Page 47 of Love Undiscovered
Chapter 13
Chance
I’ve confused myself a bit tonight with some of the things I’ve said and done. Especially the comment about having babies with her. That was not something I’d expected to say. But oddly, once it came out of my mouth, it didn’t seem so bad.
Maybe I would like seeing Remi with my baby inside of her.
Except this is just for a month. And only so that I can help send Mom and Dad on their cruise. I need to get all of those other ideas out of my head immediately. ‘Cause that long-term relationship shit just won’t fly. Been there, done that. Not going to do it again.
I was almost married once, and it wrecked me. The story that I tell people was that she got too caught up in the planning part of the wedding, that she lost sight of the marriage part and of the two of us together. But that’s only part of the reason why I called it off. The only people who know the truth outside of me, are my parents and my sisters.
And of course, my ex, Helen.
I tell that story because in some ways she did lose sight of the marriage part, but I’m also not sure she ever had it. At first, it was just her acting out in odd ways and getting upset over things that shouldn’t matter. Like whether or not the napkins at the reception should be cloth or paper. Or what size the font in the program should be. I explained it away as her being a little Bridezilla-esque. But then came the day that she threw a plate at the baker during our cake tasting because the chocolate wasn’tchocolate enough. The baker needed twelve stitches in her forehead as a result.
When I tried to talk to Helen about it, she turned it back on me and said that I didn’t care because I wasn’t upset enough. It escalated from there. She went from calm to chaotic in a matter of seconds over tiny things. A car did a rolling stop at a corner near our house before turning. Helen threw a rock at the rear window and broke it, almost hitting a child in the back seat. The cable repairman was thirty minutes late to fix our cable, when he arrived, she refused to let him in. Then she called his supervisor and reported the repairman as inexcusably rude and sexually inappropriate; that she didn’t feel safe in his presence.
I tried to get her medical help, but she refused to see anyone. I had her locked away for a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold, but they claimed to not find anythingwrongwith her. Helen’s parents turned a blind eye to the problem, and wouldn’t help me. It wasn’t until I came home one night, after a two-day sting operation, and saw that she had locked Hudson in a small closet, that I finally left. He’d been locked in there so long he had not only defecated on himself multiple times but was severely dehydrated and stressed. You don’t just do that kind of shit. It’s not normal.
I called off the wedding and moved out, leaving her the house. I wanted to help her, but not to my detriment, or at the risk of my dog’s safety. That was when she started breaking into my new place. At first, she would just move things around. Not enough for me to really notice, just enough to make me feel forgetful. Then she started leaving some of her things at my house: lipstick, a scarf, perfume, shampoo, underwear; which is how I knew it was her.
I didn’t get a restraining order because I didn’t want to be that guy. The cop who can’t handle his own shit. So I tried to control it. But I couldn’t. Each time she went on the attack, it was worse than before. She cut holes in my clothes, slashed the tires on my motorcycle, pulled the stuffing out of my couch, and unplugged my refrigerator. All of that I let go and tried to ignore. But when she tried to poison both me and Hudson, I finally pressed charges and got a restraining order.
I took Hudson to my parents’ house and transferred to the undercover division shortly after, then spent the next two years buried in work and another identity. And now, I’m here.
Our food arrives, which breaks me out of my hellish memories. I have to admit my steak looks really good. Before I even have a chance to pick up my fork, Remi has started eating. I like it when she eats, so I tell her so. She says something again about putting things in her mouth, which makes me think about my dick and those red lips.
I feel myself harden.
I want to kiss her. I want to see if I can smudge that lipstick all over her face. I want to pull that flower out of her hair and mess it the fuck up. I want to take her to the bathroom, lock us in a stall, and—
“How’s your steak?” she asks.
“Good,” I say, my voice gruff.
“You’ve barely touched it,” she says, sounding suspicious.
“I’m savoring,” I say.
“Let me have a bite.” She pulls my plate toward her and cuts a piece off before I can blink.
She closes her eyes and moans. “Oh my God, that is so good. I’ve not had meat in so long.”
“I can fix that for you, Ice Q,” I leer.
She laughs. I expect some kind of caustic remark or shut down. But she just laughs. So I do too.
“How is everything?” Alex asks us from across the table.
“Great,” I say. “You?”
“Really good,” Harley says. She nudges Alex with her elbow. He nudges her back. They obviously already got some kind of secret language between the two of them. I’m kind of amazed at how quickly they’ve connected. No games, no pretense.
The band is on a break, and there’s regular music playing. This song I recognize. “Maybe, I’m Amazed.”
“Oh, I love this song,” Harley says.
“It’s anti-American not to love Paul McCartney,” I say.
