Promise Me: A Second Chance Romance

by Willow Winters

  “Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned. “You’re so wet for me, Remy.”

  Remy writhed under him, her nails scoring his back, her hips rocking in rhythm with his.

  “Yes,” she chanted, encouraging him. “Yes, yes!”

  “god damn,” he said. “You’re going to kill me one of these days, Remy.”

  She laughed as he rolled them over again, putting her on top. Remy straddled and rode him like a pro, her long hair falling around her like a halo, her tits bouncing in Sawyer’s face. He laid back and enjoyed the ride, more concerned that she should take what she needed — after all, he hadn’t exactly waited around for her.

  And Remy was good, so fucking good, it was all he could do to relax and let her have her fill, gripping her hips and thrusting in time with her movements. She was wound tight as a spring, her eyes closing as she moved over him, mouth open in ecstasy.

  It was enchantment, pure and simple.

  “Sawyer, I…” she moaned, flicking her hips. “I’m going to…”

  She came calling his name, the sight of her doing wicked things to Sawyer’s brain. The second that she let go, he grabbed her hips and loosened the reins, fucking so her fast and hard that she just clung to him, let him do the work.

  He turned her over one final time, pushing one of her knees up so that he could go deeper and tighter, making them both cry out with the sheer sensation of it.

  “Fuck, Remy!” he crooned, succumbing to his furious hunger.

  He went over the edge, arching into her with long strokes, his whole world going dark for a few moments. There was only Remy, her incredible body and beautiful mind, nothing between them but pleasure and happiness.

  Sawyer collapsed beside her, pulling her close, struggling to catch a breath. They just lay there for a while, quiet.

  “Thank you,” Remy said at length.

  Sawyer turned his head to look at her, the most energy he could muster after the whirlwind day.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “Um, for saving my life?” Remy asked, her brow pulling down in consternation.

  He sighed, pulling her close to kiss her lips.

  “I don’t think you need to thank me.”

  She made a face, clearly disagreeing, but fell silent again for a moment. Sawyer felt his eyelids growing heavy, let sleep tug at his consciousness. Just in this moment, Remy at his side safe and sound, he felt blissfully relaxed.

  “You were my first love, you know?”

  Sawyer opened his eyes a crack. “Mmm?”

  “Nothing. Just… go back to sleep.”

  Remy snuggled down into his arms. Sawyer wasn’t about to pick up the thread of the conversation, either. It could all wait until tomorrow, as far as he was concerned.

  Listening to the soft sound of Remy’s breathing, he let go and drifted off.

  Seventeen

  Sawyer opened his eyes when the earliest morning light began to filter in. He rolled over, squinting at the empty space beside him. Something wasn’t right.

  Remy. Where’s Remy?

  He sat up. On the pillow next to his was a neatly folded square of paper.

  He groaned even as he reached out to pick it up. Opening it, he found a simple note in Remy’s elegant cursive.

  Thanks for everything.

  That was it.

  “Thanks for everything?” he said, reading it a few times to make sure he wasn’t crazy.

  Then, “Fuck!”

  He crumpled the note and tossed it aside, throwing back the covers and standing up. He supposed it was no use even looking for her; she was clearly long gone.

  Just like their last time together, she’d made her priorities clear.

  Only this time, he wouldn’t waste his time pining for her and writing her letters like some lovesick little bitch.

  Nope.

  This time, Sawyer was going to listen to the thousand different ways she’d told him to leave her alone. He was going to give her that distance, pursue other hobbies. Other women, even.

  Letting out one final angry growl, he stomped to the shower, determined not to let this happen to him again.

  Eighteen

  Remy didn’t hear from Sawyer. Not the next day. Or the one after that.

  Not that whole week, actually.

  In fact, when she saw him at the church social on Sunday, he barely spared her a glance. He also made a point of talking to Emma Lake, a gorgeous redhead who’d moved to Catahoula about a year before.

  Damn him, she thought, but of course she couldn’t say anything.

  She’d done this, after all. Walked out on him, left a thank you note.

  This was her big plan, her big stupid plan.

  The social crawled by, and Remy didn’t think she’d ever felt so glad to go home afterward. Except when she got home, Shiloh was fussy, running a fever.

  She went into Mommy Mode, as she liked to call it. Ran him a cool bath, gave him some baby aspirin. Monitored the fever, waited for it to break as they always did.

  The fever persisted. So she changed into sweats and spent most of the night walking him around the house, bouncing him on her hip, trying to get him to eat a popsicle.

  When the sun rose, Shiloh was still awake and crying, completely miserable.

  “Honey, I think that’s a rash on the back of his neck,” her mother said, pulling down the back of Shiloh’s sweat-dampened t-shirt.

  “Crap,” she said.

  Turning her son around, she checked. Yep, right there, spreading down across his back.

  So into the bath again, new clothes. Fever still present. Climbing, in fact.

  Stressed and exhausted, she handed Shiloh over to her mother for a bit, tried to get some sleep, drawing the curtains in her bedroom as best she could against the morning light. As soon as she closed her eyes, though, her father woke her.

  “Your mother told me to come get you. Shiloh’s vomiting. And… well… he doesn’t look good, sweetheart.”

  “Okay,” she said, her voice rough. “We should go to the doctor.”

  “Don’t panic, but your mother already called Dr. Hickston. He wants us to go to Children’s Hospital.”

  “What?” she said, sitting up, head spinning.

  “Calm down, honey. He just said that there’s an outbreak of viral meningitis in town, and he wants Shiloh to go get checked out.”

  “Let me get dressed,” she said, shooing her father out of the room.

  An hour’s car ride later, Shiloh was passed out in her arms as she paced in the waiting room of the ER, distraught and desperately trying to hold it together.

  “At least he’s sleeping,” her father said.

  “He’s so hot, though,” Remy said. “He’s burning up, Daddy.”

  Her mother and father just held hands and held their peace, and Remy continued her nervous pacing.

  It took almost another hour to see the doctor, and when they did, the news wasn’t what they wanted to hear. To Remy’s surprise, Emma Lake was their doctor.

  “Remy, nice to meet you, I’m Dr. Lake.”

  Remy inclined her head, too worried about Shiloh to care a whit about the pretty redhead. Dr. Lake stood on one side of the tiny hospital bed, Remy on the other, holding Shiloh’s hand as he slept.

  “So we’re doing some cultures to see if it’s meningitis,” Dr. Lake said. “I’m willing to say it isn’t, though.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Remy’s mother said, fanning herself.

  “Well what could it be?” Remy asked, shaking her head. “This isn’t normal, right?”

  “You’re right, it’s not,” Dr. Lake said. “We’re doing a broad spectrum of tests. We’d actually like to draw some bloodwork on you too, if that’s okay. There could a genetic condition making itself known.”

  “Genetic?” Remy asked, feeling tears welling in her eyes.

  “We just want to rule some things out. This could be any number of things, so let’s just wait to see what we find out, okay?”

 
“Okay.”

  “Are there any conditions I should be aware of?” she asked. “Mother, father, either set of grandparents? Diabetes, Cushing’s, anything like that?”

  “N-no,” Remy said, the first tear spilling. “Well, I don’t know…”

  “Okay, no problem,” Dr. Lake said, giving Remy a calm smile. “We’ll just do a full workup and go from there. In the meantime, we’re going to control this fever, treat it very aggressively. He’s in good hands here, okay?”

  “Sure,” Remy said, feeling her face crumple as Dr. Lake left the little room.

  “It’s okay,” her mother said, giving her a hug.

  Remy cried then, really cried. She cried as they moved Shiloh upstairs to a room for observation. She cried when the results came back inconclusive, test after test. She cried when Dr. Lake hesitantly said they needed to keep him overnight, do a few longer-running tests and monitor him.

  Finally, around seven that night, Remy broke down and called Sawyer.

  It was the last thing in the world she wanted, but what if there was a piece of information she didn’t have? What if something happened to Shiloh, something she could have prevented?

  “Your son is here at the hospital.”

  Somehow she managed to choke out the words, get the story out. And Sawyer, being the upstanding man he was, said the right thing.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  He hung up, leaving Remy feeling even more bereft and rudderless than before.

  True to his word, though, Sawyer was striding down the hall in forty minutes flat. The fury on his face, his expression dark as a thundercloud, his whole posture tense and ready to brawl…

  Remy swallowed.

  “Where is…” Sawyer started, then stopped, his throat working.

  Remy pointed to the glass door across the hall. Sawyer walked over and looked inside, going white as a sheet.

  He saw, no doubt, what Remy saw every time she looked at Shiloh. The perfect reflection on his father, down to the dark hair and beautiful hazel eyes, the features just the same. Cut from the same bolt of cloth, unmistakably.

  “Fuck,” Sawyer said, turning and walking down the hall.

  He was clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check, leaning down to brace his hands on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. When he finally returned to Remy, though, he seemed to have mastered himself.

  “What do you need?” he asked, stone-faced.

  “The doctor will want to draw some blood, ask some questions.” She bit her lip. “Sawyer…”

  “Stop.” The single word rung through the air, a furious command.

  Remy’s guts twisted, making her feel as though she might throw up.

  “Please hear me out. Your father threatened me, said if I didn’t get rid of the baby, he’d come after me. He said if I involved you in any way, he’d ruin my life.”

  Sawyer glared at her, unwavering. When he spoke, his words weren’t the forgiveness or understanding that Remy had secretly hoped for.

  “Don’t speak to me, unless it’s about… him.”

  Remy only nodded. Though Sawyer was before her now, she was already out of tears, overwhelmed and exhausted. She didn’t have the energy to talk about it right now, so in a sick kind of way, his refusal to talk was a relief.

  For now.

  “Miss River?”

  She turned to find Dr. Lake in the hall, a smile on her face.

  “Yes?”

  “I have some great news. It looks like your son has a simple staph infection.”

  Remy’s mouth opened and closed. “What?”

  “It was hard to diagnose, because the infection is below the skin, but… it’s a very simple and quick fix. He can go home in the morning, assuming it clears up as we expect.”

  “Oh thank God,” Remy said, pressing a hand to her heart. “Oh, thank you!”

  “It’s my pleasure. I’m always glad to give good news,” Dr. Lake said. Cocking her head, she seemed to notice Sawyer in the corner, but Dr. Lake was too polite to ask.

  “Thank you again,” Remy said, patting the doctor’s arm.

  “No problem! I’ll keep you updated, but I think we’ll have to do a minor procedure here in a minute. We’ll probably need you guys for that.”

  You guys? Remy wondered, then glanced back at Sawyer.

  “Oh, he’s… uh… just here for support,” Remy said.

  Sawyer pushed off the wall, nodded to Dr. Lake, and stalked off.

  “Or not…” Remy said.

  “Okay. None of my business. How about I grab a tray of tools and meet you in Shiloh’s room?” Dr. Lake said.

  “Sure, yes. Thanks.”

  Remy turned to see Sawyer vanish around a corner. If she had to guess, he probably wasn’t coming back.

  “Shit.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to push herself back into Mommy Mode. She still needed to take care of Shiloh, that was the whole point of this day. Of her whole life, actually, and all the deceptions.

  For the good of her son.

  Blowing out a breath and shaking her head, she forced herself to head back into Shiloh’s room.

  There was no room in her heart for Sawyer, not today.

  Nineteen

  One glance at the little boy in the hospital bed was all it took.

  Sawyer’s heart dropped right out of his damned chest. The dark hair, the upturned little nose…

  Remy’s son could have been the photo-perfect image of Sawyer at that age. Or Walker, or Colt…

  Roman men were undeniable that way.

  When Remy called him, said what she said… a part of him questioned her sincerity. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was joking.

  But one glance at that little boy, and he knew.

  It was too much. He went right back to the overwhelmed headspace he’d lived in right after getting his papers from the SEALs… stressed beyond thinking, unable to take in anything new.

  The second that he heard that the kid was going to be okay, he left Remy in the dust. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her, to think about all the lies…

  It was only when he got out to the parking lot of the hospital and climbed in his car that he realized he’d never asked for the kid’s name.

  Not the kid. His kid.

  “I have a son,” he said out loud, hesitant.

  The words felt they burned his throat as he said them, they were so bitter.

  Throwing his Range Rover into drive, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward home. Only he didn’t quite make it there, because the idea of facing Colt and Walker made him want to throw up.

  They’d known, of course. Had to.

  Why the hell would his brothers, closer to him than anyone else in the entire world, lie to him about something like this? He didn’t know fuck-all about kids, but that one was at least a couple of years old.

  So the lies had been going on for years.

  Drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel, he took a sharp left and drove up to Satchel Creek, an old favorite of his camping spots. He had some gear in the trunk, so a quick pit stop at a gas station was all he needed to set him up for a few days of quiet reflection.

  He thought that the drive out there, the short but steep hike up the side of the canyon, and setting up his little campsite atop the crest would have mellowed the edge of his rage.

  Apparently not. He built a little fire, staring into the flames. Ate some beef jerky and drank some beer.

  None of it helped. He felt like one big, raw nerve, like he was wearing his heart on his sleeve and the whole world was made of razor wire.

  He’d been so stupid. Remy, her family, his own brothers… they’d all played him for a fool, because he was one.

  No wonder Remy had been so damned resistant to his flirtations. She was walking around with this huge secret, hiding a big part of herself away and hoping… what?

  That he never noticed?

  What was her grand plan? T
hat he just… never realized he had a son? Maybe that he went back to D.C.?

  Or worse, maybe she’d planned to be the one to leave.

  It did seem likely, given her options.

  “Fuck,” Sawyer muttered, shaking his head. “This is fucked up.”

  Grabbing his cell phone, he called Colt.

  “Hello?” Colt answered. Sawyer could hear a feminine giggle in the background.

  “Were you ever planning on telling me about Remy?” Sawyer snapped.

  “Ohhhhh….” Colt said. “Hold on, man.”

  Sawyer heard a rustle as Colt moved somewhere quieter.

  “Hey. Uhh… did Walker tell you?”

  “No. Remy called me and told me my kid was in the hospital, actually.”

  Silence for several long seconds. “Shit. I’m so sorry, man.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?” Sawyer thundered.

  “Well…” Colt said, then stopped.

  “What?”

  “I thought it was Walker’s kid.”

  “WHAT?” Sawyer roared.

  “Calm down! Just… the timing was odd. I thought maybe…”

  “Fuck off. It’s my kid.”

  “Well… okay.”

  “Remy told me that The Colonel threatened her.”

  Colt seemed to mull that over for a second. “Can’t say I’m that surprised.”

  “I can’t fucking believe you. You and Walker both.”

  “Sawyer…”

  “Fuck off.”

  Sawyer disconnected the call, losing the last bit of his patience. He turned the phone off and stretched out on his sleeping bag, staring up at the stars.

  In his heart, he was mourning. He’d missed so much, deceived by everyone he knew. If Remy or one of his brothers had been honest, if his father wasn’t such a thug, things might have been so different.

  He might have come home to a hell of a surprise, yeah. But at least he could’ve made decisions for himself. He might have taken his papers sooner, left the SEALs early and come home to take care of his girl.

  And if she’d been honest, right from the jump, he would’ve put a ring on her. Baby or no baby, probably.

  Hell, he was half in love with her now, even after she’d betrayed him in the worst possible fucking way.