Page 220 of Forever Never
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It was pandemonium at the docks when the Mackinac Marine Rescue and her flotilla of support boats returned. The crew and its occupants were treated to a hero’s welcome.
Remi’s dad ran down the dock and picked Darlene up, spinning her around. The kiss he laid on her made Remi realize the thong she’d found in their laundry actually got a workout.
Nothing and no one could convince Brick to put Remi down. So she let him carry her off the boat in his arms without too much fuss as Carlos Turk did the same with Camille, who was looking up at him like he was a fantasy hero come to life.
Her parents approached. Her mom wrapped the rescue blanket a little tighter around her shoulders. “Remi Honey, that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen someone do. You saved lives today, and I’ve never been prouder.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, fighting back another round of tears.
Darlene turned to Remi’s own personal hero. “Brick, you saved one of the most precious things in the world to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re fucking family. You always have been.”
By the time they made it home and finished recapping the highlights to everyone there, it was almost eleven in the morning. Brick carried Remi upstairs and kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. He proceeded to strip every article of clothing off her and kiss every inch of her body. After he finished his very thorough inspection, he made love to her until they were both limp and wasted on the sheets.
She woke hours later on her stomach, thirsty and hungry, with Brick’s hand possessively curling around her ass. Magnus snored on her right foot.
She managed to slip out of bed without disturbing either one. She pulled on one of Brick’s sweatshirts and limped downstairs feeling sore and happy.
The house was eerily quiet, and she found a note in Kimber’s handwriting in the kitchen.
At Mom and Dad’s for spontaneous celebratory picnic. Show up at 6. Be hungry! Love you!
Remi tucked the note into the pocket of the sweatshirt and took her water into the studio. Ducking under the police tape, she shuffled down the ramp into the room. There were tarps on the floor just inside the door, camouflaging the violence that had taken place there only hours earlier.
Bloodstains would need a scrubbing. Wounds would need time to heal. But for now, she’d focus on the good. She slipped around the tarps to her easel and stood back, taking it in.
The black of night with only the hint of stars was a bleed of black and blue at the top. It faded, getting murkier in the center with the purples and navies from the music. Two pale yellow circles cut through the dark. Headlights askew, highlighting the naked tree that had saved her life. The bottom of the canvas was a snowy white with shades of scarlet scraped and layered. Like bloody footprints walking away from the crime.
In the dead center, right through one of the headlights, was a perfect little hole. Vorhees had put his own mark on her painting by shooting a bullet right through it. Curious, Remi turned around and spotted a piece of tape on the wall marking another hole.
When she turned back, Brick was standing at the top of the ramp. Sweatpants slung indecently low on his hips, his chest bare. Hair standing up in tufts.
Her heart swelled in her chest.
He crooked his finger at her, and she shook her head, beckoning him.
His eyes narrowed at the challenge as he stalked toward her.
He ignored the tarps and barreled into her like a freight train. Bending at the waist, he tossed her over his shoulder.
“Wait!” she laughed. “Look at my painting.”
He whirled around, making her head spin and her stomach feel giddy.
He leaned in to examine it and grunted.
“He shot a hole in it,” she said, in case he’d missed the telltale circle.
“I see that,” he said dryly.
“I think I know what I’m going to do with it now.”
He grunted again and started for the ramp.
“The painting, I mean,” she said, trying to lever herself up.
But Brick merely landed a stinging slap on her ass.
