Remo wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he’d expected to tell her. An offer of a brief glimpse into his past? Or maybe just an I-promise-you-can-trust-me hint? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t a full—if somewhat syncopated—disclosure of his childhood. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of it; time and therapy had helped him fully understand that it wasn’t his fault. It was just that he preferred to keep his private life private. So even as the words started tumbling out of his mouth, he was surprised to hear them.
“I spent the first seven years of my life in a house where any wrong step ran the risk of violence. My dad wielded the punches. My mom was the bag. I spent a lot of time being told to hide. I did it, because it was what my mom wanted. She was sad all the time, and anything I could do to make her smile...”
He shrugged and met Celia’s eyes. There was understanding in her gaze. Far more than sympathy, and Remo was sure he’d guessed her situation correctly.
“It played out exactly how you think it did,” he added.
“You stopped hiding,” she filled in softly.
“It was just once,” he told her. “I don’t even remember what was different, to be honest. Maybe just because I was getting older and realizing our normal wasn’t really very normal at all. Either way, the end result was the same. I stepped up, and it earned me a black eye and a broken arm. And it was a wake-up call for my mom. We were out of there the same day.”
Celia’s face clouded for a moment, then became a mask. Remo wasn’t sure what she was trying to cover up or deny, but he wasn’t going to let her form a lie.
He spoke before she could try. “You know what else I saw on your charts?”
Her mouth puckered, and then she shook her head like she’d changed her mind about whatever she was about to say, and instead asked, “What did you see?”
“X-rays. They show old injuries, Celia. A broken arm that wasn’t set properly. Previously fractured ribs.” He said it gently, careful to keep any and all judgment out of his tone. “I’ve seen it enough times in my job to know what it means.”
For several seemingly long heartbeats, Celia said nothing. She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Remo let her take her time. The evidence was all but irrefutable, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to deny it, anyway. He didn’t want to pressure her, but he hoped with an unreasonable amount of gusto that she’d choose trust and honesty. But when her implacable expression finally crumbled, it wasn’t to confess to him that he was right. Instead, it was to burst into silent tears.
Automatically, Remo stepped in and sank down beside her. Careful not to disturb Xavier—who was still oblivious to the world—he slung an arm over Celia’s shoulder and folded her into a sideways embrace. She shifted, and for a second Remo thought he might’ve overstepped. They were strangers. He was a foot taller and eighty pounds heavier than she was, and as natural as it felt to offer her comfort, it wasn’t crazy to think maybe the contact was unexpected and unwelcome. But it took him only a moment to realize Celia wasn’t pulling away. She was settling in.
Her head pressed to his chest as her body noisily shook. Another few breaths, and one of her hands came up to slide across his abdomen and clutch at his shirt. It was an undeniably intimate pose. Yet it was innocent, too. She needed the outlet, and Remo was more than happy to provide it. He brought his own hand up to run in a soothing circle over her back, and murmured that it would be all right. A good two minutes passed before Celia finally drew in a shaky breath and pulled back just enough that Remo was able to look down at her. Her lower lip was trembling, and when she spoke, her voice was just as wobbly.
“The things is...” she said. “You were right. I don’t remember. I know I need to keep Xavier safe. I know he’s in danger. From what you said, and what you saw on the X-rays, I feel like the conclusion is easy. It fits. And as cloudy as my brain is, it’s not arguing against it, which makes me think it’s true.” Her eyes flicked toward her son’s peaceful form, and she whispered, “It’s his dad. It has to be. But it scared the hell out of me that even though I’m sure of it—logically—I don’t actually know it.”
Remo studied her face. It was still true that he didn’t know her, but it was also becoming truer and truer that he wanted to.
“Let me help you,” he said.
“Help me how?” Her voice had a desperate edge. “All I’m sure of is that if I stick around here for long, I won’t be able to protect my son.”
Spontaneously, Remo reached out and touched her cheek. She didn’t shy away. If anything, she leaned into his hand a little.
“Close your eyes and tell me what you remember leading up to the accident,” he said.
“Really?”
“It can’t hurt to try.”
“Are you going to hypnotize me?”
He had to laugh. “I don’t know what you think a paramedic does, but stage shows aren’t usually included in the job description.”
She wrinkled her nose. “There are perfectly legitimate medical professionals who use hypnosis in their practices.”
“Oh, yeah? Like who?”
“Therapists?”
“Is that a question? Because it sounded like a question.”
“Therapists,” she repeated, without the added inflection at the end.
His grin widened, not because he didn’t believe her, but because the lightened conversation felt good. Natural. And Remo liked it.
“I don’t know that I’d trust a therapist who wanted to hypnotize me,” he told her teasingly. “Who knows what subliminal messages they’d stick in there?” He dropped his best, very bad Sigmund Freud impression. “Definitely something about my mother.”
“I cannot believe you just made that joke,” Celia said, but she was smiling, too—a genuine one that made her eyes sparkle—and that alone made it worth it.
“Stand-up might not be my forte, either,” he admitted.
“You don’t say.”
“But I’m pretty damned good at helping. So close your eyes.”
She stared at him for a second longer, and then she shifted—regrettably—out of reach, and her eyelids drifted down. As her long, fair lashes hit her cheeks, Remo’s amusement wore off, and a stab of remembered worry took its place. He tried to brush it off and couldn’t. The two times he’d seen her so still with her eyes closed, it’d been because she was unconscious.
But she’s fine now, he reminded himself. Awake. Under medical supervision. Under your supervision.
So why couldn’t he shake the deep concern?
“Are you still there?” she asked softly.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Just...uh. Tell me the last thing you remember before waking up here.”
“Right before, or a long time before?”
“Whatever comes to mind first.”
“Being in the ambulance and being confused about why I was there. Then seeing you, and...” She trailed off, a spot of color appearing in each of her cheeks.
“What?”
“I remember thinking your eyes were really blue.”
Remo’s mood lightened again. “My mom’s always said it’s the best thing I got from my dad.”
Celia opened her own eyes a crack. “But it’s not very helpful.”
“Compliments are always helpful,” he said teasingly. “You can keep them coming. Or you can go back to before the ambulance. Up to you.”
Her blush deepened, and she squeezed her eyes shut again quickly. It took her a few moments, though, to say anything else. Remo waited it out. He watched her shoulders rise and fall as her breaths evened out. Then a tiny frown creased her forehead, and her words came out so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.
“It’s not that there’s nothing there,” she murmured. “But it’s all general, jumbled together stuff.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you can remember, then?” Remo suggested. “Some of the general stuff.”
“Okay. Well. I know it’s just the two of us, and it has been for a long time. I can tell you that my son’s teacher is named Ms. Jenny, and I can also tell you that’s her last name, not her first name. Xavier thinks that’s funny.”
“What else?” he prodded.
“Xavier’s birthday is September 1, and his favorite food is waffles.” Her mouth tipped up. “We had them for breakfast this morning. We were out of syrup, and he was supremely unimpressed.”
Remo didn’t bother to point out that she’d just recalled something not only very specific, but also within a very recent time frame; he didn’t want to derail anything that might come after. “I don’t blame him. Not a big fan of waffles without syrup myself. So did you buy him some, or make him suffer through it?”
“I would’ve bought him more. I’m a sucker for his pouty face. But since we were in a hotel room, I—” Her eyes flew open, and she shot an excited look his way. “A hotel!”
“You remember which one?” he asked.
Her face fell. “No.”
“What about a logo? Maybe on a notepad on the nightstand?”
“I think it might be the kind of place that doesn’t spring for branded items.”
“That’s good info.”
“Is it?” She sounded completely disheartened. “It feels kind of useless.”
Remo reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s a start. It means we can probably rule out anything with a three-star or more rating. When we contact the police—”
“No.”
The single word cut him off, but not because it was gasped out or spoken with particularly firm emphasis. Its power was in the fact that Celia had infused it with a genuine fear. And there was a matching terror in her eyes.
Celia had no idea why, but hearing the word police was like a switch being flipped. Her heart thundered. Her pulse raced. And her head started to throb. The only thing keeping her grounded was the fact that her hand was clasped in Remo’s warm, strong palm. Her body used the contact to keep from bolting. Her mind, on the other hand, refused to stay still.
Was she running from the police? Was she a criminal? Had she broken a law—or more than one law—in the name of keeping her son safe? She weighed the question in her head, and quickly decided that if the choice was between protecting Xavier and not committing a crime, she’d definitely choose the former. If she admitted it aloud, would the blue-eyed paramedic feel a need to contact the local PD, just in case?
And if he does call them...would you blame him?
But when she exhaled and forced herself to meet Remo’s gaze, the concern on his face seemed reserved for her. And his next words confirmed it.
“Hey,” he said gently. “If you don’t want to contact the cops, I’m not going to force you to do it.”
Some of the pressure on Celia’s chest eased, but she felt compelled to shake her head and say, “I should probably point out that the cops are the good guys.”
“I know.”
“So by extension, the people who avoid them...”
“Aren’t the good guys,” he filled in. “I get what you’re saying.”
“If that makes you uncomfortable, Remo, I understand. Just...give me a head start, okay?”
“A head start?”
Celia nodded. It was strange how badly she wanted him to say that it was fine with him if she was kind of a fugitive. Maybe part of it was just that he was one of the few familiar things in her current world. Maybe some of it was that he’d saved her and—even more importantly—saved her son. But she suspected that underneath that was some other driving factor. An unnamable pull. Whatever it was, it deepened when he released her hand and reached up to touch her cheek. He ran his knuckles over her cheekbone, then turned his palm to cup her face. And the intimate contact didn’t feel in the slightest bit wrong or unnatural. Just the opposite. It felt right.
Celia tipped into the attention, leaning a little harder against his touch and enjoying the security of the touch.
Her eyes lifted, and she found the same sense of safety in his responding stare. There was an openness in his gaze. An honesty. And as fuzzy as her specific memories were, Celia was sure that was something she lacked in her day-to-day life.
Always hiding. Always running. No one to trust.
The thoughts were disturbing, and the reasons behind them were frustratingly out of reach. But Remo—this man she didn’t know at all—offered a hint of hope. And something else. A feeling she hadn’t experienced since God knew when.
Attraction.
As soon as Celia acknowledged it, a spark ignited. A current pulsed from his hand to her face. It throbbed in time with the pulse in her throat, and it shortened her breath, too.
A little startled by how strong the zap was—and by the fact that it seemed to mute the world around her—she pulled back. But the moment Remo’s palm left her cheek, she realized she didn’t want the contact to be cut short. And her body reacted reflexively. One of her own hands shot out to grasp his, pulling it back to the spot it’d just abandoned. Her other hand came up to touch his face. Hesitantly, but not without intention. And it was just as pleasant to be on the giving end of the caress as it was to be on the receiving end. Celia took a moment to enjoy it.
Remo’s jaw was strong and well-defined. Maybe a little squarer than would be considered perfect, but it only added to his good looks, making him interesting rather than stereotypically model-esque. His chin and cheek were pebbled with the barest hint of stubble. Just the right amount of roughness against her fingers, as far as Celia was concerned. But it wasn’t his outward appearance, or the way he felt physically that made her skin tingle. It was the look in his eyes, and what he said next.
“You don’t need a head start from me, Celia. I said I’d help you, and I meant it,” he told her, his voice low. “And even if that weren’t true, I would never do anything that would make you or your son need to run. That’s not who I am.”
Dizziness hit Celia again, but this time it had nothing to do with her medical state, and instead everything to do with Remo DeLuca and his promise.
And his nearness, she acknowledged.
He was close. So close that she could feel the warmth of his lips. And she wanted to be even closer. Instinctively, she tipped her face up to make it happen. He tipped his down in response. For the briefest second, their mouths brushed against one another. It was enough time for delicious heat to fan out through Celia’s entire body. Enough time to know that fireworks were waiting under the surface, ready to burst as soon as the kiss deepened. And then her son’s sleepy voice forced them apart.
“Is it morning?” he asked, punctuating the question with a yawn. “I’m so hungry.”
It could’ve been an awkward moment. Maybe it should’ve been. One where Remo offered her an apologetic look and murmured something about the kiss being inappropriate. Or maybe one where Celia questioned what she was thinking, kissing a man she’d only just met. In a hospital bed. While her son slept two feet away. But the tickle of mingling guilt and embarrassment lasted for only a heartbeat. Just as long as it took for Remo to smile in her direction, then lean around her and offer a wider grin to Xavier.
“You’re hungry?” he said. “Well, what’s your favorite gross hospital food? Squishy peas, or pudding? If your mom says it’s okay, you can pick one of those, my treat.”
“Ew,” her son replied. “Are squishy peas really a thing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?” Xavier’s genuine bafflement made Celia want to laugh and shush him at the same time.
But Remo just shrugged. “Who knows? People are weird. And I take that to mean you want some pudding?”
“Yes, please!” He turned a pleading eye in Celia’s direction. “Please, Mom? Can I?”
Celia nodded. Fighting about middle-of-the-night treats hardly seemed like a priority in light of everything else. Remo shot a conspiratorial wink her way, then stood up. Xavier jumped out of the bed, and Celia’s heart banged an anxious beat. The big man clearly picked up on her nervousness. He bent down to Xavier’s level and spoke to him in a serious voice.
“Can I ask you a favor, buddy? Because I could really use your help with something,” he said.
Her son was quick to solemnly agree. “Yeah. I can help.”
“The pudding is just down the hall and around the corner in a little kitchen. It’ll only take me a minute to go there and back, but I don’t really want to leave your mom alone. Think you can keep an eye on her for me?”
Xavier glanced from Remo to Celia, and Celia’s heart squeezed. She knew he’d want to say no. And she couldn’t blame him. An adventure to get pudding was undoubtedly more appealing than playing watchdog for his boring, bedridden mom. But she knew, also, that his sense of responsibility was high. Too high for a kid his age.
She swallowed against the thick lump in her throat, and spoke quickly. “You know what? I’ll be fine here for a minute. You two go.”
Remo stood up and lifted an eyebrow. “You sure? Could take us two minutes to track down a spoon. Puddings abound, but utensils are notoriously hard to come by. Had to settle for a fork a few times.”
She heard the other, unasked question in his words. Are you sure you’re comfortable letting your son leave with a stranger?
Celia met his eyes. “Don’t settle. Take five minutes, if you need to. It’ll give me time to regroup.”
Remo studied her for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out if she meant it. She offered a nod. She did mean it. He’d rescued her son from the wreck. He’d taken care of him while she was unconscious. Those two things alone told her she could trust him. And her instincts heartily agreed.
“All right,” Remo said, then tipped his gaze back down to Xavier. “What do you say, my man? That work for you?”
Celia fought a smile as her son practically bounced on the spot with barely bridled excitement.
“Go ahead,” she told him. “Freak out. It’s pudding.”
Xavier’s eyes brightened even further, and he jumped up once, then did an enthusiastic fist pump. “Yes!”
Remo chuckled and held out his hand. Celia watched her son’s tiny fingers disappear in the paramedic’s palm, and her heart squeezed again, this time in a different way. She held her breath until the two of them were gone, then let out a long, shaky exhale and closed her eyes.
She felt lost. The holes in her memory were enough to make her want to cry. And what was worse was that she was starting to suspect that the lack of recall had little to do with her accident, and more to do with not wanting to remember. Like her mind was intentionally blacking out the Big Bad Wolf to protect her.
But it’s having the opposite effect.
Instead of being insulated, she was just helpless. She needed those memories, whether her subconscious wanted to admit it or not. She had to find a way to get them back.
“What am I going to do?” she wondered aloud.
And unexpectedly, a rough, masculine voice answered her. “My suggestion would be to tell me where the boy is.”