Page 28 of Unraveling with You

CHAPTER 6

IT’S THE FIRST TIMEI’ve seen Remington’s eyebrow piercing in, now that we’re not meeting just to work out. The hardware adds a striking intensity to his dark eyes, stirring longing low in my belly.

Remington is decked in black: sleek pants belted with black, jingling chains and a silky button-up with the first two buttons open, baring more of his gorgeous, branching chest and neck tattoo than I’ve ever seen. But best of all, Remington’s grin feels ten times warmer now that I know it’s for me - for our first official date, in particular. With our tight, excited hug, I’m smiling wider than ever too.

“Would you like to hold hands?” Remington extends his palm for me.

My heart flips in giddy delight. I hold out my right hand, living purely in the moment. But I freeze; I almost gave Remington my injured hand.

I try to laugh off my awkward pause. “I’d love to, but can we switch sides?”

Remington smiles, raising the opposite eyebrow to his one lifted cheek. “Sure. Is your left hand better for some particular reason?”

I laugh. “Oh, no. I just got an injury on my other hand.”

Remington stops walking. “Oh, no, can I see? Was it from work?”

I hesitate; it’s absolutely not from work, and the visible finger marks on my hand and wrist prove it.

But I don’t want to hide the truth from sweet Rem. I cautiously raise my hand, allowing him to see. “Um, there's not much showing since I put makeup on it.”

At least, I thought there wasn’t. But even under the hazy streetlamp, the bruises still show a sickly teal beneath three layers of foundation.

Remington's eyes sharpen darker than when he chased Josh out of his own gym.

After a painfully silent second, Remington’s heated breath lowers his voice. “Who grabbed you hard enough to bruise?”

My shoulders raise. “I wanted to visit my mom since she’s not well, but my dad and I don't agree on how to take care of her.”

Remington stares at my hand, unblinking for what feels like ages. Then he grabs his hair, letting out a helpless sound. “No, Lilibeth, really?”

I hate seeing him so sad, and it’s all my fault.

I shrink, but Remington turns back to me with contorted eyebrows and a panicked stare. His voice comes out strained and quiet. “Oh, this issoawful. How often does he do this?”

“Not often - at least, not physically. It’s been many, many years, actually, but I think it changed because I– I was feeling braver lately, thanks to you- O-or, us. If there’s an us?”

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