32. Remington

THIRTY-TWO

REMINGTON

It's not even an hour later when I hear Scar excitedly scream, "They're here!" over my terrible rendition of "Body Like a Back Road." The infectious joy she has over seeing her dad and brother is more than worth whatever hell she thinks having the whole Home Team as she calls them in our house will be for me.

I slide out from under her car as she pops her head into the garage, now dressed for receiving company, urging me, "Come on, Remi; they're coming up the drive. I want you with me when I show ‘em."

"Show us what?" Roman all but accuses through her phone's speaker. "Squeaks?"

"You'll see," she taunts, hanging up and running over to grab my hand.

Wiping the grease off right quick, I wrap an arm around her, tucking her in close to my side, and kiss her head as we head out, Winnie leading the way.

"You know he thinks you're pregnant now, right?"

"I know," she smiles mischievously. "Ro is such a Chicken Little. This way, he'll be so relieved I'm not, he won't want to lash out at you when we tell ‘em we got engaged." Holding her hand out in front of us, the dawn pink sapphire glinting in the sun, she hums, "I really do love it, Remi. It's exactly what I would've wanted. Thank you."

"I'm glad," I respond, lacing our fingers together at her shoulder, a small smear of grease staining the back of her hand. "You took forever to actually look at it. I was beginning to think you hated it."

"It could be a cracked Ring Pop and I would love it and think it's perfect. Though I'd probably snack on it if I'm being 100% honest."

"God, I love you," I chuckle. Waving as I see the custom colored truck the Joneses are known for crest the hill we sit on, I say, "You look beautiful," staying mindful to not accidentally touch her muted pink cardigan or the lacey strap of her cream colored crop top.

"Thank you," she beams, bobbing a little curtsey, her knee peeking out through the hole in her well loved jeans. "They left, like, really early and didn't tell me until they called not even ten minutes ago, so I didn't have a lot of time to do much else but change, let my hair down, and throw on the bare minimum of makeup. I do still have the panties on though," she smiles devilishly.

Any response I have is cut off as Roman gets out of the truck looking like he was sent by Hades himself to retrieve my soul, shouting, "Tate, you mother—umpf," only for Scar to almost tackle him as she runs and jumps on him, smacking a loud kiss on his cheek.

"I missed you, I missed you, I missed you!" she cries, stubbornly holding on to him as he tries to shake her loose.

"Squeaks, let me go."

"No."

"Scarlet."

"Roman," she taunts right back, making me laugh.

"Yeah keep laughing, fucker. She's gonna have to let me go at some point."

Coming around to the truck bed, I reach in for their bags as Colt steps out, muttering something about having raised wild dogs instead of children. Right behind him, a third door opens with Reeves fucking Dawson tumbling out and looking hungover.

Gesturing at him, Colt says to me, "Exhibit C. B's over there trying to slip A's leash." Then looking right at me as he smiles—the wickedness in it a startling mirror of Scar's own—he throws a maroon duffle at Dawson, the supposed catcher completely missing and instead getting hit by it, shouting, "Look alive, Dawson!"

"Scarlet Amelia Jones!"

"Roman Elijah Jones! See? I can use your whole name too."

"Please," Dawson pathetically pleads. "Can we save the squabbles and ass kicking until after I get some sugar or something processed or the hangover stage of this diet passes? Seriously, Sugar, how have you been livin' like this?"

"Reeves-e's?" my girl shrieks, finally letting her brother go, her renewed excitement over the surprise of seeing him and their pet names for each other making that sharp flare of jealousy from several weeks ago come alive again. He's not as steady on his feet as Roman though, so when she barrels into him, they go tumbling to the ground, her brother snatching out to save her as she asks, "What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, I'd like to know that too," I muttered, dropping Roman's bag at his feet.

With his own duffle slung over his shoulder, Colt comes to stand beside me, arms casually crossed over his chest as he watches the trio of former roommates with more pride than I've ever seen him show on the field, quietly dismissing, "It was never anything serious."

"What?"

"Her and Reeves," he answers, swatting my chest as Scar reaches a hand down to help her old whatever-he-was-to-her up. "They were never serious. Were never going to be serious."

Taking her hand just as Roman let's go of her, sights set on me, Dawson looks to have stepped back from Death's door as he turns her left hand over, shouting, "NO FUCKING WAY!" his gaze swinging to me. "For real?"

"What?" Colt and Roman both demand as Dawson quickly pops up, examining her ring while Scar and I both answer, "Yes," hers full of bright excitement and mine unnecessarily territorial, the feeling softening as she smiles up at me, her entire face transforming from how she smiled at him.

Shoving her hand toward her dad and brother, he implores, "Look," before taking it back to examine. "14k rose gold; peach sapphire; flawless to the eye; emerald—no, radiant—shape, am I right? And about two carats. Tate, I'm impressed. This is quite the ring. Probably could have gone a bit bigger but?—"

"Any bigger and she'd be required to remove it for work," I answer.

"Let me see that," Colt says, taking his daughter's hand. "Scarlet?"

Her eyes have a watery sheen as she rapidly bobs her head in answer and murmurs, "Are you mad?"

"Mad? No," he assures, hugging her. "Princess, if this is what you want and you're happy, I could never be mad." Looking at me over her head, he adds, "It's fast?—"

"Too fucking fast," Roman mumbles, taking her hand, ice-blue gaze transfixed upon her ring, the rest of his face unreadable.

"And I would have appreciated some sort of deference as her father?—"

Holding my hands up, I defend, "I was going to this weekend, Skip, promise. Things just ended up playing out differently than I had planned."

" But ," he continues over me, "as I said, I've been watching this unfold for months and knew if you two came together this was where things would be headed. If I didn't approve, I would've told Jennings fuck no when he suggested Scarlet handle your rehab." Kissing his daughter's head, he pulls back and cups her face, squishing her cheeks together as he smiles. "I'm happy for you, Princess, really.

"As for you," he says, looking over Scar's blonde head as he pulls her back in for another hug, "I told ya, you're family now. That means call me Colt, Dad, whatever you want, but not Skip. Save that shit for the field." Letting his daughter go, he holds out his hand and the moment I go to shake it, pulls me in for a hug as well, clapping me on the back, as he murmurs, "You make her happy, Remington. Even if I was blindsided by this, I couldn't be angry over it for more than a minute or two. Our girl's always been sunshine and warmth, but there's been shadows at the edge for a long time now, and seeing her with you, they vanished," he finishes, clearing his throat and quickly sniffling.

"Ro-Boat?" Scarlet whispers, her pink lips scrunched to the side as she pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her fingers.

Sighing as he rolls his eyes, he grumbles, "Come here," prompting her to break back out into a wide smile as she barrels into him. Halting her with hands to her shoulders, Roman rears his head back and scrutinizes her for a moment before confirming, "Not shotgun? ‘Cause you know, you don't need to marry him if you are. Reeves, dad, and me'll help you."

"Nah, look at her, man. Sugar here looks like she's lost weight not gained," Reeves observes. Smirking, he adds, "It's that fuckin' no sugar, no alcohol, no fun diet Tate keeps to and all the sex they're having," making me groan as Scarlet's face flames bright red.

"REEVES!" all three Joneses shout with Roman adding, "Man, you're like my only friend; don't make me beat your ass by saying shit like that."

"Oh, so are we just pretending they spend their nights here in the middle of butt-fucking-nowhere playin' Scrabble and readin' or some shit? Got it. Didn't know we were going for delusional."

"Well, we do read," Scarlet answers with that wicked gleam of hers.

"I don't even want to know," Colt announces, raising his hands up. "But Reeves, do me a favor: don't say shit this weekend that's going to get you put on injury reserve. Duke'll be up my ass if my kid breaks you."

"Take away all my fun, why don't you, Daddy Colt."

"REEVES!" the Jones siblings shout with Scarlet adding, "How many times do we have to tell you not call him that?" and Roman, "Can't fucking take him anywhere."

"Y'all are zero fun." Then rubbing his stomach, he bemoans, "Jesus, I'm starvin'. How do you survive on this diet?"

"Come on," Scarlet says, leading him and her dad into the house, Winnie happily trotting along at Dawson's side, soaking in his pats to her head. "I'll give you a peek behind the curtain at Remi's one and only vice."

"Ooo, kinky," Dawson responds, getting slapped up the back of his head by Colt as he takes the door from his daughter and holds it open for her, calling out, "Strike one," making Scarlet glare at Dawson as she warns, "I swear to God, you get us to three and I'm ripping out one of the rungs of your ladder, Reeves."

"What happens at strike three?"

"You don't want to know," they all answer emphatically, Colt looking every bit as demonic as his daughter does when training.

About to follow my girl, Roman grabs my arm to stop me, his tattooed hand instantly letting me go the moment he has my attention. At his side, his fingers flex several times before he scrubs his palm over the side of his thigh. The action confirms what I've already suspected, that all the progress I made in penetrating his circle of trust over the last two years has vanished in light of falling for and going after Scar.

"Look, Remington," he starts, jaw hard, posture a little too straight so that it borders on rigid, and arms crossing over his chest more in protection than intimidation, the ink on his hands stretching up both arms and disappearing under his t-shirt. "I know you're all in touch with your feelings and about communication and shit, but let's not make this a huge thing, yeah?

"I don't like how fast things are moving between you and my sister; that you're only nine years younger than our dad; that Scarlet has gone and gotten engaged to what is basically her first boyfriend ever; or that you're a ball player because let's face it, we're all fucking oversexed, horny bastards who either sleep around or keep our women perpetually pregnant which would all but torpedo her career while basically leaving yours entirely unaffected. I also don't like that no matter what, you're gonna look like a god amongst players in the league for scoring the coach's daughter while the entire sports world will see her as little more than a jersey chasing airhead. Especially when the reality is, you're lucky and blessed beyond all conceivable possibility for having even turned her head, let alone having her fall in love with you and look at you the way she does.

"So while I don't like any of that, I still like you for her and even though you don't need or want it, I approve. Because for as fucking starry eyed as she's always been when she looks at you and for as amplified as that moon and hearts expression is now that you're together, it's nothing compared to how you look at her. It's… I don't even know, man. Just that if I ever met a woman who made me look at her with even half the adoration you so openly wear for Scarlet, I'd be wrapped around her little finger, begging to embed myself into every facet of her life just as fast as you, if not faster."

Slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, he heads for the front door, attempting to close our conversation before I have the chance to say anything. Undeterred, however, I call, "Roman?" causing him to stop though he doesn't look back. "I may not need it, but I do want it. Scar idolizes you as much as y'all's dad, and not having you on board would've crushed her. So thank you."

Glancing over his shoulder, he shakes his head, "You got it wrong, Remington. It's not her who idolizes me, it's me who idolizes her . I may protect her, but it's because she fucking saved me and loved me when there was no one left on this earth who cared enough to try beyond her and Colt."