Page 101 of Wilder Love
Sweat beaded on my forehead and my heart was beating too fast.I need to get out of here.
My conscience… it was so fucking loud. It drowned out the voices around me, the music and the clinking of silverware, and the sound of the water lapping against the boats in the harbor. I felt my chest tighten, and if I didn’t know better I’d think I was having a heart attack. I took a few breaths through my nose and rubbed my chest trying to alleviate the pressure.
My stomach churned, and I wanted to get Remy out of here. Grab her hand and run away with her. To Fiji or Bali or Tahiti. Keep running without looking back. Anywhere but here, where the eyes were accusing and the time I’d done for my crime didn’t seem to matter. How could it? I couldn’t bring his son back from the dead.
Facts had gotten muddled—Tristan’s drunk girlfriend and his mother had been the only witnesses. That night I had known I wouldn’t stand a chance. I knew I was going to prison. I knew I would be found guilty because I was guilty. I took someone’s life. My lawyer told me there was no proof of what Tristan had done to Remy. It also hadn’t helped my case that I’d been having sex with a minor or that Tristan’s friends had come forth and said they saw me ‘physically assault’ Tristan the day he’d dropped in on Remy down at the break.
The odds had been stacked against me. John Hart was rich and powerful and wouldn’t rest until he’d gotten his pound of flesh. I had accepted a plea bargain. Better than dragging Remy into court. I was advised that the prosecution would dig up everything they could on Remy—her messy home life and our relationship. I didn’t want that for her. If I was going down, I had no intention of taking her with me. It had been my decision to go after Tristan, and I had always believed that people needed to be held accountable for their actions.
Remy placed the palm of her hand on my cheek and turned my head toward her, searching my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Her brow furrowed, and I wrapped my hand around her wrist, rubbing the delicate skin with my thumb as I lowered her hand from my face, kissing it before I released it. “It’s all good. Let’s get the check.”
“Okay,” she said slowly.
I signaled for the bill and threw down some cash, trying to hustle Remy out of there. But it was too late. John and Amanda Hart stopped in front of us, impeding our progress. They looked like they had just stepped off a yacht. He was wearing khakis, a white button-down shirt and navy blazer. She was wearing wide-legged white pants and a blue shirt knotted at the waist, a designer handbag in the crook of her arm. I didn’t know why their outfits and physical appearance were the first thing I noticed but they both looked impeccable. Her hair was styled to sleek perfection, her makeup expertly applied.
Remy tucked her arm in mine and wrapped her hands around my bicep. I didn’t know if she was hanging on to me for strength or trying to give me some of her own strength. This was the first time I’d come face to face with the Harts in the six or seven months since I’d come back to Costa del Rey.
What was the proper etiquette for a situation like this? There was none.
“If you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving,” Remy said, tugging on my arm, trying to get me to move.
“Excuse you?” Amanda Hart bit out, her face twisting into something ugly. She advanced on Remy, getting right in her face, and pointed her finger in accusation. “We know all about you, you little tramp. Paige told us everything. We know how you went after Tristan, you shameless little hussy.”
Remy released my arm and took a step forward, her chin lifted in defiance. She was so fucking beautiful and strong and brave at this moment. “Whatever she told you, it was a lie. Tristan was the one who came after me.”
Amanda laughed harshly. “She said you would say that. We looked into your background. We know all about you and that mother of yours. You act all high and mighty, but you crawled out of the gutter and that’s where you belong.”
My jaw clenched, and I tried to take deep breaths through my nose.Find your fucking Zen, Shane. Don’t let them provoke you. Don’t lose your shit. Not again.
I pushed Remy behind my back. “Whatever you have to say, say it to me. Leave my girlfriend out of this. I’m the only one who deserves your venom.”
Amanda took the opportunity I’d presented and unleashed her fury on me. “I hope you rot in hell,” she hissed. “You killed our son.”
“I’m sorry. It was an accident.” What else could I say?
She lunged at me and I held my hands up in surrender, letting her shove at me and pound my chest with her fists. Her nails scored my skin and black mascara tears coursed down her cheeks. I could smell the wine on her breath and I knew that she was drunk.
“Stop this,” Remy said, and I could hear that she was crying and was standing beside me now.
“Do you think that saying you’re sorry or a letter of apology will change anything?” Amanda cried. She spit in my face, the ultimate insult, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand, dropping my arms to my sides. Amanda’s face crumpled, and her shoulders shook as her sobs became louder.
John Hart stepped in and wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her against his chest. Amanda covered her face with her hands, her shoulders sagging as she wept for her dead son in front of the man who had taken him away from her.
“I thought I made myself clear when I told you not to set foot in this town again,” he told me, his voice low and his eyes hard.
I looked around at the crowd we had drawn and curbed the words that were on the tip of my tongue.Go to hell. You’ve gotten your pound of flesh. You can’t banish me from my home. Instead of responding, I put my arm around Remy’s shoulders and steered her away from the crowd, leaving John Hart to console his wife. I didn’t blame Amanda Hart. If I had come face to face with the person driving the white van that had killed my mother, I would have reacted the same way. Probably worse. I didn’t blame John Hart for wanting to send me to prison either. An eye for an eye. But dragging Remy into it was where I drew the line.
* * *
Remy camehome with me and we showered together in the outdoor shower. She dressed in one of my T-shirts and crawled into bed with me, resting her head on my shoulder and her hand on my heart. I stared at the ceiling in the darkness of my room and stroked her shower-wet hair that smelled like citrus shampoo.
“Tell me something good, Remy.”
“There’s only one you and you are not replaceable.”
