every tiny thread in the universe had stitched my heart to his, piecing us together, fashioning us into something that was, in my mind, absolutely perfect.
The broken ticker in my chest knew it.
My bomb-ass brain knew it.
I suspected he knew it.
I was crazy for him, always had been, and it was never going to change. Even when I’d been with Hartford, the majority of my heart had belonged to Dax. Oh, I’d ignored it for three years, shoving it down deep, constantly reminding myself of how he’d hurt me. He’d been too young then. He hadn’t been ready. Maybe he still wasn’t ready—but my love?—it was wild and crazy and wicked with a filthy need for him. I craved him, body, soul, and mind.
I don’t think I’d want to live if he died.
I don’t think I could carry on without knowing he was breathing.
Like a piece of carefully folded paper that’s been hidden away but is now opened, I saw everything clearly. The truth had been right in front of me the entire time.
He was mine; I was his. Nothing would ever change that.
I opened my eyes when the sound of a phone vibrating brought me back. It was Dax’s.
He didn’t notice, his eyes on my face, as if mesmerized by what he saw.
“That’s your phone,” I finally said as it continued to shake, the sound coming from his backpack.
He opened his backpack and checked it. Looked back at me. “It’s Declan. He’s waiting for me to come to the gym. I have to go.” He didn’t look like he wanted to go, a torn expression on his face.
“Then go.” I pushed a piece of hair out of my face, and his eyes widened.
He dropped his book bag. “Where’s your ring?” he barked.
“I gave it back to Hartford. I—I wanted to tell you, but there hasn’t been a good time. You’re never home—”
“Remi.” His voice was low. Gravelly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Text me? Something?”
“I’m telling you now. Here.”
He sucked in a shuddering breath and swallowed, his throat working to form words. “I’ll—I’ll be home tonight.”
Around two, Malcolm texted me a pic of him holding a can of Ragu.
I want spaghetti. Mom says she’ll bring me and the groceries if you’ll cart me back tonight.
I grinned.
We just had it a few days ago. Don’t you get sick of it?
Look who you’re talking to. I have a one-track mind. I like what I like, he typed.
You know how to get what you want that’s for sure, I said.
Send me a pic of you.
I took a selfie of me with a crazy expression on my face and my tongue hanging out.
You look like dad.
I laughed.
See you soon.
Mom and Malcolm arrived around four. She hadn’t seen the place yet, so I gave her the tour. She asked where Dax was, and I told her he was rarely around. She didn’t know Dax was the guy from freshman year, and I didn’t tell her. There was no reason to.
But I did tell her about Hartford. She let out a long sigh, but accepted it along with the promise she could hook me up with her boss’s son.
I laughed.
She left to head to work, and Malcolm and I played a quick game of Scrabble while the sauce and noodles cooked.
Dax came in the back door. He was sweaty, wearing athletic shorts and a white wife-beater. Obviously he’d been working out. He ran his eyes over me, his gaze lingering on my bare left hand, a strange intensity in his eyes.
“Hey, bro,” he said to Malcolm as they greeted each other.
“Is that my sister’s name on your chest?” he asked, cocking his head as he peered at Dax’s chest.
Oh. I hadn’t noticed you could see part of his tattoo, too caught up in the fact that he was here.
Had he worn that to the gym? He was showing people?
My heart fluttered.
I busied myself checking the stove.
Malcolm walked over and got in Dax’s personal space to get a better look, taking in the top of the flag and the bottom of my name that disappeared under his shirt. Dax didn’t seem to mind.
“Will you take off your shirt?” Malcolm asked.
Dax looked at me, shrugged, and pulled his shirt off.
Like mine, the redness of the image had healed leaving only a vibrant flag, and my name written in black.
My eyes popped at the hard muscles of his pecs, the tanned skin of his six-pack, the deep V that tapered down to his hips. He looked even bulkier