“Thank you. Please call me if you hear anything.”
“You do the same.”
I hung up, then called Macalister on my way out to the living room. He answered on the second ring.
“What’s up, Maxy?”
“Remy’s gone,” I choked out. I didn’t mean to sound so dramatic, but I didn’t have the strength to hide my feelings.
“What do you mean?” His tone changed from his usual playfulness to serious.
“He left a note saying he was sorry and that he’d be back for his things, and he won’t answer his phone. Rosalind hasn’t heard from him either.”
“Breathe, Max. I’ll help you track him down. I can be there in twenty.” I heard rustling around and Dubhlainn in the background asking what was wrong.
“I’m sorry to bother you—”
“It’s no bother. I’m leaving right now.” Dubhlainn’s muffled voice became audible again, and he and Macalister had a quick exchange. “Hey, do you and Remy use the Find My Friends app? Dove said you can track the location of his phone that way.”
I shook my head before I realized he couldn’t see me. “No. I have no idea what that is.”
“Does he have a MacBook?”
“Yes.”
“You can see his iMessages on that. You might be able to find out where he went.”
I ran back to my room and hesitated a moment before going through Remy’s bag. I hated violating his privacy, but I had to find him. I pulled his laptop out, then sat down right there on the floor.
“It’s password protected,” I groaned.
“Try it until I get there. I should be able to get access in a few minutes. I’ve gotta go now. I’m just getting in the car.”
“Thank you.”
“It’ll be okay, Max. We’ll find him.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and disconnected the call. I tried variations of Remy’s birthday, then his old password from when we were younger. Both were incorrect, and I was too worked up to think. What if I couldn’t find him and he didn’t come back? What if he did come back, only to leave again? I couldn’t let that happen. Something had him spooked. Maybe if I could get it out of him, he might stay. I had no idea what it could possibly be, and I felt powerless.
I hadn’t felt this powerless since the first time Remy had left, and before that, since before I’d met him. My mind drifted back to his note—I couldn’t make sense of it. He’d seemed happier since January and had stopped talking about leaving. He wasn’t without his problems, but he was making strides toward getting better—or at least I thought he was. Had I been too blinded by my own selfish desires and missed that Remy was still struggling? I didn’t think that was the case, but clearly something was wrong.
I stared at the blank password field on the screen and sighed. He kept secrets from me, but I still knew him better than anyone else, even with the years apart. I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm myself down enough to think. Remy, aside from his troubles, was not a complicated man. He wouldn’t have an elaborate, random password or anything that wasn’t important to him.
Trying “password” felt insulting, but I tried it anyway and was met with another incorrect response. I drummed my fingers lightly across the keys, then typed in my birthday. On the third try with only numbers, I gained access and breathed a sigh of relief.
I said a silent apology for the egregious invasion of privacy I was about to commit, then opened up Remy’s messages. Right at the top was a number not assigned to a contact. I clicked on it, then scrolled through the few exchanged messages. There was an address listed over in Wicker Park that I jotted down, along with a message confirming payment.
Remy’s messages were limited to one-word replies, though the latest message from today was left unanswered.
Perk up, man. You might even enjoy this if you relax.
Those words sent a chill down my spine. What had he gotten himself into now? And why hadn’t he told me? I could have sat and wracked my brain all day while I waited for him, but the pull to go get him was too strong. Whatever this was sounded unsavory and I felt compelled to bring Remy home as soon as possible.
I got up and headed for the front door where I slipped back into my boots and jacket. I sincerely hoped I was misreading this situation, and that Remy would be angry when I arrived—but he’d be safe. I went outside to wait for Macalister, not wanting to waste a second more than necessary. Remy had to be okay. I didn’t know what I’d do if he wasn’t.
The dull thump of heavy bass and muffled raucous voices floated through the door of the condo Remy was supposedly in. I’d gotten lucky and was let in by a young woman leaving with her dog. The timing was perfect, considering I was a few more seconds away from losing the composure I was known for and breaking the glass door.
Mac had offered to come up with me, though I’d asked him to stay in the car. If there was some sort of trouble inside, I didn’t want to drag him into it. I pounded on the door with enough force to rattle the hinges. There was no way someone inside wouldn’t be able to hear it over the music.
The music continued and I was about to knock louder when a man around my age with dampened hair answered the door. His dress shirt was open and his pants were undone and sat lopsided on his hips. A closer look at him, and I could see that he was sweating and his chest was heaving.
“Yeah—what?”
“Sorry to intrude. I’m looking for someone and—”
“This is a private party.” He started to close the door, but I blocked it with my foot.
“Have you seen this man?” I held up my phone with a picture of Remy open.
“I think you’re in the wrong place, guy.” He tried to close the door again, his forehead creasing in frustration when I didn’t move.
“I have reason to believe he’s here.”
“Never seen the guy before. You need to…”
The guy kept talking, but a loud smack followed by laughter had my attention shifting over his shoulder. The guy in front of me wasn’t big, yet I couldn’t see much because of the angle. I saw the bare shoulders of one—no, two—men, and heard at least four distinct voices.
He tried to shove me back at the same time another crack reached my ears, followed by the pained cry of the man I loved more than anything in this world. I moved in a daze fueled by rage and the need to get to him. The gatekeeping guy’s wrist and nose suffered as a result of that as I twisted his arm and forced the door open, sending it slamming into his face.
There were five men in various states of undress standing in the cleared-out living room. They surrounded another man who knelt on the floor and had someone’s hand fisted in his hair, and another’s cock shoved down his throat. I couldn’t see his face, but the unmistakable black-and-purple floral tattoo on his back confirmed what I’d feared.
It took a few seconds for them to realize I’d barged in, then three of the men turned to me—or rather their friend on the floor behind me.
“Who the fuck are you?” one of them yelled.
I ignored him and advanced toward Remy, whose head was still being forced onto the man in front of him. Each step raised a murderous intent within me so powerful that I didn’t trust myself not to do something terrible to these men. Violence was never my goal, and I never tried to use my size for intimidation, but I’d engage in both if I had to.
“Get your fucking hands off of him,” I spat out with enough venom to make the guy holding Remy’s head take a step back. Then another.
Remy went stock-still on the floor for a moment then whipped his head around. His pupils were blown, swallowing most of the cold blue of his irises, and his cheek was red where he’d been slapped.
“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?” the guy in front of Remy said.
I ignored him and grabbed Remy’s arm, pulling him to his feet. He was missing his shirt, though his pants were still on. Thank God. I looked him over quickly, and he seemed unharmed aside from his reddening
cheek. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, but I’d worry about that once we were out of this place.
I turned us toward the door and started walking, only to be stopped by the initial gatekeeper and another two men.
“Leave the bitch and get the fuck out. We paid for the entire night.”
Remy flinched and looked away, remaining silent.
“Get out of the way,” I said through clenched teeth. This wasn’t a movie. None of these men seemed to be in top shape, let alone trained fighters. I didn’t have any training either, but I was confident in my ability to get through them if I had to.
“Gentlemen,” a familiar voice called from the doorway. Macalister stepped inside the condo pointedly twirling his baseball bat in his hands. “You’re making quite the fucking ruckus in here. Do I need to call the cops?”
Not wanting that kind of drama, the men stepped aside and let Remy and me pass. One of them shouted something about wanting their money back as we left the unit, Macalister right behind us. Once the elevator doors closed behind us, Macalister let the bat fall to his side and we both released a deep sigh. Remy remained silent.
Macalister looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head. I owed him my gratitude, though now wasn’t the time for it. I had to take care of Remy, and Macalister seemed to understand that. I took off my jacket and draped it over Remy’s bare shoulders then tipped his chin up so I could look him in the eye.
“It’s okay, love.”
His bottom lip trembled, then he sucked in a sharp breath and the tears started. I held him close during the drive home. A twenty-minute drive turned into thirty with traffic yet Macalister maintained his calm and didn’t add to the tension in the car. Remy sat in my lap in the backseat and cried and trembled in my arms the whole ride home. I didn’t know what to say, so I held him and gently rubbed his back while my heart bled for him.
He’d stopped crying by the time we got dropped off at home, though he still wouldn’t willingly raise his gaze to mine or speak. I led him inside, then to the bathroom after a short deliberation. I wanted to get him into bed, but I had a feeling he’d want today washed away first. In more than just the literal sense.
I turned the water on, then carefully undressed him when he made no attempt to do it himself, mindful that he could have bruises I couldn’t yet see.
“Come on, Rem,” I cooed, trying to get him under the shower spray. I’d never seen him so defeated. He was acting like a zombie—completely devoid of life. Without his cooperation, I succeeded in getting water all over the floor and my clothes. Now that I fully understood how difficult it was to help someone shower while you were fully dressed, I stripped down to my trunks and got in with him.
I started with shampooing his hair, massaging his scalp how he liked, then lathered up my hands and gliding them over every inch of him. I kept my touch as light and unobtrusive as possible while still being effective at the task at hand. Remy still hadn’t spoken, and he swayed a bit, looking utterly exhausted.
I skipped conditioner in favor of getting him off of his feet before he collapsed. After shutting the water off, I wrapped him in a large towel, then sat him down on the closed toilet lid. Droplets of water fell from his lashes in place of the tears he’d already shed before I dabbed them dry. I couldn’t see him cry any more today.
“Do you want your toothbrush, love?”
His eyes flicked to mine for a moment, then he nodded with the slightest of movements. While he brushed his teeth, I dried myself off and wrapped a towel around my waist after taking off my wet underwear.
A small spark of relief hit me when Remy moved to rinse out the toothpaste. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I’d seen from him in the last hour. He returned his toothbrush to the cup on the sink and turned toward me. His eyes were bloodshot and the dilation in his pupils had reduced. Whatever he’d been on was likely short-lasting.
“Do you want to lie down?” I asked, rubbing his forearms with the pads of my thumbs.
His head tipped down in a small nod, and I led him to the bedroom. He got in without any fuss and curled up on his side facing me. I got in beside him, mirroring his stance. The curtains were closed so it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness before I could clearly see him again.
I thought he might have fallen asleep, but his eyes were still open and he was watching me, worrying his bottom lip. I felt like I should say something, yet no words came. Where did I even start? I wanted to tell him everything would be okay, but I knew Remy, and he wouldn’t believe me if I made a blind promise like that. I had to hear the whole story first, and I had to wait for him to tell it.
Minutes turned into an hour while the silence stretched on between us. My phone went off a few times in the bathroom where I’d left it, and I realized I’d forgotten to text Rosalind back. I’d apologize to her later—I wasn’t moving from Remy’s side.
“Why,” Remy started in a low, hoarse voice. “Why are you still being so kind to me?”
“I love you.”
He sucked in a breath and sniffled.
“I love you,” I repeated. “I still do.”
“I cheated on you. Back then. I’m not a good person.” His voice cracked on the same word that made me feel like I was going to be sick. “It was the day after you proposed. I was so fucking happy, Max. I felt like I was getting everything I’d ever wanted, and I wanted to tell everyone I knew. I got drunk and high and fucked someone else that night.”
The words hurt—they really did—but the sorrow radiating from Remy hurt even more. Not wanting to trivialize his admission, I considered how to best reply to him before I answered. “Tell me about it.”
“What?”
“What else happened? You weren’t doing drugs anymore at that point, so why that night?”
“Um, I was drunk. From visiting a few other people. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I got to Jonas’s place.”
Jonas. I managed to swallow my anger, though my face must have had a tell because Remy stopped talking.
“I’m really sorry. You’d warned me about him, and I didn’t listen.” Fresh tears welled in Remy’s eyes, and I wiped them away. “He offered me some coke. I turned him down a few times, but I eventually caved. A little turned into a lot and the next thing I knew he was fucking me in his bed. I’m not trying to make excuses or ask for forgiveness. I know what I did was horrible and inexcusable. I—” An involuntary shudder cut him off, and he sniffled again. “I didn’t know what to say to you. I’d fucked everything up so badly, and I’ve done it again.”
He broke into a sob, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I pulled him into my arms and held him as his body trembled and his tears dampened my skin. I waited until he calmed down before I spoke again.
“That’s why you left, then.”
I felt him nod. “I knew I’d done something unforgivable and—”
“No, Rem. I would have forgiven you.”
“I know you would have.” Remy pulled away, then sat up with the blanket pulled up to his neck. I sat up too, wondering where he was going with this. “You would have forgiven me, and I would have promised that it wouldn’t happen again. You would have carried that hurt around, and I didn’t want to make you feel like that. I left because I knew something like it would happen again, and you’d forgive me. I could see it so clearly, Max. I’d continue to hurt you, and I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“Can’t I? Look at us now. I fucked up again, and you’re not mad.”
I shook my head once. “I’m furious, Rem. But I’m also hurt, not just for me, but for you.”
“That’s why I left! I didn’t want you feeling that way, especially not about me once you knew the truth.”
A sad smile spread across my lips, and I took his hand. “Not knowing was so much worse. I spent years wondering what I’d done wrong. You left me with no closure, and I’d assumed the worst—that maybe you didn’t love me as much as I tho
ught and I’d scared you away when I proposed.”
“Oh, fucking hell.” He buried his face in his hands, then smoothed them through his wild hair, tugging at the back. “That was never my intention. I swear it never even crossed my mind. See? I fuck everything up.”
“What happened today?” I asked, hoping the change in topic would stop Remy from hyperventilating.
“I got an email from Stan a few weeks ago. I deleted it without opening it. Two days ago, he left me a voicemail telling me to check my email. There was a new one from him. It basically outlined everything I owed him and threatened legal action if I didn’t pay him back by tomorrow. I tried the bank and my parents first—I didn’t lie about going to see my mom again. She wouldn’t even let me inside the fucking house.” He laughed bitterly and scratched at the raven on his neck. “I thought of Jonas while I was walking back down the driveway. Of all of my old friends, he was the only person I could think of who wouldn’t hate me for cutting ties so suddenly. I got his number from Roz. He was so smug when he saw me. He didn’t give me the cash, but he said I could earn it, and that he knew some guys… you know the rest.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I was frustrated—perhaps more than I’d ever been—though I kept my voice even.
“Because it wasn’t your fucking problem. If I’d told you, you’d have paid Stan, and I’d have been right all along.”
“Right about what?”
“That I’d continue to hurt and use you if I stayed.”
I took hold of one of his hands and brushed my thumbs along his inner wrist. I waited to speak until he made eye contact with me. “You were wrong, love. So wrong. It was very much my fucking problem, because you’re mine. Coming to me with the issue wouldn’t have hurt me, but keeping it from me does. You don’t have to put yourself through hell out of some warped sense of reparation. That isn’t how life works.”
“All I do is hurt you—even when I try not to. You should let me go. You deserve so much better than me.” He pulled free from my grasp and chewed on his thumbnail. “You don’t owe me your blind loyalty just because you love me. I’m bad for you, Max.”
Somebody to Love (Crazy Little Thing Book 3) Page 17
