Page 21 of Wilder Love
“No.”
I grinned. “Another first. We’re eating sushi.”
* * *
“Oh my God,”she said, wiping her runny nose with a napkin. “You could have warned me.”
“I told you to go easy on the wasabi,” I said, laughing as she dabbed her watery eyes. Watching Remy eat sushi for the first time had been hilarious. I’d conducted a blind tasting, feeding her across the island with my chopsticks. After I fed her uni, she spit it into her napkin and drank two glasses of water, declaring that she’d never trust me again.
“Did your mom like sushi?” she asked, leaning her elbows on the countertop and resting her chin in her hands.
“My mom was a vegetarian.”
“Tell me more about her.”
“She and my dad met when they were fourteen. He asked her to marry him when they were sixteen.” I laughed. “They got married right out of high school and had me two years later. We used to travel with my dad when he was on tour. They didn’t like to be apart. Not even for a day. When I was seven, they decided that I needed to go to school and not be homeschooled anymore. I was so pissed, but they were adamant. And… I don’t know… my mom… she was a lot like the female version of my dad. A hippie chick. Totally cool. Laidback. She was one of those people who made the world a little brighter. A total optimist.”
Remy gave me a little smile. “Did she surf?”
“Yeah, she did. After she died, we had a paddle-out. It’s like a memorial for surfers. Hundreds of surfers showed up. We scattered her ashes in the ocean. My dad used to say, ‘Let’s go hang out with Mom.’ That was his way of saying we were going for a surf.”
“Your dad’s great.”
“He is.” I could still remember how lost he’d been after she had died but he had plastered on a smile for me, trying to hide how much his heart was breaking and the emptiness he could never fill. My parents were soul mates, best friends, and everything in between. Even as a kid, I had known their relationship was different than the ones my friends’ parents had.
“Tell me a story, Firefly.”
She tapped her chin, thinking. “When I was seven, I found a kitten hiding under the bushes outside our house. We lived in Savannah and we rented the house. It was a nice house, like a farmhouse, with a big front porch and a swing on it. We all had our own rooms and the lady who owned it, she was like a grandmother to us while we lived there. She lived in the house too. Anyway, the kitten was gray and white. So pretty. And her fur was so soft. She looked like she was hungry and lost and looking for a home. So, I took her inside and I begged my mom to let me keep her. She said I could. I was so thrilled. So excited that I had something of my own. But all I ever called her was ‘Cat.’ I didn’t even give her a name. She used to sleep with me at night, curled up in a little ball right above my head.” Remy smiled at the memory. “I loved that cat more than anything.”
“And whatever happened to Cat?” I asked, knowing this story wouldn’t have a happy ending. Remy’s stories never did.
“Dylan and I were at school one day and we got called to the principal’s office. Mom was waiting for us. She hustled us out of the school and into the car. It was all packed up with our things. She said it was time to move on. She didn’t even let us say goodbye to the lady who owned the house. Her name was Dot, short for Dorothy. She used to make us sugar cookies and homemade biscuits with gravy and fried chicken. Dylan and I wanted to stay, but we never got a vote. Anyway, that day… Mom took off and she just kept driving and driving with the music blasting. It was country music and it made me want to cry or punch a wall. I hated it. I still can’t listen to country music. And I kept begging her to go back for Cat because if we left her behind, she’d think we didn’t love her. Mom said we’d get a new cat when we got to wherever we were going. But cats aren’t replaceable, and neither are people.” She gave me a sad little smile. “I guess that wasn’t such a happy story, after all.”
“That’s your new goal in life. Create some happy memories.”
“I already have,” she said softly. “Years from now, my stories will all have happy endings.”
If only that were true. In Greek mythology, Remy would be the siren, and I would be the sailor lured by her voice to shipwreck on the rocky coast. Yes, it was that fucking tragic. I had fallen for a girl who was too young for me. A girl who was tragic and beautiful and broken. She fucked with my head, got under my skin, and changed the tempo of my heartbeat. But on that night, the twelfth anniversary of my mother’s death, we were blissfully unaware of what fate had in store for us.
9
Remy
Ashadow blocked the December sun on my face and arms caged me in, a hand planted on either side of my head on the brick wall behind me. I opened my eyes to Tristan’s—dark brown like his hair. The scent of his shower gel and cologne filled my nostrils, his minty breath skating over my face.
“What are you doing?” I feigned boredom, so he didn’t think he had the upper hand. Kurt Cobain’s voice filled my ears.Where did you sleep last night…
His dark eyes studied my face intently and he tugged out one of my earbuds. “What’s your deal?”
In the pines, in the pines…
“No deal.”
He smirked and wrapped a piece of my hair around his fingers, yanking it hard. Tears sprang to my eyes from the unexpected pain. “I bet you like it dirty, don’t you? Just like your mama.” Tristan pressed the length of his body against mine, pinning me to the wall, his erection pressing against my stomach. “She wanted to get down on her knees and suck my cock. How about you, little lamb? You want some of this?”
“I’m not my mother,” I gritted out. I shoved at his shoulders, but the wall of muscle didn’t budge. “Get the hell away from me.”
His smirk turned into a lazy grin. He dipped his head and sunk his teeth into my earlobe, sucking on it before he released it. “One of these days, I’m going to find out.”
