Chapter 71
Chapter Seventy-One
Get out there and conquer that shit, bitch. Rule the world like a boss.
—from Remy’s Badass Bitch Affirmations
Remy
It was bad. Really bad.
According to Honor’s gently delivered update, the stories had exploded and the shrapnel had mutilated Remy’s character. Less so Sebastian’s, only because he was a hot commodity. And she was just an almost-fifty surgeon.
Remy had managed to finish her final surgery of the day, convincing Brinder she needed the peace and routine of her OR to recalibrate.
Her Zen ballet in the chaos. She’d never put a patient in danger before, and she wouldn’t begin now.
Brinder knew that and respected her request. Which wasn’t really a request.
Remy compartmentalized, performed the surgery…
…and then would figure out her next step.
As she left the surgical suite, an oppressive silence filled the air. No one would hold any kind of eye contact, gazes darting uncomfortably away. Well, not everyone was uncomfortable. Troy had been leaning on the wall next to the scrub sink, sneering away.
“Hope you have a good evening, Dr. Remington,” he called out. And no one missed the venom in that fucker’s voice.
Later. I’ll deal with him later.
Shukri pulled her into a hug. “It’s going to work out. We all know how much you two love each other,” she whispered, squeezing Remy’s shoulders. “Courage, Dr. Remington. You have brass ovaries. Use them.”
Remy managed a smile and then disappeared down the patient transport elevator to the private exit they used for VIPs who were getting care at Evangelist.
When Remy finally arrived at the condo, exhaustion seeping through every atom of her body, her eyes filled with tears. The Red Wine Supper Club had gathered, Nell rubbing Chicane’s floppy ears as he chirruped in ecstasy.
“We just wanted to be here for you. You don’t need to say anything or do anything and you can totally kick us out,” Lila offered, handing Remy a glass of red.
“I’m sorry to be such a problem child.” Remy shrugged and smiled wearily, dropping bonelessly on the couch next to Nell and Chicane. It felt like deja vu.
“You aren’t the problem. The assbasket who violated your privacy is the problem,” Geneva snarled. “I could tear someone to shreds.”
“Easy, tiger,” Nell soothed. “We all want to throw hands. But as good as it might feel in the moment, I’m not sure that will help things.”
She shifted to face Remy, smoothing her shirt over her belly—a nervous tell Remy had immediately picked up on when they met a year ago.
“Lila’s right. We can leave if this is too much.
I know you’re more accustomed to privacy, but we thought it might be helpful to have some friendly faces right now. ”
“No. Stay for a while. I’m…glad you’re here.” And she was. Remy patted Nell’s hand, then rubbed her lop’s ears at the base. His favorite thing. Other than Sebastian cuddles.
Same, Chicane. Same.
“So what’s the plan?” Lila asked, looking like a pugilist ready for battle.
“Sebastian, Melody, and Slash are working through it as we speak. He wants to handle it and asked me to keep a low profile so we don’t inadvertently make it worse.
” She took a deep breath and reminded herself the low profile wasn’t a snub.
It was to protect her. To protect them both.
“He’s been trying to get in touch with Walter Pennyrose, the producer of Paradise.
But Walt hasn’t been available.” Remy’s chin wobbled and she sniffed back her tears.
Now was not the time to fall apart. “I will never forgive myself if he’s replaced in this role. ”
“Oh, Remy,” Nell sighed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Honor gave me a summary earlier of the initial coverage. How is it now?” Sebastian had made her promise not to look at the Internet. But she never promised not to ask about it.
Lila winced. “Not great. But there’s some good stuff out there too, if that helps. Which it probably doesn’t. It’s mostly a shit sandwich. Sorry…ugh, why won’t my mouth shut up?” She winced again.
“It’s fine, Lila.” Remy managed a brave smile.
“You know,” Benny added, taking a small sip of her champagne, “it occurs to me that no one should underestimate a GenX woman.”
“Say more,” Gen encouraged, eyes sparkling as much as the fermented grapes in Benny’s glass.
“I read once that women of our generation were born in the seventies and raised in the eighties. That means we’ve been alive in five different decades, two centuries, two millennia…
and we’re barely halfway finished living.
We’ve seen a lot. Done a lot. Know a lot.
It’s not wise to fuck with us.” Benny grinned.
“But if you do, bring wine,” Gen added with a snort-laugh.
Lila pouted. “Elder millennial here. I didn’t get the seventies. But I am in the ‘holy-fuck-how-am-I-forty’ crowd.”
Gen pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “That’s ok, lovie. You still spanned four decades, two millennia, et cetera. Red Wine Supper Club welcomes all badass women, no matter when you were born. Besides, you’re one of the founding members.”
Lila gave a slow nod, smiling. “I am one of the founders. Yay! It’s not wise to fuck with us—but if you do, bring wine!” Lila cheered, tapping her glass to Nell’s and Gen’s. “That should be the Red Wine Supper Club motto!”
“You know,” Nell offered quietly, “I saw this cool term on Instagram. It referred to women in their forties, fifties, and beyond as ‘Queenagers.’ Basically, we are in our prime. We’ve learned the lessons and earned our stripes.
We have no more fucks left to give, we know what we want and don’t want, and we get this next half of our lives to reign like queens. ”
“I love that!” Gen gasped. “And you kept that from me?”
Nell shrugged, winking. “I tell you so many things, I can’t always remember what I’ve told you and what I haven’t. Oops?” She grinned, her dimples popping.
“I’m a Queenager. That’s just the most fabulous thing I’ve heard in ages.” Lila beamed, lifting her hand and doing a ‘royal wave.’
Eyeing the grinning women, Remy straightened her shoulders, the power of friendship steadying her and reminding her of her own strength.
She was a badass. She wasn’t a victim. She was a fucking survivor. She was rising, blazing and proud, from the ashes of tragedy…and assholery…stronger than ever.
Arabella Remington wasn’t a meek woman easily cowed.
She was a phoenix. A fierce warrior. A fucking awesome surgeon. A damn Queenager. And she was going to fix this shit.
She held up her wine glass, her friends following suit. “Salud, ladies. I’m about to do a thing.” Remy laughed, adding, “Red Wine Supper Club…It’s not wise to fuck with us!”