Apparently, you are this woman.
My life is an absolute dumpster fire, and this news just added gasoline to the already blazing flames. If I’m seven or eight weeks pregnant, that would mean…that you and Flynn literally consummated your marriage in Vegas.
“Daisy, are you there?”
“How do you know for sure?” I blurt out and begin to pace the small space in front of my hotel bed. “I mean, if the lab results got all screwed up, how do you know that I’m really pregnant? Maybe it’s another one of your patient’s labs. Maybe I got a pregnant woman’s HCG result mixed with my labs! Maybe you’ve called the wrong woman!”
Or maybe, you’re the pregnant woman, you no-period-having, missed-birth-control-shot lunatic.
“I can assure you, it’s your results,” Dr. Fields responds, and her voice is surprisingly calm for handling a raging psycho. “And while HCG levels are a definitive test, Daisy,” she continues, but I’m already done with the conversation, “I want you to follow up with an OB-GYN in the city. Her name is Dr. Marissa Summers. She’s really—”
“I have to go!” I cut her off and don’t wait for her response.
Instead, I shut my phone off and throw it onto the bed, grab my purse, and head right back out my hotel room door in search of the nearest Walgreens or CVS or whatever the hell place is open this late and has pregnancy tests.
No way I’m pregnant. Obviously, they’ve made a mistake…right?
Flynn
The peace and quiet that usually come with stepping into my apartment don’t give me the relief they normally do.
Instead of feeling relaxed, I feel as if I’m about to crawl out of my fucking skin.
I can’t deny that I was hopeful Daisy would’ve somehow ended up back here. That she would’ve changed her mind and I would’ve found her sitting on the couch.
But she’s not. Daisy is… gone.
And you didn’t do a damn thing to stop her, you dense motherfucker.
In the kitchen, I tug the fridge door open with a harsh pull of my wrist and grab a beer. But I barely have the top popped off and the bottle to my lips when several pounding knocks echo into the otherwise silence of my apartment.
My heart races with anticipation, and I don’t waste any time striding into the entryway and yanking the door open.
But the one person I want to be on the other side isn’t there.
“That was quite the show back there,” Rem says by way of greeting, and I furrow my brow in question. “You know, in the street, with you and Daisy.”
I stare at him, and he takes it upon himself to step inside my apartment and shut the door with a kick of his boot.
“You motherfucker, you lied to me. You lied to everyone.”
Normally, I might feel angered by his aggressive approach, but I’m all tapped out. After I watch Daisy walk away, my entire body feels numb, and my mind is thriving off the kind of emotion a man like me purposefully avoids.
“You know, I knew it was all so ridiculous. I fucking knew something was off with the whole situation.” He walks into my kitchen and grabs himself a beer. “I expected something like this from Ty, but not from you.”
I have nothing to say to that. Don’t care to say anything to it, actually.
Because your concern right now isn’t about Rem or your family. It’s about her.
“How in the fuck did you end up marrying a random stranger to help her get a green card?”
Damn, he really did hear the whole blowout in the street.
“I know your usual MO isn’t to say shit, but you’re going to have to ante up an explanation, my man. And I promise, I’m not leaving until you do.”
“You know her.” Those are the first words that have come out of my mouth since he barged in here on a rampage and started making himself at home.
“What?”
“You met Daisy. In Vegas.”
He stares at me like I have two heads, and I use that time to take several needed gulps from the beer that’s still in my hand.
“What do you mean, I know—” He pauses midsentence, and I can see the wheels turning inside his mind. “Wait…she’s not the chick Ty gave money to at the slot, is she?”
I nod. Bingo, brother.
“What the hell?” he questions, but it’s more to himself than to me. “Damn, I knew she looked familiar.”
Yeah, well, now you know why.
“For fuck’s sake, Flynn,” he mutters and runs a hand through his hair. “How did you get dragged into a fake marriage?”
The fact that he’d even insinuate a woman like Daisy would drag me into anything makes my spine prickle with irritation. A woman like her doesn’t drag a man into any-fucking-thing. A woman like her makes it impossible not to come willingly.
“I didn’t get dragged into it,” I answer firmly. “I offered.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
I shake my head.
“You offered to be get married to a complete fucking stranger?” A sharp laugh escapes his throat. “This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”
The truth is, I think I fell in love with Daisy the first moment I saw her. Some part of me offered to save her because, deep down, I knew she’d save me.
The realization is so acute, so visceral, that I lose my grip on the beer in my hand, and it crashes to the floor in a bubbling mess of broken glass and booze. But all I can do is stand there and watch the beer make a river on my hardwood floors.
Rem looks from the floor to me and back to the floor until, eventually, his gaze locks on my face.
“Oh no,” he says. “I’m…such a fucking idiot,” he says quietly and sets his beer down on my coffee table. “I know that look. I’ve felt that look. You love her. You’re in love with her.”
I don’t deny it. I don’t even stay silent or just offer a nod. I face the truth head on.
“Yeah, Rem. I love her.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “I just came blazing in here, all fixated on the fact that you were lying to me, but I didn’t stop to think about what was actually going on with you. I’m a real fucking bastard.”
I nod. He chuckles, but it’s devoid of amusement.
“I didn’t plan on it,” I admit. “When Daisy and I made the pact, I didn’t plan on it ending like this.”
“Yeah, well, that’s usually how it goes. I mean, when I asked Charlotte to marry me, I didn’t plan on it ending with her leaving me at the altar. But love is a real motherfucker.”
And that right there, seeing what Rem went through, still goes through because of it, is exactly why you’ve stupidly tried to avoid it this whole time.
My mind drifts to the distant past, and I think about the night of Rem’s bachelor party when all four of us Winslow brothers were young and had our whole lives ahead of us.
I think about how excited Remy was and how ridiculous Jude and Ty were.
I even think about the stupid fortune-teller that Jude made us all go to after a stripper had all but torn Rem’s boxer briefs to shreds with her stiletto.
You mean the fortune-teller who correctly predicted Rem getting left at the altar? And the same one who also correctly predicted Jude would make a bet that would change his life?