Chapter 52
Lainey
TWO MONTHS LATER
“Iwant to go see it,” I argue, my voice feeling strong and steady.
“Are you sure?” Remington rubs the back of his neck, his handsome face filled with so much love for me I could melt into a puddle right at his feet.
“Positive. Dr. Radack says that I am ready. I have tools to help if I feel like I am going to have a panic attack. My nightmares have gotten better. And most importantly”—I step into his space, wrapping my arms around his middle—“you are going to be there with me, right?”
“Of course I will, beautiful.” He reaches down, gently running his thumb across the rough, pebbled, pink flesh that scars my face.
I swallow harshly, still getting used to it.
To the new feeling, the look of it, but never wanting to let go of that special connection to Remington.
I lean into his palm, placing a kiss on his wrist. My neck healed a lot better, but my jaw, my face will always bear the deeper and more obvious scars of what happened to me.
“I need to see it, please, Remington. We need to take the next step, together.” My pleading eyes do him in, and he nods in agreement.
I wasn’t ready.
I don’t think I could have ever been prepared properly to see the devastation left by the fire that consumed the cute little house on our peaceful street.
All the other homes on the block stand untouched, happy, whole.
Where our place had once stood, now there is nothing but a charred lot of land.
The torched skeleton of the house had been demolished, taken away weeks ago, leaving us with this depressing view.
“I’m so sorry.” I cling to Remington.
“Why are you apologizing for the sins of someone else? This is not your fault, Lainey, never was. That man will not ruin what we had here.” Taking my hand he leads me to the backyard and the towering oak trees that stand sentry over the little, sad green space left on our property.
We sit on the patchy, scorched grass under the trees, and stare right out to the street.
Slow minivans and sedan drivers gawk as they pass our lot.
Everyone in Fox Grove knows about what happened here and at the hospital.
It won’t just be gossip that fizzles out after a week or so, it will be Fox Grove legend.
This is not a typical, everyday, accidental fire—this was a crime scene, a near murder site.
I am a walking miracle to have escaped the literal fingers of death twice.
The feeling of Cal’s disgusting hatred wrapped around my neck wakes me up often, leaving me gulping for air, worried that I am trapped back in that hospital room with him.
Only the comfort of Remington’s arms can chase the demons back to the darkness.
“There’s nothing left.” I breathe out. “I mean, in my mind I knew that, you told me that. But being here in person, seeing it right now, it’s real.”
“Yeah, baby, it’s real.” Remington slings his tattooed arm around me and pulls me to his side.
“Everything we had is gone.” Gasping with sudden realization I say, “All my journals!” Tears pool hot and unwelcome as I tuck my face into my knees. “I know it’s stupid to be so upset, and you lost even more than me. You lost a whole house you bought and had been working on for years.”
“Lainey. Look at me,” Remington demands. I give him my eyes . . . my heart, my soul.
“They were just unimportant memories. I should be happy.” I wipe my face, feeling embarrassed.
“What happened in that house, that fire—nothing about that was happy. I have never been more terrified. I’d gladly burn everything I own a million times over to keep you out of any more flames.
But you being trapped, us losing the home and all of the things we held precious besides each other, baby?
You are allowed to mourn that. I am. Nothing about the journals was unimportant to you, don’t minimize them.
” He reaches out to gently hold my face, slowly leans in, then reverently places the most delicate kiss against my jaw.
His words tear me apart.
They also fuse me back together.
I close my eyes as a breeze ripples over the early evening air, sending a chill up my exposed arms. Suddenly a gentle weight presses down on my lap. When I open my eyes, my hands reach for my heart before they go for the gift that Remington has just given to me.
“How?” I barely let the word leave my lips.
“I didn’t have it at the house. Couldn’t let you see it until I was done.” His smirk is so handsome and enchanting. “You might not have all of your journals, but you have this one.”
This one.
It’s the palest lavender, my favorite color. A creamy, soft leather cover that is embossed with one single, large flower—a peony.
“A peony.” I look up to see his perfect, honey eyes anxiously watching my reaction. “How could you have known?”
“Known what?” He tilts his head in question.
“I picked a favorite, in the hospital. When I was laying there looking at the flowers, thinking about all the ones you have given me. And the one arrangement next to my bed were those pink peonies you gave me.” I trace my finger over the cover, glancing up at him to find a huge, happy grin on his face.
“We found your favorite, huh?” My heart pounds in my chest, so hard and rhythmic I’m sure he can hear it.
“Yes, I guess that means you can stop giving me so many flowers now, doesn’t it?” I hug the notebook to myself.
“Open it,” Remington insists, raising an eyebrow.
I am excited to see my words written in his familiar handwriting, knowing that he spent his time giving me back a piece of myself.
Flipping open the journal, it nearly slips from my fingers when my eyes take in what is on the page. I gasp at the beauty. My journal entry is there, but he added to it—
“Flowers,” I sob.
I keep turning pages and keep finding more.
Every single one is different, stunning, thoughtful, tagged with a name and meaning at the bottom of each page.
This is why it took him so long to give it back to me.
He was not just simply copying what I had written, he was writing me his own love letter in return.
Iris.
Magnolia.
Dahlia.
Orchid.
Chrysanthemum.
Roses.
Plumeria.
Lotus.
“Oh my God! My perfect pie day, Remington.” Apple blossoms explode across the page.
I keep flipping, each page a new discovery of his talent and his affection for me.
Poppies.
Sweet peas.
Bluebells.
Violets.
Calla lily.
Buttercup.
Sunflowers.
They just keep going. There are so many flowers, so many hours of work. It’s going to take me just as long to look at each one and truly appreciate each detail.
“I can’t believe you did all this, Remington. It’s the most incredible thing I have ever seen. And you kept it a secret from me that you can draw? Not even doodles or stick figures, this is like drawing drawing.” My mouth hangs open in awe with every petal he’s placed on the pages.
“Baby, nobody really knew I could draw. Only Eli and my family. Well, Keller, too,” he says, rubbing his strong hand up my thigh.
“Who’s Keller?” I ask, unable to tear my gaze from the pages in my lap.
“My friend who does all my tattoos, lives in Norfolk.”
I glance down at his sinewy arm, rippled with muscle and ink. “I have always wished I could get a tattoo,” I admit to him longingly.
“Why didn’t you get one?” The lazy strokes of his fingers pull a sigh from my chest, and I tip my face toward the sky.
“Judgment from my family. They were not fans of anything outside of their box. Tattoos were a huge no. I was never ever brave enough to bring it up, even as an adult.” Remington’s snort brings my attention back to him.
“Pretty sure I knew that from the second Ann Quinn laid eyes on me, baby. But that part of your life is over. If you want a tattoo, get a tattoo. Your wish is my command.” He holds up his arm, showing off his sleeve.
“You did these?” I say, shocked.
Laughing he says, “I didn’t tattoo myself, no. Keller did that. But I drew a lot of these, he tweaked them, and then did the ink for me.”
A lightbulb snaps to life in my brain and I gasp. “Kinsley’s room!? That was you?”
Remington nods. “Yes, sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wanted you to see this first.”
I can’t hold back anymore, so I lean in and kiss Remington hoping he can feel every ounce of passion, awe, and love I feel for him in this moment.
Time stills as he weaves his fingers through my hair, tugging just the way I like, making me melt against his body.
Breathlessly, we pull apart. I want more, but we are in our burnt, open yard.
Not exactly the most ideal place for him to strip me naked and make good on all the dirty promises dancing in his lust-soaked eyes right now.
“Go to the last page.” Remington points to the back of the journal as I am still lost in his spell.
“Alright,” I hum.
I remember the last page. It had been right before my birthday.
Things were not great with Brett, and I had cried, made girl dinner, cracked open a bottle of wine, and binged classic romantic staples.
I said I would never find a man like Harry from the movie When Harry Met Sally.
I also wrote about being afraid to voice my deepest dream.
I knew that nobody in my life at that point deserved to hear them, let alone hold them.
This is impossible.
There, on the last page of the journal, Remington had filled it with the most stunning peonies I had ever seen. Some were in full bloom, others tiny buds. And in the center of them he had written—
My life started the day I met you.
I want to make your every
dream come true.
You can trust me, Lainey.
I love you.
-R
“Lainey,” he whispers, gentle hands cup my face, “let me all the way in, baby. I want to be part of making your dreams a reality.”
“You are my greatest dream. I never voiced it because it was never possible with anyone before you. Remington, I want a happy marriage and a loving family. The opposite of the one I was raised in. I want to build a life I am proud of, a home that is happy and full of a life worth living.” My voice is healed, but I feel weak finally admitting what my heart wants, terrified the world will be cruel and rip away my happiness.
“It will be my greatest honor to build that life with you. Starting right here.” He gestures to the black, scraped ground.
“We can start from the ground up, make our dream house. Fill it up with love, laughter, happiness, and all the babies you will let me put in you.” I laugh as he tackles me back to the ground, rolling just right so I am cradled in the safety of his arms, then kisses me like he’s bringing me back to life.
And I think he just might be . . . Over and over, every day when he wakes up choosing to love me, just like I always dreamed but never imagined was possible.