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The stubborn part of me wants to tell him to fuck off. Stay out of our relationship. But deep down, I know he’s right. There’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of saying that, though. His ego’s big enough.
“Fine.” I lift my chin in stubborn defiance. “Just tell her?—”
“No, you’ll tell her yourself. Later.”
“Remy,” I plead. “You know the only reason I considered this is to give us?—”
“I understand why you think it’s a good idea.” Above us, the pipes screech and water rushes through the house’s ancient system. Remy tips his head back, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds.
I follow his gaze and try not to picture Molly wet and naked in the shower. Or think of her last night, all cute in the little shower cap and nothing else while I ran my hands over her slick body.
“She actually loves your dumb ass for some reason,” he finally says in a sharp voice that snaps me out of my showering-with-Molly fantasy.
“Thanks,” I grumble. “You know I love her too.”
He dips his chin in agreement. “Being away from you for that long probably seems like an eternity to her right now.” He shrugs. “Give her some time to digest the information. It’s a pretty big secret you kept from her. “
How did I not anticipate the damage keeping a secret like that would cause? Of course Molly feels betrayed.
I just hope I haven’t fucked things up beyond repair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Molly
Later, when I’m calmer and I’m sure Griff isn’t around, I venture downstairs. Stillness fills the house. There’s no chatter from the television or music humming out of the speakers.
A steady thwack, thwack, thwack from the backyard echoes as I enter the kitchen. I stop at the sink and fill a glass of water, take a few sips, then head outside.
Remy’s in the back corner of the yard—where our grandmother used to keep her most prized flowers.
After she died, no one had the skill or heart to maintain the garden. Remy keeps saying he wants to clear it out, but he never has the time.
I stop a few feet away and watch him wrestle with an overgrown hydrangea bush. “Remember Grandpa used to say the garden was so pretty because the flowers were afraid to disappoint Nana?” I say softly.
Remy chuckles and snips a brown, hollow sprig. “I think he was onto something.” He stops messing around with the bush and sets the clippers on a large rock Nana used as a bench before she got so thin sitting on it hurt her “old bones,” as she used to say.
“How are you doing, kid?”
The stubborn part of me doesn’t want to confide in Remy about my fight with Griff. And maybe a little bit of me also wants to protect Griff from my brother’s wrath. Or I want to protect our relationship from Remy’s criticism.
I shrug and don’t say anything.
“You can tell me.” Concern and patience shine in Remy’s blue eyes. Of course, he already knows Griff’s plan. He’s known for a while.
And never said anything to me.
“A heads-up that my boyfriend was planning to get beat up on television all summer would’ve been nice.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare.
He releases a slow breath and wipes the back of his hand over his forehead. “It wasn’t my information to share.”
“That’s a weak excuse, Remy.”
“Did you have fun at prom?” he asks. “Until all the stuff with Kyla later.”
“Why does it matter?”
“It matters. It’s something you were looking forward to.”
