33. Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-three

Hannah

Phoebe had fed me homemade apple cider donuts. She’d rubbed my back and unbraided and rebraided my hair. She’d listened to me spill my guts.

Now she was giving me the strongest side-eye. So powerful, it cut through the tears blurring my vision.

“I don’t think you get it, Phe. He’s signing the deed of the house over to me. He’s cutting all ties with Sugar Brush. He’s gonna leave and never ever come back. I can’t love that man. I won’t do it to myself.”

She sat in the armchair catty-corner from where I was sprawled on her couch and folded her arms. “Oh, I heard that, and I can imagine how you must have felt when you discovered what he was doing.”

Like I’d been throat-punched. I hadn’t been able to breathe or think straight.

That night Remi had shared his passion with me while I’d sat in his lap, I’d known. He came alive showing me his pictures. More than I’d ever seen him, and I truly loved that for him, even as my heart broke.

What I’d known that night had been confirmed yesterday. I’d meant to avoid him, to give myself space so I didn’t fall any deeper, but he’d asked me to come in after kissing me silly, and I hadn’t said no.

Silly.

He’d gone to get me a drink in his kitchen, and I’d spotted the papers poking out from under a magazine on the beat-up coffee table.

He was giving me the house, and the meaning could not have been more clear. Remi was leaving sooner rather than later, and he wasn’t coming back.

“I felt stupid,” I told Phe. “A complete fool.”

“And so, instead of talking it over with Remi, you just…ended it? Without telling him the real reason? Without asking him a single question about the papers you saw?” She kicked my shin, a little harder than would be called gentle. “You’re not one to hold your tongue, Banana. I don’t get it.”

“He was on my doorstep, Phe. If I would have let him in, I’d have caved, and I can’t.” I pressed my hand to my chest. Somehow, it was whole even when it felt like it was crumbling. “He was always going to leave. I let myself forget for a while, and it was so beautiful. I got attached when I promised myself I wouldn’t. But I can’t help myself. It’s my cursed brain.”

“Nope. I won’t accept you belittling my sister’s brain. Nor will I let you say the way you love is wrong. You do get attached, that’s undeniable, but that’s because you love with your entire being. Idiots like Watt don’t deserve it. And that’s their problem, not yours.”

“It’s my problem when I’m the one left behind.” I swiped at the tears on my cheeks. “I don’t want to feel this way. I already miss him, and he only left my doorstep an hour ago. If I love him more, I might let him use me as a way station between jobs, and that would be…soul destroying.”

I felt her stare on me then heard her soft sigh when I wouldn’t look. Phoebe didn’t approve, but I knew in the end, she understood my need for self-preservation. I’d been in love a few times and had thrown myself into those relationships headfirst. I’d always landed with a thud then dusted myself off and recovered—it was what I did. Phoebe had been right there with me, putting me back on my feet.

With Remington…it was different. The fall was infinite. If I let it keep going, it wouldn’t be so simple as dusting myself off. I’d have to figure out how to put myself back together again and I’d only just done that after Graham. I couldn’t…just couldn’t. Not again.

I sensed Phoebe before I felt her settle on the couch beside me. She pulled my head to her soft, warm chest. People saw us as the tough one—me—and the tender one—her—but when push came to shove, Phoebe was as sturdy as they came while my mushy feelings were only protected by a thin, brittle layer of steel. My sister had held me through crying jags, supported me when I’d fallen to pieces while Graham faded and after he was gone, and now, even though she didn’t agree, she was comforting me through my sadness.

“I don’t think he’d do that to you, Banana,” she murmured, stroking my hair. “I wish you’d talk to him, at least one more time. I think it would make you feel better about everything.”

I exhaled a shaky breath. “You’re probably right. Today, when he showed up, I wasn’t ready, so I shut everything down.”

“I know, honey. But that wasn’t fair to either of you.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I know that too.”

I stayed with my sister a little longer, until my tears calmed and I wasn’t quite so fragile. She asked if I wanted to spend the night with her, but she was already yawning at eight p.m. She’d be out like a light by nine, then I’d be sitting in her apartment, going mad. It was better for me to go mad in the privacy of my own place, where I could pace and wrap myself in Graham’s old flannels while wailing old country ballads at the top of my lungs.

A container of donuts tucked under one arm, I let myself out and started up the stairs. I only made it up two steps before I saw him. Remington was standing at my door, knocking. My mouth went desert dry. A hundred different scenarios of what I should do exploded within my skull, leaving me immobile, watching him.

His shoulders collapsed after a moment, and his head fell forward, hitting my door. Defeated.

My muscles bunched, battling with my stubborn brain and the visceral need to go to him. Seeing him that way, the weight of the world pressing down on him, set off my primal instinct to protect him from it—even if I’d been the cause. Yet I couldn’t move.

“Hannah, please . Just let me see you.”

Remi didn’t yell this plea. He’d barely pushed it from his throat, each word cracked and raw. So loaded with pain, tears sprung to my eyes. My body overpowered my brain, sending me up the stairs.

He heard me before I reached him, whirling around when I was two steps away. His eyes rounded in surprise, shining bright, then they laser-focused on me, scanning me from head to toe, stopping when he got to the tears trailing down my cheeks.

“You’re crying,” he uttered.

I stepped up to the landing, barely a foot from him. “I’m sad, but I have donuts.”

“I don’t like seeing you cry.”

“Well, I don’t like seeing you look defeated, so I guess—”

He took me by the elbow, scorching me with a light touch. “We’re not doing this on your porch again. Let me in so we can have a real conversation. I feel like a door-to-door salesman trying to hawk encyclopedias.”

“Do people even sell encyclopedias anymore?”

His brow dropped. “Hannah…”

I swallowed hard. “Okay. But you’ll have to hold my donuts and let go of me so I can unlock my door.”

He slipped the donuts from beneath my arm. “I’m surprised you locked it.”

“I wouldn’t have since I was only downstairs, but with everything that’s happened…”

I didn’t need to finish. He’d been there for the tire slashing and the truck almost running us down. Nothing had come from it, but that didn’t mean it was over.

My hands shaking, it took me a couple tries to get my key in the lock. Once I did, Remi pushed the door open, holding it for me, then followed closely behind. I guessed he wasn’t taking any chances of me locking him out.

Not that I wanted to. I didn’t want any of this.

He kicked the door closed, locked it, and carried my donuts to the kitchen. Once they were out of his hands, he shoved his fingers through the sides of his hair and turned to me. I’d stopped on the other side of the couch, unsure what to do with myself—sit or stand or try to run?

One look at Remi’s shimmering intensity, and I knew running wasn’t an option.

He’d never let me get away.