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knew. The groupies and women—it’s always been like this except when you’re around. I’m so sorry.”
    “Diane, I broke up with him! Yes! I understand it’s all
my
fault. Everything is all
my
fault. Even him losing the championship.”
    “Brooke,” Diane tries to console as she sits me on the bed. “They came and went. It wasn’t . . .”
    I wipe my tears and sniffle, but my misery feels like a steel weight. “He lived like that before I came into the picture. I don’t know what I expected when I left. I thought it would take him a little time to get back on the horse, you know? But I know that being helpless and moping around isn’t Remington. He would’ve been . . .”
    Reckless. Manic. Or causing trouble. Or breaking things. But what if he was low and feeling down? I left him to bear it alone, and for Pete and Riley to handle it the way they always have. Fresh tears stream out of me.
    “Go on,” Diane encourages me. I wince when I hear the room phone. “Yes, Remington,” she whispers into the receiver and then hangs up.
    “He’s on his way here. He wants me to open the door, or he’s crashing it.”
    “I don’t want to see him like this,” I cry, sniffling and grabbing a tissue as if I can hide the fact I’m crying like a baby here.
    I feel him approaching like a tornado as Diane swings the door open.
    “Diane,” he says in a low murmur, then he cuts across the room straight to where I’m curled in a ball on the bed.
    His eyes are dark blue with emotion. “You,” he says, opening his hand. “Come with me.”
    “I don’t want to,” I say, wiping a stray tear.
    His nostrils flare and I can see he’s having trouble controlling himself. “You’re mine and you need me, and I want you to please come the fuck upstairs with me.”
    I duck my head and wipe a tear.
    I sniffle.
    “All right, come here.” He swings me up in his arms. “Good night, Diane.”
    I kick, and he grabs me to him and squeezes me as he speaks in my ear, “Kick and claw all you like. Scream. Hit me. Curse the fuck out of me. You won’t sleep anywhere but with me tonight.”
    He carries me into the elevator and then into our room. He kicks the door shut, drops me on the bed, and jerks off his T-shirt. His muscles bulge with the powerful movement, and I see every glorious inch of that beautiful skin—skin that some other women touched and kissed and licked, and a rush of new jealousy and insecurity knifes through me. I scream like crazy and kick when he reaches out and starts stripping me. “You asshole, don’t touch me!”
    “Hey, hey, listen to me.” He traps me with his arms and his gaze. “I am insane about you. I’ve been in hell without you. In hell. Stop being ridiculous,” he says, squeezing my face. “I love you. I love
you.
Come here.”
    He gathers me onto his lap. I didn’t expect his gentleness, I expected a fight so I could vent, but he disarms me, and instead I bawl in his arms as he holds me, his lips open on the back of my ear, his voice soft but firm and regretful. “How well did you think I’d cope when you left? Did you think it would be easy on me? That I wouldn’t feel alone? Betrayed? Fucking lied to? Used? Discarded? Worthless? Dead? Did you think there wouldn’t be days where I loathed you more than I loved you for tearing me apart? Did you?”
    “I’ve left everything for you,” I cry, so hurt I have my own arms curled around myself as I physically struggle to hold myself together. “Since I met you,
all I wanted
was to be yours. You said you were mine. That you were my . . . my . . .
Real
.”
    He groans softly and squeezes me hard against him. “I’m the realest fucking thing you’re ever going to have.”
    My tears keep streaming as I look into his eyes, and they are so beautiful, Remington’s eyes. They are blue and tender, the eyes that see straight through me, the eyes that know everything about me, and they are no longer laughing and instead reflect a little bit of