Remy's thumb moves across my hand.
"I lost my childhood the night they died." I don't hide the quiver in my voice. "The night they died, cops showed up at our door. Gran told us." I close my eyes. “Ansel tried to hold it together. Breck cried for days. And I got angry.”
“Angry?”
"Furious. At the driver. At my parents for taking that route. At God. At fate. At everything." I open my eyes. "I'm still angry. They never saw what we built. They missed all of it."
“That’s understandable.”
“Is it?” I shake my head. “It’s been seventeen years. I should be over it by now.”
“You don’t get over losing your parents.” Remy shifts closer. “You just learn to carry it differently.”
“How did you get so wise?”
“I’m not wise. I’ve just learned that pain doesn’t have an expiration date.” She cups my face with her free hand. “And you don’t have to be over it, Enzo. You’re allowed to still be angry. You’re allowed to still hurt.”
Fuck. Seventeen years of holding this in, and here’s Remy Ray telling me it’s okay not to be okay.
She’s still close, her hand on my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. Her eyes are soft, understanding, and I can see my own pain reflected back at me without judgment. The space between us seems smaller, or maybe we’ve both moved closer to each other without realizing it.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. Her breathing changes, becomes shallower. I watch her pulse flutter at the base of her throat, and my entire body tenses with the effort of not closing the distance between us.
I lean forward and kiss her, hungry and hard.
She kisses me back with equal intensity, her fingers sliding into my hair, pulling me closer. The console is between us, awkward and limiting, and I can’t stand it.
I pull back just long enough to say, “Backseat.”
CHAPTER 16
Remy
We scramble out of our respective doors and meet in the backseat. The space is cramped, the leather cool against my heated skin, and I don’t care about any of it. Enzo pulls me onto his lap, and I straddle him, my thighs bracketing his hips as our mouths crash together again.
My hands find the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in my desperation to feel his skin. He helps me, shrugging out of the fabric and tossing it toward the front seat. And then his chest is bare, and I can finally see what I’ve been imagining since Montana.
Tattoos cover his left arm in intricate patterns that continue across his shoulder and down his ribs. Circuit boards branch into mathematical equations, numbers wind around muscle, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw these.” My fingers trace the lines, following where circuits transform into proofs. “They’re not just for show, are they?”
"No." His voice is rough. "Every equation means something. This one's Euler's identity. My dad called it the most beautiful equation in mathematics." He points to the circuits. "Firstsecurity system I designed." His finger moves to numbers winding around his forearm. "Binary code. My brothers' names."
My throat tightens. “You carry them with you. All of them.”
“Always.” His hands flex on my hips. “I needed something permanent. Something that couldn’t be taken away.”
I lean down and press my lips to his bicep, following the path of one equation with my tongue. His skin is warm and faintly salty under my lips. “They’re beautiful.”
His grip on my hips tightens almost to the point of pain, and I rock against him deliberately. The groan that rumbles through his chest makes my center clench with need.
I pull back, looking down at him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and I can feel the hard length of him pressing against me through our clothes.
I drag my center across his erection, showing him that I want him, too.
“Are you sure?” The question comes out strangled. His hands tremble where they rest on my waist, his breathing harsh and uneven. Every line of his body screams how much he wants me, but he’s holding himself perfectly still, waiting for my answer.
Instead of speaking, I grab the hem of my blouse and pull it over my head. His eyes track the movement, lingering on my black lace bra. The way he looks at me—like he wants to devour me—makes me feel powerful in a way I haven’t felt in months.
