Celia would’ve been lying if she didn’t admit that sending her son away with a stranger—or an almost stranger’s mother, in this case—didn’t make her nervous. She trusted Remo. More than she should have, maybe. And what he’d told her about his childhood in the hospital reinforced the fact that Wendy would know just how to get Xavier safely out. But when it came down to it, he was her son, and Celia didn’t like being separated from him, especially under the current circumstance.
I miss him when he goes to kindergarten, she thought. How am I expected to feel at a moment like this one?
But as she gave him a twelfth kiss goodbye—he’d counted them and made an announcement about it—Wendy shuffled Xavier to Remo one more time, then pulled Celia aside. Feeling awkward and defensive at the same time, Celia waited for a speech. What she got instead was a hug. The older woman pulled her into an embrace and gave her a squeeze. It was strange only for a moment. Then Celia leaned in and took the offered comfort. It was different to receive it from another woman. From another mom. There was an understanding in the hug. Palpable empathy. And that alone was enough to ease some of Celia’s discomfort.
“I know you’re going through hell,” said Wendy as she finally let her go and stepped back. “And to top off your unpleasant circumstances, my son told me that you’ve got a memory block.”
Celia nodded, then answered in a soft voice. “I think my mind is trying to protect me. Except it’s just making things worse.”
“I get it,” the other woman replied. “There are times when I wish I could forget everything Remo’s dad put me through. It would feel so good not to have that heartbreak always on the periphery of my past. But the thought of the memories not being there is scarier. As counterintuitive as it might seem, I think the memories might be the safety net.”
“Exactly.” A slightly bitter laugh escaped Celia’s lips. “Now could you convince my brain that’s true?”
Wendy reached out and swiped a thumb over Celia’s forehead. “I wish I could, sweetheart. For your sake, and for your son’s. But being patient might be your only choice.”
“That. And sending Xavier with you is a choice, too.”
“Yes, it is. And I appreciated the trust. I’ll take good care of him, and in a half hour or so, we’ll all be eating breakfast in my kitchen.”
Celia closed in for another hug, then called Xavier over for a thirteenth kiss. Then a fourteenth, just for superstition’s sake. She made a joke about it to cover her worry, then promised to see him soon, and with a heavy heart and a thick, knotted lump in her throat, watched him and Wendy disappear into the elevator. Tears threatened. Then became an inevitability. But as they came, Remo wrapped his arms around her and guided her back to the family room. He closed the door, pulled her to the couch, and held her while she shook with the sobs she couldn’t quite control. And he didn’t let go until it had all tapered off into shaky breaths.
“I’m sorry,” Celia said, when she was at last able to speak. “You were just driving along, minding your own business tonight—or is it last night, now? God. I don’t even know. But somehow, I dragged you into this mess.”
His hand slid back and forth over her shoulder. “You didn’t drag me. I dragged myself.”
She sat up a little and tried to smile, but it felt watery. “Sure. If you call pulling over to the side of the road at the scene of an accident dragging yourself into something. I don’t even know where you were going.”
“I’d actually just finished the somewhat embarrassing task of watching a movie at the theater.”
“Why is that embarrassing?”
“It wasn’t, until you forced me to admit that I was alone.”
Celia’s smile became genuine. “I did not force you to admit that.”
He winked. “You see it your way, I see it mine.”
“What did you see?”
“Action flick?”
“Is that a question?”
He sighed. “See? Now you’re forcing me to tell you another embarrassing thing.”
“What is it?” Celia asked. “I’m dying to know.”
“It wasn’t an action flick at all.” His expression was one part sheepish and one part amused. “It was that movie about the dog with the missing leg.”
In spite of everything, a laugh burst from Celia’s lips. “You’re kidding. Xavier has been begging me to take him. You really went to see it?”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for puppies.”
“And you couldn’t, like...borrow a friend’s kid?”
“Honestly?” He trailed a finger up her arm, his eyes dropping to follow the motion. “I don’t have all that many friends.”
“Says the man who’s best friends with my kid,” she replied.
He lifted his gaze, and Celia was surprised to see true uncertainty and sadness there as he spoke again. “Kids are easy. It’s grown-ups who’re hard.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you meet another adult...start to get to know them...they think they want to know all the gory, complicated details. But when they hear those details...they realize they didn’t want complicated, after all.”
Celia leaned her head against his chest. “Actually, Mr. DeLuca...you don’t get to tell me what I want.”
His responding chuckle vibrated pleasantly through her whole body. “Is that right?”
“A hundred percent. I don’t buy your excuse, and I demand a messy, complicated explanation.”
“Okay. But when you hear it all and you run screaming in the opposite direction, don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”
His tone was light, but under the lightness was a strain, and Celia wondered if she should backpedal and tell him he didn’t have to share anything he didn’t want to. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel uncomfortable or pressured. Especially considering just how much he’d done for her and Xavier in the last few hours. But he started to speak before she could retract her request.
“I probably owe you a bit of an apology,” he said.
Puzzled, she tipped her head back, trying to see his face. “For what?”
“A lie of omission. I left something out before when I was telling you about me and my mom.”
“I’ll forgive you for not disclosing all of your secrets in the first five minutes of knowing me if you’ll forgive me for not even knowing my own secrets.”
“Deal.” He kissed her forehead, then smoothed back her hair, and she settled against his chest again, and he went on with his story, his voice low. “Seven and a half months after my mom finally left my dad, on my eighth birthday, my sister was born here in the hospital. I only had the most basic thoughts about where a baby came from. But I knew a man had to be involved somewhere. I thought Indigo was a miracle.”
He went on, explaining how she was a hellion from the beginning. Colicky as a newborn, and a Tasmanian devil as a toddler. Their mom was constantly at a loss for what to do with Remo’s little sister. Indigo didn’t care if she was given a time-out, or if her toys were taken away, or if she was banned from watching Sesame Street.
“You know how some people have a zest for life?” he asked.
She nodded against his chest. “Yes.”
“Indigo had that zest, so long as her life included getting into trouble. And the older she got, the more wild she got, too.”
Celia listened as Remo described an increase in the severity of her antics. How his sister practically lived in the principal’s office through elementary school. How she was kicked out of first one high school, then another, before she was finally sent to a remedial school.
“My mom used to wonder if it was really a good idea to send a kid like Indigo to a place where she’d be surrounded by like-minded kids,” Remo said. “But I don’t think it affected her in the slightest. She acted the way she did because she wanted to act that way, not because anyone influenced her. She hit her most dangerous moment when she was fourteen.”
He told her about how Indigo stole their mom’s car and totaled it. Then he added that the theft and the accident weren’t even the biggest problem. Because just three days before it happened, Wendy had decided to let the insurance lapse in order to save a bit of money. Then the bills rolled in. And there were plenty. There was their wrecked car and the fence Indigo had destroyed. There were the vet fees for the dog who’d had the misfortune of having a paw crushed under a tire as the car rolled to a stop. And last, but by no means even close to least, there were medical costs. Indigo’s broken arm and concussion and three days in the hospital. Eighteen stitches for the guy who was joyriding beside her.
“I was away at school. On my way to becoming a doctor. Or I hoped so, anyway.” Remo’s voice was full of regret, and Celia reached out to squeeze his hand.
“Your sister’s accident wasn’t your fault,” she said.
“I know. It was her own reckless behavior. And I knew it then, too.” He shook his head. “But I still felt responsible. I came back. Cut my college career short. I took two jobs to help cover the money we owed.”
He paused there, his fingers toying with her hair, and Celia had a feeling he was building up to something even harder. She almost held her breath, waiting. Marveling over his self-sacrifice. Wondering just how much more intense his story could get.
“You did want the messy and complicated,” Remo said after a few silent moments.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she replied.
“True enough. But then again...you’re kind of stuck with me for the moment, aren’t you?”
She twisted herself around so she was facing him. “I’m not stuck, Remo. I could’ve said no to letting your mom take Xavier. I could’ve insisted on doing it on my own. I think I have been doing it on my own for five years. But I chose to stay with you.”
“Didn’t know what you were getting into, did you?”
“All I can say to that is ditto.”
He laughed, and his palm found her cheek, and the contact made the air shift. It heated. It sparked. And when Remo leaned in and pressed his lips to Celia’s...it ignited.
Remo kissed Celia hard, pouring the strange mix of emotions into the contact.
Just a moment earlier, he had been on edge. Worried about what she would think of his personal truth. Puzzled by how badly he wanted to tell her everything—even the things he never shared with anyone. Or maybe it was the fact that he especially wanted to share the things he never shared with anyone. Either way, he’d been uncharacteristically nervous. He didn’t want to scare her off before he even got a chance to really know her.
With his lips on hers, all the concern lifted, unseated by desire. Overruled by the eager way her mouth moved in time with his, swept aside by her hands, which pulled him in instead of pushing him away.
Everything about Celia fit just right. Felt just right. Her soft, warm mouth. Her curves pushed against his body. How his hand rested perfectly on the swell of her hips, and the light scent that emanated from her skin and made him want to inhale deeper and deeper.
But Remo didn’t have to dig very deep to conclude that the rightness applied to more than the physical. There was the easy way she listened, not an ounce of judgment apparent in her responses. The trust she afforded him, even though her life had obviously worked her over enough to wring out any ease in doing so. And the fierce protectiveness for her son. Remo admired it. He respected it. He was even a little envious of that aspect of her life.
Which brought him back to the rest of his story. The part that hurt the most, and that he rarely spoke aloud, because most people didn’t want to hear about true loss. Or if they did, it was in a voyeuristic way that made Remo’s stomach churn. And well-meaning, sympathetic words did little to ease the residual ache that marked his soul. So he kept it inside. With Celia, though, something made him sure he could tell her everything, and not fear losing her before she truly became his.
His.
The word was powerful and unexpected. Undoubtedly premature in its implications. But it didn’t matter, because it made a burst of warmth hit Remo’s gut.
He broke off the kiss, abruptly more interested in figuratively baring it all than taking the kiss to the next level. He pulled back and brought both his hands to her face.
She opened her eyes and smiled. “Hi there.”
“Hi,” he said back, unable to resist a need to give her another quick, soft kiss.
“Is our thirty minutes up?”
“Getting close. But that’s not why I stopped.”
Her forehead creased. “What’s wrong?”
He let his hands drop to her shoulders, then slid them down her arms until they reached her fingers, which he threaded with his own. “I didn’t quite finish telling you about Indigo.”
Her expression became hesitant, but when she spoke, Remo could tell that the hint of reluctance was about him rather than about her. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
“The funny thing is, I do want to. And the funnier thing... I don’t normally want to. In fact, I usually try to keep things to myself.”
“So what’s different?”
Remo studied her for a moment. It was a valid question. And he had only one answer.
“You are,” he said.
She blinked. “Me?”
He shrugged. “I know. It’s kind of a lame answer. I pulled you from that wreck tonight, and I looked into your eyes, and...”
“And what?”
“Either I was lined up to be there at that exact moment, or you’re a witch.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open as she blurted, “What?”
“Yeah, I’m leaning toward the former, as well,” he teased.
She made a face, then turned serious. “Do you believe in that kind of thing?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “In witchcraft?”
She snorted. “In fate.”
“You want an honest answer?”
“Always.”
“Then I have to be very decisive and say ‘sort of.’” He chuckled at her wry expression. “I believe that life gives us moments of perfect opportunity. All we have to do is fight through the bad stuff so we see those good ones.”
She stared at him, then shook her head a little. “Then I guess you’d better hit me with the worst, because I think I’d really like to get a look at the best.”
In spite of what he was about to disclose, Remo smiled, and started to tell her he was a give-it-his-all type of guy, but the sound of someone clearing his throat halted him. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought their hiding place had been exposed. But when he turned—defense on the ready—he found a familiar face instead of an attacker. The man had his hands on a gurney that was stacked with supplies, and his expression was noticeably curious.
“New treatment technique, DeLuca?” the man asked.
Remo exhaled. “Kent. Your timing is impeccable.”
“Impeccably bad?” the doctor replied.
“You said it, not me,” Remo stated.
“I save real lives, not love lives,” Kent quipped, then stepped forward to hold his hand out to Celia. “Kent Fresh. I’m an actual doctor, in case you’re ever looking for an upgrade.”
A surge of unexpected possessiveness crept in, and it surprised Remo so much that he couldn’t come up with a quick, clever response. Thankfully, Celia was more on the ball. She gave the other man a brief handshake, but then let go and slid her fingers back to grab Remo’s—like it was an old habit more than a new venture—and she smiled up at Kent.
“I’ll remember that in case I ever get a particularly bad eye infection,” she said.
The doctor let out a loud laugh, then gestured to the gurney. “You wanna have a look? Make sure I got everything for your not-so-standard first aid kit?”
Remo pushed to his feet and stepped closer, eyeing each thing as his colleague pointed to it.
“Good dose of antibiotics and some painkillers,” said the other man. “Both pulled from her chart, so no need to worry about a contraindication. Heavy-duty bandages for that leg of hers. Everything you need for a good old-fashioned suturing. And of course, the discharge papers.” He lifted the paper-clipped stack and held it out. “Though in my humble, medical opinion, if you need all this crap, you probably could stand to stay in the hospital another night.”
Remo took the papers and gave Kent a look. “Funny. I don’t remember asking for your opinion to be added to my list.”
“Yeah, well. Sometimes these things are necessary, too.” As Kent said it, genuine concern played over his features, and Remo sighed.
“You know my work ethic,” he stated. “I wouldn’t endanger a patient’s life.”
The other man’s eyebrows went up, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking. Sure. But I don’t think you’d normally be holding a “patient’s” hand, either, so maybe all bets are off?
He said nothing aloud, though, so Remo just offered him a nod. “I appreciate the help, Kent.”
The doctor reached out his hand for a shake. “Just leave my name out of the police report when they come looking for you and your stowaway.”
Celia drew in an audible breath, and Remo knew the other man’s joke had struck a little too close to home. He moved closer and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and her fingers immediately closed overtop of his, squeezing tightly.
Remo addressed Kent, but his words were intended for Celia’s ears, as well. “Don’t worry. We’re far too slick to let the cops catch us.”
The other man laughed again. “All right. Say no more. I’d hate to be an accessory, and I have to get back to doing some actual doctoring. But try not to get in too much trouble.”
“Will do.”
Kent gave them a smile and a little salute, then turned up the hall. Remo waited until he was fully out of sight before releasing Celia’s shoulder and offering her his hand.
“We’ve reached our thirty minutes. Wanna do this now and hear more of my deep, dark secrets later?” he asked.
Her eyes flicked to the gurney. “Oldest trick, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay.”
He pulled her to her feet, locked the wheels on the gurney, then said, “Can I offer you a boost onto your chariot?”
She smiled. “How could I say no to that?”
He stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. But before he could lift her up, the overhead speakers crackled, and a too-calm voice came to life. Remo paused to listen.
“Attention staff,” said the voice. “We have a code black in area four. That’s a code black in area four. Commence code black protocol.”
The words made Remo’s feet stick to the floor, and it wasn’t until Celia spoke that he realized he’d frozen.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it something bad?”
Remo met her eyes. He wished he could lie just to protect her. But he had to tell her the truth.
“Code black,” he said grimly. “It’s a bomb threat. The hospital’s going on lockdown.”