Page 65 of Wilder Love
“I just came down to watch the surfers.”
Her voice was the same—low and husky. Sexy. The sound still went straight to my cock. Another one of her secret weapons. She had an entire arsenal at her disposal.
I couldn’t look at her. Not really. It hurt too much. But I watched her in my periphery, my gaze on the ocean. I had seen enough as I’d walked toward her—she looked sleek and elegant in a black bikini that showed off her taut stomach and flawless caramel skin. Now, she was chipping away at the dark polish on her nails just like she always used to do when she was nervous.
There was so much to say, yet nothing at all. I wanted to ask her how the world was treating her. If she had fallen in love. If she had found someone else. If she was sleeping with that British rock star I had seen her with on social media. But I didn’t ask any of those things. Maybe I didn’t want to hear the answers. Her life was so far removed from what it had been, from the life I’d been living for the past seven years, that I couldn’t relate. I’d seen her on a yacht in Monte Carlo, drinking champagne as the fireworks exploded above her head. At Coachella, partying with rock stars and models in their designer festival wear. She wasn’t the Remy I used to know. The world was her playground now. Doors opened for girls who looked like Remy St. Clair.
The day I’d finally given in to my curiosity and Googled her, I’d been at an all-time low which was saying something for a man who had spent six years in prison. Seeing Remy on a catwalk, on the covers of glossy magazines, in London and Paris and Milan, had sent me spiraling down even lower. A bigger man would have been happy for her. A bigger man wouldn’t have been so angry. It was what I’d always wanted for her. To get on with her life, put her past behind her, and find a way to be happy.
Did I want her to be broken? God, no.
But I’d come to learn that I wasn’t a bigger man. I was angry all the time now. At John Hart who had gone after me with a vengeance, seeking retribution for his dead son. At Remy’s piece of shit mother. At a God I didn’t believe in. At the doctors who claimed there was nothing more they could do. But mostly at myself. I was holding so much anger inside that one of these days I was going to implode. The ocean was the only place where I felt some sense of peace.
Without surfing, I would be a lost soul.
“Why didn’t you let me visit you?” Her voice was quiet, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the voices around us, but I heard her as if she’d shouted the words.
“You know why.”
“Because you hate me?”
How I wished it had been that simple. Hatred was cut and dry. Clean. Simple. Remy and I didn’t inhabit a black and white world, we were shades of gray. Did I wish I had never met her? Sometimes. But other times, most of the time, I missed the girl I used to know. “Why would you think I hated you?”
She swallowed hard, fighting back tears, her voice quavering on the words. “What else was I supposed to think?”
“You were supposed to think that I didn’t want you waiting around and fucking up your life for me. You needed to get the hell out of here. And I was hoping you’d never look back.”
“Shane… I would have been there for you.”
“Well, there’s your answer. I didn’twantyou to be there for me.”
“You’re so stubborn, thinking you know what’s best. I didn’t get a vote, Shane. That’s you though, isn’t it?”
I could call her out as a hypocrite, reminding her that she’d done the same thing when she caved to Tristan’s bullying tactics, but I didn’t want to go there. Not now. Not ever. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
I stood to go. There was nothing left to say. I didn’t even ask what Travis had said to her. It was none of my business.Shewas no longer any of my business. Instead of heading back to the water, I carried my board to my Jeep. It was a sad day when I wasn’t in the mood for surfing.
I loaded my board and peeled off my rash vest, tossing it in the back. I’d shower when I got home. As I closed the hatch, a hand wrapped around my bicep. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe.
Don’t get so close, Remy. Don’t touch me.
She pulled her hand away, but my skin still burned from her touch.
“Need something, Rem?”
“Yes. I need you to turn around and look at me.”
Reluctantly, I turned to look at her, my brows raised in question. Her eyes roamed over my bare chest before she lifted her eyes to mine. Her aquamarine eyes were still the same. Bottomless tropical seas. I had seen them in my dreams more times than I cared to admit.
“Don’t say anything. Just listen, okay?” she said.
I clenched my jaw, arms crossed over my chest, my gaze fixated on a spot over her shoulder, waiting to hear what she felt she needed to say. My face and posture didn’t indicate that I was open to listening, but I stayed where I was which had to count for something.
“I want to… I can…” She stopped and took a breath. “Why are you making this so hard?”
I gave her a slow, lazy smile and threw in a wink for good measure. “Just my special talent.”
She growled. Yes, she actually growled, her hands balling into fists. It was fucking fantastic, riling up Remy. Despite everything she’d been through and all the shit in her life, Remy hadn’t lost her fire. Thank God. For a while there, she was so lost. So… broken. But she was strong. And she was resilient. I was happy that the world hadn’t broken her spirit.
