Chapter 34
34
REMI
Our Uber drives off, leaving us in a small parking lot outside of Your Next Axe.
The building looks distressed, thanks to the paint technique. Strategically placed sheets of metal appear rusted along the edges and slapped on the front. Even the sign itself hangs slightly askew.
Valeria sighs beside me, not quite as sold. “I specifically remember saying spa day, Remi. Spa. Day.”
I adjust the camera bag’s strap on my shoulder and shrug. “We got our nails done. And this is like a dude spa, right?”
“Sure. We’ll go with that,” she says. “Come on, let’s go watch our guys share a brain cell.”
She smiles and brings me with her toward the door. A normal one, which mismatches with the rest of the building, so it oddly fits in perfectly.
I went from a fan of Val to attached over the course of lunch. She grew up in Austin and danced for a ballet company. A stress fracture put her out of commission last year, so now she runs an online boutique and makes jewelry. She effortlessly matches Chase’s energy with sarcasm and doesn’t take shit, but she always has an underlying kindness and genuineness shining through.
She already knew about me and Foster when we met up. A certain version anyway. Chase apparently couldn’t even wait until Colton and I left their curb to tell her. Which I find incredibly cute.
He said we knew each other years ago, lost touch, and now Foster has a leash on his dick. I have a feeling she watered it down—other than the last part. It would make sense that Chase told her I disappeared on Foster without a word, and as his best friend, I’m sure Chase held opinions.
Foster assured me he wouldn’t mention the real reason, but letting him is on the list for maybe one day.
A guitar twang surrounds us once we walk inside. The space opens into a large room with the axe throwing at the back, a small arcade on one side, and a full bar on the other. Wooden stairs right in the middle lead up to another floor. A sign posted beside them has RAGE AND SHINE burned into it along with an arrow pointing up.
Valeria leads the way to the throwing lanes. Wooden planks and metal lattice separate them, each with two bullseyes at the ends.
“Double or nothin’ you can’t hit that close a third time,” Colton says as we approach.
He grabs a hatchet off an overturned barrel and passes it off to Chase. His brother grabs the handle with a cocky smirk and adjusts his chair to line up before flinging the axe down the lane one-handed. It buries in the wooden target, not far from the center.
As Colton curses, Chase swings around, ready to gloat when he spots us and smiles, first at me, and then he stays on Val.
“Now you’re really fucked, little bro. My good luck charm just walked in.” He pulls her into his lap and kisses her, mumbling something about being “Lumber-jacked.”
Colton greets me with an eye roll once I reach him.
“What was the bet?” I ask.
“Everything.”
My forehead scrunches, and I look up at him. “Everything?”
“Yep.” He scratches his jaw, pursing his lips.
“How do you bet double or nothing on everything?”
He throws me a sideways glance, shrugging. “Fuck if I know. I wasn’t supposed to lose again.”
I laugh as he goes after the hatchet.
Felix and Christian are throwing in the next two lanes, so I watch them. They throw, retrieve, swap to larger axes, but the appeal is lost on me.
“It’s an art form,” Foster says from behind me.
Before I can look, his arm snakes around my waist, tugging me back against his chest. He moves my hair so he can nuzzle against my neck.
“Oh, is it?”
He hums an affirmative. “Watch Christian.”
I do.
The manager sorts through his options until he picks one up.
“See how he tests the weight, judges the movement?” When I nod, Foster sweeps his thumb over my rib cage and continues, “His face tells you he doesn’t like it.” Christian sets it down and grabs another with a longer handle and larger head. “Now with this one, you see his lips purse? The tiny nod of his head? You know he’s going to choose it.”
Christian turns around with the axe and saunters to the top of the lane.
Foster’s words caress my ear. “He’s all confidence,” he commentates, sending a shiver rolling down my spine from his low, raspy voice. “His hold on the throat, where the handle curves, stays loose. Now, when he throws, stay with him and not the axe.”
Christian’s arm lifts, the axe head drawing back until he brings it forward and releases. My gaze sticks on him through the thwack of the blade hitting the wooden target. His expression remains cool, and he turns, giving a smug nod to Felix.
“I still don’t get it,” I tell Foster, tilting my head to see him. It brings our lips inches apart, very distracting. “How is any of that art?”
He smirks down at me. “Because Christian has no fucking clue what he’s doing. It’s all a performative piece, convincing you and everyone else he was completely knowledgeable and in control the entire time.”
I look as Christian slowly strides to the target and jerks the axe out from where it landed, several inches from the inner circle. And sure enough, when he comes up the lane, he notices us watching and winks at me.
Foster kisses my temple and then leaves my backside cold to grab the necks of two beers off a table where he must have set them. He tucks a bottle of water under his arm and swipes one more beer. “Last one’s for you.”
Following him with mine, I pluck the water from him too. His mouth lifts on one side.
“What?” I ask as we walk over to the brothers and Val.
He shakes his head. “I just still can’t believe you’re here sometimes.”
But I am. And I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
When we reach them, Colton takes two of the beers, passing one to Val, and Foster directs me to Chase.
“The water’s for him.”
Chase flashes me a smile as I hand it off. “Thanks. Drinking screws with my meds.”
I nod, and Foster tucks me against his side. Since he left right after Colton and I arrived the other day, I haven’t seen how the three of them interact together. But the dynamic I’ve witnessed between Foster and Colton for months seamlessly adjusts to fit Chase until I forget he hasn’t been part of it all along.
Their competitive natures quickly kick in, and soon everything becomes a chance to show each other up. And not just with axe throwing. Who finishes more of their beverage in a single gulp, and which of them checks their phone first. Then out of nowhere, they’re trying to throw worse than each other.
Half the time I don’t even realize they’re competing until one claims victory.
But no one cares in the end. No one keeps score—except maybe when they all text Colton and Chase’s mom at the same time and Mrs. Wilde replies to Foster first.
Val’s perched on one of the overturned barrels, cackling at them when I unpack my camera.
Foster and Felix notice and prove themselves well-trained, moving to side-by-side lanes without me asking. They bicker and laugh with each other, and it’s exactly what I need.
With so little downtime for the guys outside of the break, we have limited B-roll of them like this. Dev has a handheld with him in Arizona, so I might have something to use from his trip. Otherwise, I’m starting to think I’ll have to fly to LA after the tour for footage of the three together in a relaxed environment.
I need Colton to command chill time for them.
Once I finish, I drop down by my camera bag off to the side of the group where they’ve all congregated.
“Bad news, baby.” Foster’s walking over as I pull the zipper closed. “Colton bet my everything and lost.” He stops beside me. “Chase gets everything that’s mine, so…”
I shrug, pushing to my feet. “I guess that means I live in Austin now.”
“Nah, I’ll smuggle you out of here.”
Val laughs from farther down. She’s beside Chase, his hand on the outside of her thigh while they talk to the others. His thumb skims over her jeans, and she lights up every time she looks at him.
“How long have they been together?”
Foster glances over at them. “About three years.” He grasps my sides, hands wrapping around my ribs.
“Were they together before his accident?”
Outside of what Foster said and Val saying he had a spinal injury, no one’s told me anything more. I haven’t asked either, not wanting to pry or open wounds. Chase is Chase with or without me knowing the details, and Foster will talk to me about what happened when he’s ready.
“No, they met after.”
His palm starts inching downward on one side.
“They were both at a tech conference,” he says. “She’d been hired for a demonstration, wearing sensors while she danced that provided instant feedback on muscle engagement and form tracking. He was checking out the technology for the company where he works but spent more time checking her out instead.”
Foster runs his fingers along the bottom of my shirt before trailing to my hip. “Chase claims he took her home, but Val says it was the other way around. Either way, Colt and I were in tuxes six months later.”
I smile. “I like the idea of you in a tux.”
“Yeah, well, you couldn’t handle it.” His palm reaches the outside of my thigh and slips just under the fabric of my skirt.
“Let me guess, I’d be throwing my panties at you?”
“You’ll be doing that regardless.”
When he steps closer, he cups my ass with his other hand. Then I see his eyes dart to the side. To Chase.
I look and see his friend’s hand tucked between Val’s thighs, barely moving higher before he glances at us.
“Are you two competing right now?” I land a glare on Foster.
He fights a smile. “That depends.” Dropping the subtlety, he pulls me flush to his chest. “If I admit we are, will you help me win?”
His head hangs lower, so his nose almost touches mine.
“No.” But I stay. I leave his hands on me. I help him win anyway.
* * *
“Are we shitty people for still not telling Colton we already knew each other?”
We only have two days left of the tour break, and the thought’s creeping in more often. Along with others—whether I want them to or not.
But this one remains insistent.
Foster snorts. “No.”
He’s on his side next to me in his bed. His fingers link with mine, and he drags my hand up to press a soft kiss to my wrist. “Do you want people to know?”
I hesitate to answer him. None of it has to do with us or how I feel about him, but rather everything to do with all the heaviness attached to when we first met.
Telling Foster about my mom and what happened to Roman is too fresh. I’m nowhere near ready to share with everyone else, and the thought of talking around it to others sounds miserable right now.
The pause makes his eyes flick to mine. He studies me before kissing my wrist again.
“I honestly couldn’t give a fuck when anyone thinks we met. The only thing I care about is you’re mine. So long as you know that, we won’t have a problem.” Then he abandons my hand and moves to cup my cheek, his bottomless blue gaze penetrating, a question in them. “Now tell me, are we going to have a problem, Remi?”
I shake my head. “Not a one.”
He releases a relieved breath, like the answer could be anything else, and then pulls me to him. My cheek rests on his shoulder, and I tilt my face up to see his, tracing the contours of his chest. “How mad will Colt be whenever we do tell him?”
“Oh, he’ll lose his shit and unleash a level of petty you’ve never seen.” Foster smirks at the thought. “Petty Colt’s pretty damn entertaining, though. Almost more so when it’s aimed at you.”
“And you wonder why he’s so quick to kick you from being his best friend.”
Unbothered by the threat as always, he purses his lips. “Even if he did, I keep a spare.”
I smile when he looks down at me with one of his own. He captures my chin, raising it more, and his eyes bounce between mine.
“I mean it, Rem. We’re doing us on our terms,” he tells me. “As long as I get to be with you, my terms are met. The rest is all up to you.”
Him and his perfect words, never fighting fair.
He’s always found a way through my defenses, disarming me even when I would fight against it. And that was when he was in parts and an ocean away. Foster as a whole carves his way into the places I hide from and makes me think I might not need to anymore.
While he showers, I throw on one of his shirts and crawl back into bed with my phone. Because I’m determined to make today a maybe one day, and this call requires some semblance of clothing.
Stretched out, I prop up on my elbows, waiting for my favorite smile in the world to appear on my screen. Then it does, and something instantly eases inside me.
“Remington Sinner.” Roman’s sitting in his car, his beanie pushed high on his forehead and jacket unzipped. “The hottest up-and-coming director of her time.”
I snort and remind him, “You said the same thing after watching the video I shot on my phone of you blowing out birthday candles.”
He considers it and nods. “You’re right. The real reason that video was such a masterpiece was the subject.”
I shake my head, my own smile spreading, and he chuckles.
“All right, catch me up, pretty girl,” he says. “What’s big enough to earn a call?”
My fingers twist in the bedsheet, lips tilting up even more. “I can’t check in just because I miss you?”
His face speaks for him, clearly stating, You can, but you ain’t.
And he’s right. About the just part, anyway.
Roman and I have talked a handful of times since I left New York, but we’ve mostly kept up in texts. Texts with words.
The emojis stopped after everything happened. We didn’t need them anymore, and they would have only served as a reminder of why we ever needed them in the first place.
Up until now, all of my updates have stayed documentary-related, or about Of Men and Wolves, or the tour itself. No mention of Foster—no mention of Adams in place of Foster.
Nothing between us fell into a category of things I would ever share with the man I consider a second father.
Until now.
“Do you remember…” I trail off and bite my lips together.
Very rarely am I the one to bring up anything related to my mom or our time at the lake house. Even the months after Roman was attacked, I avoid. He tests the waters now and then but never pushes too hard.
But right now, the safety in his dark eyes is enough I can push myself.
“One of the guys on tour with me is Foster.”
A crease forms in his forehead. “Foster…”
“He was the guy I cried over after Daniel killed my mom.”
The last part’s hushed and feels brutal, but I breathe through it. I’ve practiced. Out loud and alone.
Roman’s blink lasts too long when I say it, calmly and without tears. It’s his only tell other than a puff of air that leaves him before he looks at me again. “I remember who he is, Remi. I need you to let me know, am I happy or on a plane?”
I sigh, my cheek landing on my arm. “So fucking happy.”
The man slumps in his seat, head falling onto the headrest, and then he grins. “Damn. You look it too. He’s been there the entire time?”
As I straighten back up, I nod, focusing on him while I push out more. “We weren’t on the best of terms because I couldn’t tell him what happened. It took until recently, but now he knows where I went and why. I told him everything—even about the lake house.” Tears build fast at the memories, and I swallow roughly. Inhale and exhale. “Saying it to him really fucking hurt, Roman. I’ve hidden from it for so long.”
“But you did it anyway. You’re on the other side and still standing.”
His head tilts, concern marring his face, so I force a small smile. His expression softens in response, and he manages to fill the silence with everything I need. Such a simple thing he wields like the world’s most powerful weapon. At least in my world.
Roman glances to the side, and the dome light pops on a second later, accompanied by a ding as a door opens. He angles the camera to show Bea crawling into the back passenger seat with a shopping bag. “Say hi to Remi.”
She glances up with a smile while shutting the door. “How’s my girl?” Unbuttoning her coat, she reaches for the phone with her other hand. “We miss you.”
Things changed between Roman and Bea after his attack while we were staying at her lake house. She said it took almost losing him to realize how deep that loss would have gone.
Having recently been gutted and the wound being a through-and-through, I understood.
I leaned on her a lot while he recovered. She was my first call when I finally got to him, barely conscious and broken. Then she was there for both of us every step of the way. In truth, she kept us afloat until we could swim again.
They became a we after Roman and I moved so I could start school. She would visit back and forth until she eventually stayed with him in New York. But neither of them loved the city. He denied it for a long time—and I know it was because of me. After I started working with Heath, Bea and I ganged up on him, and they moved to Philadelphia just over two years ago.
It was after the weekend I spent at Sound Clash that I helped them unpack at their new place. While I was there, I also helped them celebrate something else. Or someone.
“I miss you guys too,” I tell her, only a high-pitched squeal overpowers my too and has Bea dramatically widening her eyes.
Roman chuckles. “I told you she’d wake up the second you got back.”
Bea waves him off and rotates the phone screen so I can see Imane in her car seat and she can see me. She’s beaming, black curls peeking from under an orange fuzzy hat. Her big brown eyes match her dad’s, but the rest shines through all Bea.
“There’s my baby,” I coo.
Through the random word sounds, I catch a “Remi here,” and my heart squeezes. She changes so much between updates, and I seek out every one.
“Say Thanksgiving wasn’t the same without you, sissy.” Bea coaches her while handing her a plastic key ring of shapes.
Foster and I spent it with Chase and Colt’s family.
Imane answers in baby, ignoring the toy entirely and desperately reaching for the phone instead. And then the world ends when her mom won’t give it up.
I wince at the cry and screech, but she’s too fucking adorable to really care about eardrums.
Bea flashes me an apologetic face that she backs up with a, “Sorry. Love you.”
She passes me back to Roman in the driver’s seat, and he’s wincing along with me.
“I’m so sad I missed this part with you.” He smothers it in sarcasm, causing me to laugh.
“Yeah, I can sense the unshed tears. Get your girls home.”
“Two of my girls,” he corrects. He smiles but with a seriousness beneath the surface. “We’re not done here. When you have time and are ready, I want to finish our conversation. Then you can tell me more about this Foster guy who’s responsible for you being so fucking happy.” Imane starts to calm behind him, so he lowers his voice. “I’m proud of you, Remington. Stay standing, and remember I’m here for it all. I’ve got you through the good, bad, great, and ugly.”
The words act like his hugs, warm and grounding. What Roman’s always been for me. Despite the cost to him.
“Same. Good, bad, great, and ugly,” I repeat.
“We love you,” he says, and I tell him I love them too. Then he adds, “Warn Foster I’m holding him responsible if anything happens to you. But I won’t lie, I haven’t even met the man and already prefer him watching over you to Xander.”
His nose wrinkles in mock disgust, the call ending before I can even respond. Not that anything I say would matter.
Despite his best efforts, Xander still hasn’t fully reversed Roman’s first impression of him.
To be fair, when my roommate answered our apartment door last Christmas in only low-slung sweatpants—and I mean low —he didn’t expect Roman to be on the other side. Neither did I.
It was Imane’s first Christmas, and Bea’s family was there visiting.
I hadn’t wanted to impose; plus, I had a shoot the next day. So, Xander skipped his family’s plans to keep me company, and we stayed in the city. We bought the saddest plastic tree, which leaned in a corner, and The Year Without a Santa Claus played on repeat.
Then late in the afternoon, he and Roman were face-to-face. Roman gruffly introduced himself as my dad and demanded Xander, “ put on a fucking shirt ,” before shouldering his way inside. He wrapped me in a hug and told me a video chat didn’t cut it.
By the time he left, he’d relaxed toward Xander but still made him swear to never touch me and promise to keep me safe. I think most of his disdain he feigns at this point, but I kinda love it.
I’m writing the scene list for our first week back on the road when Foster comes out of the bathroom. Steam billows out from behind him, and I flash back to the band’s dressing room in Prague. His dark hair’s wet and messy, hands pushing through it.
My attention quickly diverts to his painfully gorgeous face before sinking to the dips and rises of his abs, then I drift lower to his tattoo, the trail of hair disappearing under the top of his boxer briefs.
“I have a sparkling personality, too.”
I look up to him smirking at me. “It’s not that great.”
“Liar.”
On his way over, he runs his hand over his taut stomach. He grabs a pillow and stretches out on his front beside me, tucking it under one arm. The other hand immediately creeps up the back of my thigh, dragging the bottom of his shirt higher.
“I talked to Roman,” I tell him, lowering my phone.
His blue gaze settles on my face as he reaches the curve of my ass with his palm and stops.
“About you.”
After a second, he cocks a brow. “How much about me? Enough I need to warn Colt to keep an eye out?”
I shake my head. “I skimped on the details, so I think you’re safe for now. He remembered you, though. I told him you know everything, and you make me happy.”
“Fuck,” he rasps. “And I used to shoot for not as sad. Now I need to make you feel consumed by me like I am by you.”
“We’re there, I just skimped on the details.”
I smile when he does, and then he studies me while I study him.
Today was definitely a maybe one day. Maybe tomorrow will be as well. And the way Foster’s looking at me right now makes me believe maybe tomorrow’s tomorrow could become one too.
The sliver of him inside my soul doesn’t feel foreign anymore. Now that he’s here, that part of me healed.
“Foster,” I say.
He hums, running his fingers up my back. “Yeah, Remi?”
“Thank you for being real.”
When he brings his hand up, he pushes it into my hair and pulls me down to kiss him. “Anytime, baby.”