Page 30 of The Sculptor

If this were before, I would respond that my morals are just as cloudy as his. He’s the one who holds me on that pedestal. But this isn’t then, and while I’d love nothing more than to feel the comforting weight of his body, I can’t. Because I really can make the screaming stop for both of us.

I just need time.

Tossing Duke’s shirt to the floor, I grin. “Do you want to sleep in your pants?”

“Are you gonna take them off for me if I say no?”

Do not smile. Do. Not. Smile.

“No, but fair warning, I don’t sleep with pants on either.” I push down my leggings, keeping my eyes on Duke, as he watches intently as I step out of his legs and crawl into the bed.

Taking the extra pillow he won’t use and tossing it on the floor, I snuggle down into the crisp sheets and extend my hand invitingly. “Tonight, we’ll rest.”

Duke ignores my outstretched hand, and without warning, rolls me over and throws his arm and leg over me, pinning my back to his front. “Tonight, we’ll rest,” he agrees, his lips finding the soft skin of my neck. “And tomorrow, we’ll lie.”

Duke

Someone is staring at me.

But it feels judgmental.

“I’ve been told to ask if you are a toddler or a surgeon, but considering I was instructed to bring electrolytes and pain relievers, I think we all know the answer to that question.”

Groaning, I pull the sheet over my head. I recognize that voice, and it isn’t Ramsey’s. “Go home, Remington.”

“You see, I would love to go home. Better yet, I would love to spend my weekend not doing Vance a favor and checking up on his little brother, but I can’t, since big bro loves to throw around threats when it comes to not getting his way.”

Rolling over, I bury my face in Ramsey’s pillow and ignore the rest of what Remington says. I don’t care what my brother threatened him into doing; all I care about is how long Ramsey has been gone. How long did she lie next to me, soothing my soul? Hours? Minutes?

All I know is that it was long enough to keep her promise.

She stopped the screaming.

And I was able to rest while holding her, knowing she was safe in my arms. For the first time in years, I felt at peace.

“…and here I thought I had seen you at your worst.” Remington is still talking, but thankfully, I miss most of his rant when I sit up and blink several times, trying to clear the blurry image of Remington from my vision. “What are you really doing here?” I ask.

It’s not uncommon for my brother to grow nosy, mainly where Ramsey is concerned, but why now? I would be home later tonight, anyway. His sending Remington—even knowing where I am—is a little aggressive, even for Vance.

“Well, apparently, I’m here to witness what happens to a man who lets pussy rule his brain,” he pops back from the chair pulled next to the bed.

“Pussy doesn’t rule me.” I don’t owe Remington an explanation, but for some reason, I don’t want him assuming my relationship with Ramsey is trivial, either.

Remington’s lips tip up at the corner. “Are you sure?” He points at my chest. “Because that looks like you let someone get carried away with the hotel’s pen. Don’t tell me you were trying to bag a virgin.” He makes a tsking noise. “I would have thought you knew this already, but you’re a surgeon, Dr. Douche. You don’t have to work that hard to score. The women will come to you willingly. You don’t need to be a pussy and let them play third-grade art class on your chest. What is that even supposed to be?” He drags his finger through the ink on my skin. “A fucking heart?”

Throwing his head back, he lets out a boisterous laugh before pulling out his phone and snapping a picture. “Wait until your brother sees this shit. He already had me make you an appointment with the therapist this week.” He laughs again. “Now, he’ll want to offer up his slot, too. A fucking heart…”

Remington stands and walks through the room, yanking the curtains open as he goes. “I’m supposed to shout, ‘What in the colossal fuck are you doing here, Duke?’” He turns back and grins. “And then drag you out of here—which I’m eager to do, but I’d rather you not puke on me, so… Get dressed, Romeo. We’re fucking leaving. Believe it or not, the rest of us would like a weekend where we’re not trying to keep you from pulling your dick out and scaring the congressman’s fiancée.”

I level a gaze at my brother’s assistant. “Tell your boss I’m capable of getting home on my own.”

Still looking out at the city, Remington nods. “I could, but where would be the fun in that? Besides, it’s not Vance who’s worried about you getting home safe.”

I cock my head to the side, waiting for him to elaborate. Though, I don’t know why. I already know the reason he’s here.

“Next time, try not to cry in front of your forbidden lover, who was so worried that she texted your brother and asked him to look after you.” He chuckles. “I can’t believe you cried in front of a woman.”

“I didn’t cry.”

---