"Damon did that to himself." My jaw tightens. "And you're not some toy we're sharing. You're ours. You fit with us." I hold her gaze. "We want to see where this goes."
Her breath catches.
"Breck's guard is down around you. Ansel's, too. That doesn't happen." I let that land. "We don't bring anyone home. You're living with us. That means something."
“Enzo—”
“You will never be disposable to us.”
She squeezes my hand tighter. “I’m starting to believe that. And I’m starting to realize that you three mean something to me, too.”
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to kiss her, to show her, with actions rather than words, how much she means to me. But she’s opening up, trusting me with her pain, and that matters more than what I want. So, I continue to hold her hand and listen.
She’s quiet for a long moment, then changes the subject. “I’m scared about the threat. About Trent.”
“I know.”
“What if he comes after me? What if he hurts someone I care about to get to me?”
“We won’t let that happen.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because we have resources he doesn’t. Security watching you, watching your parents, watching everyone you care about. He makes one wrong move, and we’ll know.”
Her head snaps toward me. “You’re watching my parents?”
“Twenty-four-seven surveillance. Best private security money can buy.” I squeeze her hand. “They don’t know. We didn’t want to worry them. But they’re safe, Remy. I promise.”
She covers her mouth with her free hand, tears spilling over. “You did that for me?”
“Of course we did. You think we’d let anything happen to the people you love?”
She unbuckles her seatbelt and launches herself across the console, wrapping her arms around me. I catch her, holding her while she cries into my shoulder.
“Thank you.” The words are muffled against my shirt. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my parents and me.”
I hold her tighter. “You don’t have to thank us for caring about you.”
She pulls back slightly, wiping her eyes. “My dad’s surgery is taking place next week. The surgeon says the prognosis is good.”
“That’s good.” I brush a tear from her cheek. “You must be relieved.”
“I am. Though Mom says he’s being stubborn about not overdoing it.” She laughs through her tears. “My mom is the exact same way, so they’re constantly arguing about who’s being more ridiculous.”
“They sound like good people. I can see where you get your strength from.”
She settles back into her seat but keeps holding my hand. “Tell me about your parents.”
The request catches me off guard. “Why?”
“I want to know about the people who raised you.”
I lean back in my seat, staring out at the lake. “Well, you know they died when we were fourteen.”
“I know the sad part. Tell me the good part.”
And this is the part I don’t ever share, but I want to share it with her. “Dad was brilliant. Obsessive. He'd vanish into his office for days, then emerge with something groundbreaking." I can still see him. Coffee cup in hand. Always. "Mom balanced him out. Kept us all grounded."
