24. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
R amiro couldn’t calm down, even with Summer safe in his arms. Her body curled against his, her hand rested over his chest, and her slow, steady breaths fluttered against his neck above his collar.
He wished he’d at least taken off his shirt, but he hadn’t been able to loosen his hold on her enough to do it.
Summer had been so still when he’d burst into her apartment. For a second, he’d thought he’d been too late. Her prick of an ex had already been scrambling up, his shouting switching to a whining panic that Ramiro hadn’t had to listen to for long.
He’d known he was going to kill him, but it was over before he could really process it. He needed to have Summer safe against him as soon as possible.
Her words of love hadn’t calmed him at all. Her love made him realize all over again that he didn’t deserve her. She wanted him to hold her, though, so he hadn’t tried to make himself let go. Summer needed him. That was all that mattered.
What had the prick even wanted? It didn’t matter. Him choosing to come back had been a deadly mistake.
And once Ramiro had a chance to think more clearly, he’d figure out which of the doormen had been on shift tonight and let her ex in, then take care of them as well. Not that she’d ever be on-site there again. No, she was staying with him from now on. Ramiro didn’t want to ever let her out of his sight.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He steadied her with a hand on her back as he fished it out.
‘It’s done,’ Diego’s text read.
Ramiro sighed. He couldn’t regret killing the man so quickly, not when Summer had been in danger, but the hate inside him still wanted to tear into flesh, and the body was already gone.
‘Sorry to pull you away,’ he sent back instead.
‘Glad to repay the favor.’
Ramiro let his phone drop to the bed. When Diego had lost his mind over a woman, Ramiro had seen too much of himself in him. He’d even tried to step in, offering an out to Diego’s woman, just as he’d always offered to Summer.
She hadn’t taken it, just as Summer never had, but choice was important to Ramiro. It made it both worse and better that Summer always chose him.
He was done trying to push her away. Summer deserved more than him, but it didn’t matter anymore. Even if she’d wanted her own life, he would have hovered at the edges, absorbing every scrap that he could.
He was pathetic, but then, he came by that naturally. His mother had been even more pathetic. At least Summer loved him back. His father had never loved his mother. He’d used her.
His mother hadn’t had another choice. Her parents kicked her out because she was pregnant with Ramiro. For a while, Ramiro hated himself for trapping her with his father. His father railed at her often for keeping the baby. As if he’d had no culpability for impregnating a teenager way too young for him.
His mother convinced herself she loved his father. She molded her whole life around one undeserving man, and his father used every ounce of her up until nothing was left.
Ramiro had watched it and grown more and more bitter, but every time he tried to talk to his mother about leaving, she would fly off the handle, hitting him to make his words disappear. She’d never loved him. His existence trapped them together. She’d said she didn’t blame him for that over and over, screamed it at him in fact.
He eventually accepted that his mother didn’t hate him for putting her in that situation. She didn’t love him or hate him. She just wanted to pretend he didn’t exist.
Ramiro wasn’t certain when he stopped trying to earn her love. He was still young when he had grown numb. He couldn’t avoid the way his father shouted, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, but he’d decided she deserved it. Not deserved, exactly, but if the violence continued, he thought his mother would have to face reality.
He was proven wrong when his father killed her. He’d hit her, as hard as he always did, but she didn’t get up that time. Ramiro didn’t see it himself. The quiet in the house crept into his heart, and he’d gone to investigate.
His father didn’t cry as he stared down at the body. No, he’d spit on it instead.
“About damn time I’m rid of you.”
Ramiro had killed him. He’d already been as tall as his father, but not as filled out yet. Being weaker hadn’t mattered when he had surprise on his side. Afterward, he’d stared down at the bodies together, feeling nothing, not hatred or guilt or sadness. It had needed to be done, so he did it.
He’d burned down the shack of a house he’d lived in all his life and found a life on the streets instead. One that increased the numbness inside.
Ramiro hadn’t liked anyone who bullied those weaker than them, though. It wasn’t until he started stepping in to help that he realized how much regret he carried for failing his mother. Saving some of the boys smoothed the broken pieces of himself that had been cutting him up inside.
Then he’d run into a pregnant girl on a bridge, and the pieces wove into something new. Summer reminded him of his mother, but he could save her.
She fell in love with him for it. He’d told himself she’d developed a savior complex. He’d told himself she was young and impressionable, like his mother had been. That didn’t stop Ramiro from absorbing every single moment of her need for him. It was a toxic feedback loop for both of them, one he’d tried to break over the years. Each time, she just clung to him tighter.
Summer wasn’t like his mother, not really. Summer was soft and caring and so damn vulnerable. She’d give all of herself to make people care about her, holding nothing back.
His mother had been bitter and violent, when it came down to it, more like his father. Ramiro had lost count of how many times she’d hit him as a child.
Summer couldn’t fight back, no matter how many times he tried to teach her. She had darkness inside, just like he did, but it was a darkness toward herself. Ramiro’s hate turned outward—he hated all the assholes in the world. He knew he was an asshole too, but he was better than most. He didn’t deserve someone as kind as Summer, but he didn’t hate himself, not really.
Summer hated herself. The only value she saw in herself was the value others gave her. No matter how much Ramiro poured into her, she was always desperate for more. He didn’t mind pouring into her, but he wished she could see herself the way he saw her.
A frightened whimper slipped from her, and Ramiro pulled her closer. Her body grew stiff, and her fingers curled around the buttoned gap of his shirt as she gasped and whimpered again with her eyes still closed .
Nightmares had plagued her over the years. What happened to her as a teenager preyed on her hardest when she slept.
Ramiro dragged her closer so he could kiss her worry lines away. “I’ve got you, baby girl,” he murmured, his strokes along her back firmer. He no longer feared waking her. Her waking in his arms was better than letting those assholes tear at her subconscious.
“You’re safe,” he promised, his hand burying in her hair as he kissed her forehead again. “I’m here.”
Her breathing evened out, the gasps and whimpers fading as she relaxed and nudged her face into the collar of his shirt, finding its place close to his neck. He encircled her even more, wanting her completely absorbed in his heat.
He sighed, closing his eyes, focusing on how right it felt. She’d clung to him over the years, but that didn’t mean it was one-sided. Ramiro only felt settled when he was with Summer.
Maybe it was a toxic feedback loop, but did that matter if they both wanted it?
Holding her all night was a balm to his soul, one he was finally willing to admit he never wanted to fade.
F or the first time in weeks, Summer didn’t wake up nauseous. Ramiro’s big body lay under hers, and she slowly lifted her head from its place on his shoulder .
“Good morning.” The huskiness in his voice caused her cheeks to heat as she met his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
She sat up fully, her hand moving to hover over her stomach. It didn’t swirl or heave at all. “I don’t feel sick,” she admitted, letting her hand lower to rest on his chest. She wished it was hair and warm skin under her palm, but Ramiro still had his dress shirt on from the night before.
“That’s good,” he murmured, his hand moving over hers. His fingers brushed along her wrist. “What about from last night? You fell pretty hard. Any pain anywhere?”
Her wrists were a little sore, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to think about Derek hovering over her, holding her down. Thinking about it would only lead her mind to darker places.
Ramiro brushed her hair back from her face, his palm warm as it cupped her head. Summer leaned into his touch, letting him study her with that warm gaze of his. “You’re telling the truth?” he asked, those wrinkles forming on his forehead.
She reached out, running her thumb over them. “I really am fine, Ram. You got there in time.”
“Not soon enough,” Ramiro said, but he let his hand drop.
For a moment, she wondered what he would have done if she said her wrists did ache. No, making him worry about her would be wrong.
“What did Derek say to you last night?” Ramiro asked, his thumb back to tracing along her wrist.
Summer looked away. “It’s not important. ”
Ramiro’s thumb paused. “Your face is saying it is. I wish I’d been able to kill him more slowly.” He sat up, his arms moving around to her back to pull her onto his lap. “Don’t hold anything he said inside of you. He was an asshole, one who didn’t deserve you.”
“I-I don’t remember very clearly.” The pieces Summer did remember had been nothing but the truth. Derek hadn’t wanted someone like her to have his baby, which was fair, but he’d been on top of her, holding her down while he said it. Her fingers curled into Ramiro’s shirt. “He was just so angry.” The words might not have gotten through, but the memory of his raised voice twisted inside her all over again.
“Hey, come here, baby girl.” Ramiro pulled her in closer, tucking her against his chest.
Summer let out a wobbly breath, letting the memory fade. Her baby’s father was dead, but he wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with the baby anyway.
Her breathing slowed as she rested in Ramiro’s arms. She’d just woken up, but she felt like she could sleep more.
He slowly pulled back. “Why don’t you get cleaned up, and I’ll make you some tea and peel a banana. They seem to help the most. I like that you’re not feeling sick this morning, but we shouldn’t take any chances.”
She nodded, slipping out of bed. The picture he made, rumpled in bed and watching her, was one she wanted to lock in her mind. She headed to the guest room for a change of clothes with her cheeks flushed .
After her shower, a cup of decaf tea steamed on the kitchen counter next to that blue bowl that taunted her, along with a sliced banana. She popped a slice in her mouth, not missing Ramiro’s smile. When she sipped her tea, it was perfectly sweetened with sugar and a dash of honey.
Her stomach twinged a little watching Ramiro lift his own drink to his lips, one he’d made himself, but she pushed the guilt away the best she could.
“She’s the size of a grape now,” Ramiro said.
Summer froze, staring at him.
“Your daughter,” he explained, but she’d known what he meant.
He’d called the baby hers. No, she couldn’t get attached. “It might not be a girl.”
“I like thinking of her that way. Makes her seem more real.”
Summer’s throat tightened. The slice of banana she’d picked up felt mushy between her fingers. She should have grabbed a fork. “A grape isn’t that much bigger than a raspberry.” Was the baby as big as the slice of banana she held between her fingers?
“True,” Ramiro agreed, shifting toward her and kissing her forehead. “But it means she’s growing. That’s kind of amazing to think about.” He turned away while her breath was still trapped in her throat. “I’m going to shower. Pick something out on TV to watch?”
Summer blinked. “You’re not working today?”
Ramiro paused near the hallway. “It’s Saturday. I just want to cuddle you on the couch all day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? ”
Her fingers clamped harder on the banana slice, smooshing it as she searched his eyes. Was he just doing this for her? She should feel bad, but excitement flipped in her stomach. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’d like that.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He took another sip of coffee as he disappeared down the hall. He’d probably leave the mug in the bathroom. She’d go collect it later.
Her mind spun as she forced herself to finish the rest of the banana and wash her hands. Ramiro kept looking up things about the pregnancy. He’d sounded almost… excited? That couldn’t be right.
The tea was pleasantly lukewarm now, and she brought it with her to the coffee table. Her older couch was more centered in front of the TV, and she sat on it as she scrolled through options.
She shouldn’t think of the baby as hers. She might get attached, and she’d already told Ramiro she wanted to put it up for adoption. How did you even do that? She should probably start researching.
Her mind felt numb as she flipped past the movies, landing on an older TV show she and Ramiro had watched together years ago. Her mind wasn’t up for something new, so a rerun appealed to her, but she hesitated. Would that bother him? Would he be bored?
“I remember that show,” Ramiro said from beside her. He crouched down near the couch, his vanilla and citrus spiced scent stronger than it had been before. “Good choice.” Then he picked her up, sprawling on the couch himself, with her on top.
He hadn’t bothered putting a shirt on, and his chest hair tickled her cheek as she rested on him, his arms secure around her. When she shivered a little, he grabbed the throw off the back of the couch, tossing it over them before his arm snuck under, settling over her back again.
“Let’s binge it,” he murmured, and she pressed play.
He was so warm and sturdy beneath her, and she relaxed too much to focus on the show. Her mind quieted. She wasn’t really thinking about anything. Ramiro filled her awareness. His small snorts when he found something amusing, the huff of his breath when a character’s decision annoyed him, and the rumble in his chest under her ear when he shared his thoughts with her, all of it was precious.
It was the best day ever. She couldn’t even regret the tiredness that took over her body, dragging her into a half-asleep state.
Ramiro kissed her forehead. “I love you, baby girl,” he murmured.
There was no reason for her eyes to feel so warm, like she wanted to cry. She closed them so she wouldn’t give in to the need. Her throat was too tight to give him the words, but she thought them, over and over, as she drifted off to sleep, safe in his arms.