Page 113 of The Sculptor

Remington stands there, a distinct frown on his face as he clips out, “What the fuck, Hal? How long were you going to keep me waiting?”

Halle steps back, letting him through. “You’re looking sharp, Mr. Potter,” she teases, deepening his frown.

“Stop. I can’t deal with all your happiness today.” He confidently pushes into the room as he heads straight for me, his eyes taking in my dress and flowers in my hand. “You look beautiful.” He clears his throat like the words felt awkward coming out of his mouth.

“You look right handsome yourself.” He’s all broad shoulders and man. Sometimes I still can’t believe this man is the baby Duke revived and placed in my arms as he demanded attention with his loud cry.

Duke’s and my nights are no longer filled with silence and screams.

Instead, this man fills them with laughter and sarcasm.

And the stench of smoke—but we’re working on that.

“So,” he says softly, “you ready to walk the green mile?”

Halle and I both burst out laughing.

“That is not what we’re doing,” I scold, setting down the flowers.

I walk up to my little boy and pull him into a hug. “But yes. I’m ready for you to walk me down the aisle.”

He tightens his hold. “You sure? I hear there’re snakes out there on the dock where he awaits. I think that’s a sign to get out while you can.”

Oh, this boy is Duke’s child, through and through.

“I think I’ll risk it,” I tell him, pulling back to look at those haunting brown eyes. “That strategy has been good to me.”

Remington seems to take a minute before placing a kiss on the top of my head and offering me his elbow. “As you wish.”

And then I let the boy I’ve dreamed of give me away to the man of my dreams.

Remington

One year later…

“I’m surprised you asked to see me. I thought you were headed off to college soon.”

I pull out a chair and sit, eyeing the expensive drinkware and linen tablecloths, and address the asshole in front of them. “I am,” I agree. “Next week.”

Langston smirks. “Seems like your life is going better than most nineteen-year-olds.”

The fact this man is still alive is a tragedy.

“I hope you didn’t think you needed to thank me personally.”

Ah, there it is. Exactly what I’ve been waiting for—an opening.

Grinning, I lean back in the chair and kick up my feet onto the table, sending the crystal dishes to the floor as I get comfortable in the middle of the crowded restaurant. “How could I not?” I ask, aghast, placing my hand over my chest. “You changed my life, Langford.”

By taking everyone I loved.

Langston narrows his eyes, casting a wary glance around us. “What do you really want?”

Such a loaded question.

I look up like I need a moment to really ponder the answer before meeting his gaze, letting all the rage and hate bleed into my words. “You know, Langford, a man once told me that a worthy adversary knows when to concede defeat.”

I lean down and slap the piece of paper in front of him and whisper, “You should have conceded, Langford.”

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