Chapter 13
“Is he ready?” Remy asked, bouncing from foot to foot.
“He has a name.”
“Is Rhode ready?”
I was having second thoughts. Maybe I should go with them to the store. Remy could be a handful when he was excited and right then Remy wasn’t excited—he was floating on cloud nine.
Still on my knees, I finished tying Remy’s shoe and glanced up at him, and a pang of remorse hit.
That was why I was going to let my son go with Rhode to the store without me.
I didn’t know if he was a good driver, had any accidents, DUIs, if he drove fast or slow yet I knew with Remy in the car he’d be safe.
Deep-down I knew Rhode would never get behind the wheel of a car intoxicated because he’d think that was wrong in a way he’d probably punch someone and take their keys if they tried.
It never crossed my mind that Rhode would take off with Remy and hide him from me.
He’d said he didn’t want to take Remy from me and wanted both of us.
And Rhode was not a man you didn’t believe.
“Momma,” Remy whined and I shook away my thoughts.
“I’ll go check. Start picking up some of these toys while you wait.”
“But I’m playing with them.”
“You won’t be playing with them, you’ll be at the store with your…” Crap. Shit. Damn. “With, um, Rhode.”
My son stared at me in a way that would scare the hell out of me if he were ten years older. He’d caught my slip but was too young to understand. Thank the Lord for small favors.
“Go, bud. Clean up and I’ll see if Rhode’s ready.”
“Is he—”
My heart slammed into my chest and I interrupted whatever question he was going to ask.
“Go on, Remy, so you’ll be ready.”
Remy wasn’t buying what I was selling but he was a good boy and didn’t argue.
Most of the time anyway, I thought. I got to my feet and looked around my messy living room.
Secretly, I loved seeing Remy’s toys scattered around.
What I didn’t love were the towels still lining the hallway.
Thank God, Rhode had showed up when he had or the disaster that was my bathroom and hall would’ve been so much worse.
I was so grateful I didn’t even have it in me to be embarrassed that I didn’t know I could turn the water off under the sink.
And I was grateful Rhode was willing to fix it—with Remy.
I didn’t bother with the wet towels as I made my way to the bathroom. I stopped just outside the door and froze.
Then I blinked, and when the vision didn’t vanish, I blinked again.
Nope.
Still there.
Rhode shirtless. Gloriously shirtless. The chiseled back that was seared into my memory was still cut and muscular.
The scar he had on his right shoulder was still there.
But that wasn’t what caught my attention.
Five years ago he’d been tattooless. Smooth, clean, uninked skin.
Now, I could see lines and curls peeking up his left side from the waistband of his jeans all the way up to under his armpit.
My gaze went to the mirror and I took in the front of him.
And there was so much to take in. The hard chest I’d dreamt about running my hands over.
The six-pack that was more pronounced than it was years ago—and I’d know because I’d spent a good amount of time running my tongue over those swells and valleys.
I’d grazed my teeth down from his throat all the way to the prize between his muscular thighs.
I’d kissed and licked every single inch of Rhode and I remember all of it.
Every scar, every freckle, every hard ridge—all of it had been mine for the night.
And there had been no tattoo. Now there was and I was curious.
In the mirror, Rhode’s gaze came to mine and he looked nervous.
His eyes tipped down and I knew he was looking at the ink I couldn’t see.
Then his eyes came back to mine and they burned into me.
Burned. Scorched. Ruthlessly held me captive and I didn’t understand until his rumbling voice filled the room.
“Never forgot you.”
With that, he turned, and without delay, my eyes dropped to the tattoo branding his left side.
My head swam.
Dogwood flowers.
I didn’t have to look at my own arm to know his tattoo was damn near identical to mine.
Branches and vines and flowers sleeved my arm. Every bud held a special meaning. Red for passion, pink for love, white for hope. Only his were masculine whereas mine was feminine—bold whereas mine was soft.
“I didn’t know your name or I would’ve inked that, too.”
I felt the sting start in my throat until it felt like a lump so big I couldn’t swallow had formed, making it impossible to speak. But Rhode didn’t need me to respond as he continued.
“Devotion, safety, and passion. But also illusion.”
He was telling me the meaning behind the dogwood tree.
The very reasons I tattooed the flowers on my arm.
Though he left out: desire and loyalty. The recipe my romantic heart held sacred.
Desire and passion mixed with loyalty and devotion made for the perfect union.
Add in safety and I had the hero I’d always dreamed about.
“Legend says a king sent his knight to Ireland to claim a bride and bring her back for the king. On the journey back the knight and the princess fell in love. The king had them killed and buried in separate graves. But death couldn’t keep their souls apart and from each grave grew an ivy vine.
The ivy meets and twines together—their eternal connection. ”
Rhode lifted his left arm and a riot of pink, red, and white dogwood blossoms intertwined with ivy.
Some of the flowers were still on the branch, others were dotted in the deep green of the vine.
Near the top of the tattoo one single, pristine, lavender rose still on its thorny stem jutted out, the petals brushing just over Rhode’s heart.
A lavender rose.
Lavender.
“Love at first sight,” I gasped.
“I saw it in your eyes and I fought against the very idea it was possible. Lavender also means enchantment. And it’s safe to say I was enchanted—then and now.”
There I was in the least-romantic setting, standing in my bathroom with wet towels littering the old and cracked linoleum floor, in front of the man who I’d loved for five years, the man who’d unknowingly fathered my child.
I fought the urge to fist bump the air and dance a jig.
I didn’t want to weep tears of happiness, or fall into his arms and declare my undying love for him—I had a feeling he knew how deep my feelings for him went.
No, I wanted to jump for joy. I wanted to whoop and sing and twirl around.
I wanted to shout that I’d been right. So right. After all of these years thinking I was a dreamy idiot—I was right. Not that there was such a thing as love at first sight or soul mates (Though I was obviously right about that, too.). No, I was right about something more important.
“You felt it too.”
“I felt it,” he confirmed.
“Whoa!” Remy stopped by my side and took in Rhode. “You’re huge.”
Rhode’s startled gaze went to Remy and I wasn’t sure what was more hilarious—the way Rhode’s chest puffed out or the red that hit his face.
Was he blushing?
“Hey, why do you have the same flowers as Momma?” See? Near identical. “Do you have the other ones too?”
“Other ones?” Rhode inquired, ignoring Remy’s first question.
Shit.
“The ones—”
“Remy, baby, are your toys picked up?”
“Yup. I’m ready.” Thank God, four year olds are easily distracted. “Are you ready?”
Rhode untwisted his t-shirt and shook it over the sink before he pulled it over his head.
He turned to Remy, flashed him a smile I’d never seen before—well, that wasn’t true, I saw that smile on my boy but never on Rhode—and he said, “All set.”
Upon hearing this information, Remington returned Rhode’s smile.
And my heart melted.
Right there on the spot, my knees went weak.
“Babe?”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
I jerked out of my trance and moved out of the bathroom and down the hall into the living room. My mind was filled with lavender roses and dogwood flowers when a strong hand wrapped around the back of my neck and warm breath fanned across my ear.
“You got more tattoos, Sugar?”
Without thinking I answered, “Yes.”
“Looking forward to findin’ them.”
Rhode didn’t wait for my response. His hand fell away and he followed Remy to the front door.
“Wait. Remy needs a booster.”
“Momma.”
The two syllables were dragged out into a whine.
“Rem—”
“Make you a deal, kid. You don’t argue about the booster and I’ll talk your mom into letting me take you fishing this weekend.”
“Do you have a boat?”
This would be a deal-breaker for Remy. Michael took Remy fishing all the time, he loved it, but the Welshes didn’t own a boat and Remy’d been asking about going out on the lake since last summer.
“Yep.”
“You do?”
“I do, but it’s up on Pend Oreille. Maybe I can talk your mom into you two spending the weekend up at the cabin. Would you like that?”
“Can we go bear hunting, too?”
My heart stopped. I’d lived in Idaho my whole life and had never run across a bear and I prayed I never did. The thought of my son traipsing through a national forest looking for a six-foot hairy beast gave me heart palpitations.
“No.”
Thank God.
“But we can go out on the boat and fish?”
“Absolutely.”
Remy’s unhappy gaze cut to me and I reminded him, “You’ve been wanting to go out on a boat.”
“Okay,” he grumbled.
“Come on, short stuff, I’ll walk you out.”
“I’m not short. I’m the tallest in my class,” he proudly told Rhode.
“Yeah?”
“My best friend Serafina is the next tallest.”
Rhode’s lips curved up into a grin as he ushered Remy to the front door.
“Serafina, huh?”
“I call her Fina and she doesn’t punch me like she does the other boys when they call her that. And she likes to fish, and her dad lets her ride four-wheelers, and she’s allowed to ride it by herself.”
“Is that your way of telling me that your mom doesn’t let you ride by yourself?” Rhode chuckled.
“Maybe?”