Page 27 of Wilder Love
I exhaled loudly, knowing I couldn’t force her to go if she didn’t want to.
“Is there someone you can call? Your mom or something?” Travis asked.
He didn’t know about her home situation because I’d never told him. It was none of his business and I knew that Remy wouldn’t appreciate it if I betrayed her confidence.
“No. It’s okay. I’ll just… I’m fine.” She stood and took a few steps up the beach.
She swayed on her feet and I steadied her with my hands on her upper arms.
“Whoa. Head rush.” No sooner were the words out, she pulled away from me and bent at the waist, vomiting on the sand while I held her hair back, Travis shaking his head, his expression grim like this was bad. All kinds of bad.
She straightened and tried to muster a smile. “Well, that was gross.”
“Just sit down for a minute.” I applied gentle pressure to her shoulders until she did as I asked. “I’m going to take care of you, okay? It’s all good.” I turned to Travis. “Look after her for a minute.”
“Where are you going?” He looked panicked at being left alone with Remy. I nearly laughed.
“I have something I need to take care of,” I said, already walking away.
I waded back into the water, my gaze focused on the asshole who had dropped in on her as he rode another set of waves in and hopped off his board in knee-deep water. I advanced on him and crossed my arms over my chest. He was wearing a HartCore wetsuit and looked vaguely familiar.
“The fuck was that? You dropped in on her. That wave was hers.”
He smirked. “You talking about the muffrider?”
Fucking douche. I smacked him upside the back of his head. A warning.
He shoved my shoulders. The little shit. The smirk was still there but his eyes had hardened. “I’d think twice before picking a fight with me. Do you know who I am?”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re the pope. You didn’t even come to check and see if she was okay. You didnothingto help. What if I hadn’t been here? What if nobody else was here to help her?”
“Remy St. Clair isn’t worth fighting over. Girl’s a cock tease. White trash.”
“If I ever see you at this break—”
“What are you going to do? Beat me up? Oh, and by the way, I’m Tristan Hart. And you’re my daddy’s golden boy. Watch your fucking step.”
A hand wrapped around my bicep and Travis dragged me away. I shook off his hold and jabbed my finger at the asshole. “Brush up on your surfing etiquette.”
He was laughing as he paddled back out.
“Hey,” Travis said, jostling my arm to get my attention. “Shake it off.”
I ground my teeth. “You saw what he did.”
“Yeah. He’s a little shit. But it happens all the time. He’s not worth losing your shit over. Come on. Check on Remy,” he urged.
I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm the fuck down. Asshole. Figures he was John Hart’s son. John Hart was a pompous ass. Unfortunately, I needed his money. I was a brand and I couldn’t afford to lose my cool with that douchebag. He’d known that all along. He also knew Remy.
Remy was already climbing the stairs, using the railing for support, the board under her arm. Stubborn girl.
“You need my help?” Travis asked, his eyes darting to Remy who looked like she was struggling.
“Nah. I’ve got this. Get back out there.” I knew he was dying to get back out there.
He clapped me on the shoulder before he headed back to the water. “Call if you need anything.”
I jogged across the beach and up the stairs, catching up to Remy on the path that led to the parking lot. I took the board out from under her arm and side-eyed her. She was shivering, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth, her gait unsteady. Being in a wetsuit, a chilly April wind blowing, wasn’t helping matters.
