because, before Remington left, he asked them to make sure I’m well taken care of, and he’d make sure Nora came back home.
My parents beamed. And me?
I excused myself to the restroom. Where I sat for a little while, trying to breathe. I still can’t breathe well, just thinking about anything, anything at all, that has to do with Scorpion . . . and Remy. I considered showing Mom and Dad the note, but how can I add to their worry when they essentially can’t do anything about it? I just can’t.
However, I did show the note to Melanie.
“What the fuck does this even mean?” Melanie demands when I show it to her the next day.
She looks at me in complete bewilderment. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you what it means. It means ‘I’m a little shit, just like you’ve always known I am but refuse to believe it. I’ll be back once I fuck up you and your boyfriend’s life again. Don’t try to stop me.’ That,” Melanie says angrily, “is what it means.”
Yet again, I remember what she told me about Scorpion, and I wish I’d paid a bit more attention.
“If she went back to Scorpion, then Scorpion is what she deserves,” Mel huffs.
Feeling as confused about the note as the first moment I read it, I sigh and address the other woman in the room. “Josephine, do you want something?” I offer my in-building bodyguard, the “she-male” Melanie had said had been following us previously at the fight. I hadn’t even known Remington—the adorable possessive jerk—had already hired someone to protect me. And Josephine is actually a very sweet, but clearly big and dangerous, woman.
“No thanks, Miss Tate,” she says in her rather gruff voice from the corner, where she’s keeping one eye out the window and the other on a magazine.
Melanie brings her hand up to stifle a giggle. “Do you call Riptide ‘Mister Tate’?” she asks her.
Josephine nods politely. “Of course, Miss Melanie.”