me with this shit.”
“I’m sorry.”
He spun away from me and paced through the yard. “We’re supposed to be together. We’re perfect. You’ve said so yourself a million times.” He stopped and looked at me. “Don’t you love me?”
“I do,” I whispered. But was it the right way?
Long moments passed. My breath hitched at the growing pain in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Hartford. I should have told you about Dax as soon as we talked in London.”
He came in closer, his face vulnerable. “This is all my fault. I never should have broken up with you. I pushed you away and I just didn’t think you’d . . .” He stopped and stared at me for a long time and then his warm hands cupped my face. “I still love you, Remington. We have something good.” He kissed me sweetly but with urgency, as if trying to get me to understand.
We parted, and his eyes were feverish. “I’m the one that put you in this situation. This is my fault.”
I frowned. “Hartford. I have feelings for him—”
“He’s not a good guy. You know it.”
I closed my eyes. Opened them. “There’s more I need to tell you. You don’t know everything.” The heartache I’d nursed. “We slept together before I met you. Freshman year. He—he got me pregnant. I lost the baby.”
He looked shocked but wrapped me in his arms. “Jesus,” he breathed. “I don’t know what to say. That must have been horrible.”
I nodded, burying my face in his chest. He held me tighter, stroking my hair, his anger seeming to dissipate as the moments ticked by.
Later, he said, “You’re upset. Come home with me. I’ll sleep on the couch, and we’ll talk once things have settled down.” He squeezed my shoulder as if to reassure me.
“I can’t go home with you,” I whispered, yet part of me didn’t want to be here if Dax brought Alexandria home.
He nodded. “Okay, then let’s go to Minnie’s Diner and get some coffee like we used to when we first met. We can talk—as friends—and you can let it all out.”
A long sigh came out of me. That sounded good. I owed him that much. The truth. “Okay,” I said.
I WATCHED THEM leave from where I’d parked my car down the street. Earlier, when they’d driven past the bar and I’d seen her face through the windshield, I’d gotten worried he’d hurt her. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with him, but it was Remi . . .
I’d said hasty goodbyes and thanked everyone profusely and left, driving to my house like a maniac.
I didn’t care that it was my party. There’d be other parties.
Like a horror movie, I watched them hug, and my gut twisted. Fuck. Seeing them in a tender moment cut me in half.
I’d missed some of their interaction, but it was obvious from their body language they cared about each other. And now she was leaving with him—holding hands. My hands clenched the steering wheel as he opened the passenger car door and helped her in.
Once his taillights disappeared, I pulled up in the drive and hopped out of the car. I went inside, clicked on the den light and made my rounds around the house.
Feeling like hell.
I dropped down on the couch and turned on the telly, not really noticing as I flipped through the guide looking for something.
My mind kept jumping around.
Antsy, I jerked back up, went into the kitchen, grabbed some water, and guzzled it. Wiped my mouth. Debating.
Fuck it. Maybe I should go to his place.
Back off. That’s stalker territory, I told myself.
God, but when it came to Remi, I didn’t care. She made me into someone I didn’t recognize. She made me crazy. She made me fucking ridiculous.
I toyed with my keys. It would be easy to find his address on Google.
But she isn’t yours. Stop interfering with her happiness.
I took another shower, a long one. I got out when my phone kept going off. I checked it—Alexandria. I tossed it back on the bed. No interest.
I went back to the den, turned off all the lights, and plopped down on the couch to watch the late show.
At midnight, Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet came on.
Stupid movie. There had to be something better on; even the news was better than this.
But I watched. Remembering London.
Remi unlocked the front door and entered the foyer. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw me. Her hands rubbed her eyes, leaving black streaks of mascara on