chapter 47
Remi
I’M ON MY COUCH, WATCHING an old comfort anime, when there’s a soft knock on my door. Immediately, I freeze, muscles going tight, as if moving will alert them to my presence. My gaze slides away from the TV and toward the hallway to my front door, but even that movement feels dangerous.
Is it him?
Holding my breath, I wait for another sound, a voice from the other side of the door.
Whoever’s on the other side knocks again, and fear floods my veins.
Part of me wants to pull my blanket over my head and squeeze my eyes closed until whoever it is goes away. And I almost do it.
But that instinct makes me mad.
I shouldn’t have to be afraid in my own home. This has been my safe space for years, and I’ll be damned if I let a man take that from me.
Heart beating harder, I push up from the couch, then walk quietly though the living room and down the hall, pausing briefly to grab the baseball bat I keep in the entrance closet for moments just like this—not that I’ve ever needed it before.
Its weight feels good in my palm, and I squeeze my fingers around it firmly, then take a breath before moving closer to the door to look through the peephole.
My breath catches in my chest, and my heart almost stops.
The bat slips from my fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor, and I flip the locks and tear the door open before another breath has passed my lips.
Seb stands on my porch, illuminated by the soft porch light, a pizza box held in his hands and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. A car is pulling out of my driveway, its rideshare light shining neon in the darkening evening.
And he’s . . . here.
“Seb,” I whisper. Then I’m throwing myself at him, making him fumble with the massive pizza box, one arm coming around me as I press my face to his broad chest. I breathe him in, that familiar scent that reminds me of his bed, his truck, the comfort of his arms. His grip on me tightens, and I twist his T-shirt in my fingers, almost not believing that he’s here right now.
“Hey, Rem,” he says softly, his voice a breath of warm air against the top of my head.
Hearing him speak solidifies him for me, makes me finally realize this isn’t a dream.
I ease back and tip my head up to look at him. “How are you here?” I ask. I was on the phone with him this afternoon, and now here he is, standing on my porch, the smell of pizza wafting around us from the big box still held in his other hand.
His dimples appear when he smiles down at me. “I got on the first flight I could. I would’ve been here sooner, but I took a little detour.” He glances at the box, then back at me. “You hungry?”
For the first time since this afternoon, when I fled the grocery store and my half-full shopping cart, I find my lips lifting into a genuine smile, and the fear in my veins slowly trickles away. “Starving.”
We eat the pizza sitting on my living room floor, watching anime and drinking what’s left of the bottle of red wine I had in my fridge. I’ve just finished off my third slice, and my stomach feels close to bursting.
“Want more wine?” I ask, then grab the bottle from the coffee table and top off our glasses after Seb nods. He’s still eating, and I lean back against the couch, drawing my knees up and taking a sip from my wineglass.
And finally, I ask the question that’s been in my head since I looked through the peephole and saw him standing on my porch. “Why are you here?”
Seb finishes his last bite of pizza, then takes a long drink of wine. His eyes meet mine in the low living room light, and he just looks at me for a moment.
I don’t know what he’s looking for, or even what he’s seeing.
But I know it makes me feel seen. And not in the way men see me when I’m onstage; he sees me in the way someone can only see you when they really take their time, when they want to know the true you that hides under your skin.
When I’m with Seb, it’s almost like Mirage doesn’t even exist. I’m just Remi.
Then, softly, he says, “Because I love you.”
My wineglass stops halfway to my lips, and for a moment, it’s like I’m frozen in time.
But Seb just gives me a small smile, like he’s okay with me not saying it back, okay with me being shocked by his confession. “I’ve never seen you like that before,” he continues, “the way you were when I called you earlier. And I wanted to be with you.”
His words feel simple and true, without any underhanded manipulations or expectations woven into the words. He takes another sip of wine, then lets out a sigh. “I hope it’s okay I showed up like this. I just—”
“I love you too.”
The words leave my mouth in such a rush that I think they startle us both.
In the quiet of my living room, we stare at each other, eyes locked, as the bright flashing colors from the TV wash over us.
“You . . . do?” Seb whispers.
I do?
I ask myself the same question, but I can only come up with one answer.
After setting my wineglass down on the coffee table, I scoot across the carpet, push the pizza box out of the way, and ease myself into Seb’s lap, my knees on either side of his hips, my arms coming up to drape around his shoulders.
He looks up at me, a question in his eyes.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I do.”
He puts his glass down so he can wrap his arms around me. I bring my lips slowly to his, and this kiss feels . . . different. Like it’s saying everything my mouth sometimes struggles to. So I kiss him harder, fingers curling around the back of his neck, and his hands tighten on my waist.
This moment, right here, is the best I’ve felt since I stepped onto the plane at LAX—since I had to leave Seb in LA. I wish I could bottle this feeling and wear it as perfume, so I could carry it with me always.
When I finally have to take a breath, I break our kiss, resting my forehead against his as I whisper, “Thank you. I’m glad you’re here.”
Seb sits back just a bit, enough to meet my gaze. One of his hands lifts to trace my cheekbone, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Why didn’t you tell me how scared you are?” he asks.
I think to deny it. I don’t want to give James that kind of power over me.
But then Seb moves his gaze toward my front door, where the baseball bat is now leaning against the wall. And I know I can’t lie. And maybe I don’t even want to. Maybe it’s okay for him to know the truth.
“Because . . . I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.” My shoulders rise and fall with a tired shrug. “I’m used to dealing with things on my own.”
His brown eyes narrow slightly as his thumb traces the soft spot beneath my eye. “You don’t have to carry it all, Rem. I want to help you. If you’ll let me.”
Now it’s my turn to trace his face, my fingers skating across his jaw, his cheekbones, the curve of each ear. I bite my lip, then whisper, “I’ll try.”
He nods once, then loops his arms fully around my waist, pulling me into such a tight hug that it almost takes the breath from my lungs.
I close my eyes and focus on the feel of his heart beating against mine, our chests pressed together, breathing finding a similar rhythm.
I’m so, so glad I’m in his arms right now. For the first time since those flowers showed up at my door, I don’t feel afraid.
And with that new bravery, I tell him all of it.
I tell him about James, his snide little comments, his note tucked into the white orchids.
Seb doesn’t interrupt me when I speak, even if his face pinches with what looks like anger and concern; he just looks at me, listens to me, shows me that he’s here. And that’s more than enough.
That night, when we crawl into my bed, Seb wraps himself around me from behind, one arm holding me tight, his breath tickling the back of my neck. And this time, when I close my eyes, I actually find sleep.