Page 35 of Hale Damage
“So do we know anyone by that name?”
“Uhhhh.” She rolls her eyes upward before snapping her fingers and pointing at me. “Wait, wasn’t he the dude we had to do that chemistry project with during junior year of high school?”
“The one who tried to sniff the Bunsen burner and singed his eyebrows?”
“Yes, he was so fu—stinking weird,” she says, flitting her eyes at her mom as she corrects herself.
“I thought his name was Remo, not Remi.”
“Huh. I think you’re right.” Caroline tilts her head to the side inthought. “Who was that girl in your culinary school who didn’t like chocolate? Wasn’t her name Remi?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I think it was, but why do I have her number in my phone? I don’t think we ever spoke two words to each other.”
“With good reason,” my friend says vehemently. “I don’t trust anyone that doesn’t like chocolate. She’s obviously a psycho. Just delete it. You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life.”
My thumb hovers over the delete button, but something niggles in my brain, telling me it’s important for some reason. So I simply turn off the device and stuff it back into my pocket.
Weariness from the past month of my mother being in a hospice facility takes over, and I sway in place. Caroline grips my arm to steady me.
“Hey, it’s been a long day. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”
I nod. “I think I’ll stay here in my old room tonight.”
My friend’s lips curve up into a sad smile. “Want me to stay with you? We can have a sleepover like when we were kids.”
Tears fill my eyes. I don’t think I could even dream up a better friend than Caroline Wright.
“I’d love that. Thank you.”
And tomorrow I’ll try to find a way to navigate this life without my mother.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ink and reminders
Remington
I burymy nose in her hair and inhale, taking in the sweet scent of her. She lets out a little whimper and then… barfs on my shirt.
“Shit, sorry,” Phoenix says, trying to take his daughter from my arms, but I switch my niece to the other shoulder and scowl at him.
“It’s just a little spit up,” I protest, rubbing soothing circles around her tiny back. “Hand me that burp rag.”
My brother tosses the pink cloth toward me, and I catch it before swiping away the white, smelly liquid from her lips and my shirt. Then I kiss her silky curls.
“It’s okay, isn’t it, baby girl? You’re the only lady that could get away with yakking on Uncle Remi.”
She makes the goddamn cutest noise I’ve ever heard and rubs her button nose against me. Reece Annette Hale, my absolute favorite human on the planet. My heart literally aches every time I hold her.
“You want me to toss that in the laundry?” Phoenix asks tentatively.
I learned the first week Reece was home that she likes spitting up on her uncle, so I wear a plain, soft tee when I come to visit instead of one of my expensive dry-clean-only shirts. Not that it matters to me. The kid could puke on my entire wardrobe, and I wouldn’t bat an eye.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, handing over the baby long enough to strip off my shirt. We trade, and I cuddle the little one to my bare torso. She settles easily, and I gently stroke the little fist balled up against my chest. Her skin is so soft, and her sleepy breaths dust across my skin.
I close my eyes, content to simply sit here and be her human pillow. Reece is a little over a month old, and the entire family is obsessed with our little princess.
My lids pop open when Phoenix asks, “What happened to your side?”
