My eyes lifted to his. Even bruised up and swollen, he was still looking at me like I was something precious. That made my chest ache even more. He was risking so much for me. I wasn't sure if I deserved it.
"You shouldn't have done this," I murmured dabbing gently at the corner of his mouth.
"And let him keep scaring you?" He shook his head slightly. "Nah."
Silence settled between us again, soft but heavy. I dabbed on a little ointment on his lip then squatted down to inspect his ribs. My touch was feather soft as I touched it gently. "Do you think they're broken?" I asked softly.
"No. I'm sure it looks worse than it is," he answered quietly. "I used to play sports in high school. I've had worst injuries."
I lifted my gaze to him fighting back tears.
"Don't." He cupped my face in his. "I'm okay, beautiful," he reassured me gently.
Sniffling I nodded.
"C'mere. Let me show you how okay I am." He pulled me up gently prompting me to sit on his lap.
"Babe—" I resisted.
"Don't fuss, I can handle it."
Slowly I straddled him, my arms resting softly on his shoulders.
He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms loosely around my waist. "See. Your man can still handle all this thickness, injured and all," he smiled.
"Shut up." I fought back a smile. "I feel horrible for all this."
"I know," Remy exhaled slowly. "But you didn't tell me go over there. I did that willingly and would do it again even if it got worse." He stared into my eyes. "We're in this together, right? Ain't that what I said?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"And I meant that." His hold tightened around me. "Now kiss my war wounds so I at least feel a little bit better," he teased.
With a light chuckle, I cupped his face in my hands tenderly and gently kissed all over it, my lips pressing against his last. No tongue. Just our warm lips pressed against each other as we breathed each other in.
When we pulled apart, I felt slightly better. "Can I feed you?" I asked.
He smiled slowly. "You wanna cook for me?"
"Yeah." I nodded "I'm not Chef Remy, but I can make a pretty good breakfast."
He chuckled. "Okay, baby."
We went to the kitchen. I grabbed bacon and eggs out the fridge and frozen potatoes. Remy sat down and placed a quickcall to his parents to check in. His voice was as calm and even as it always was not hinting at the slightest at what was going on.
When he got off the phone I turned towards him. "Your parents are going to hate me."
"They won't, babe."
I didn’t believe him. Things were still unsettled after the restaurant fiasco. This would certainly push things over the edge. I stayed silent as I cooked while Remy checked in with his managers, shifting right into his other role effortlessly.
Watching him do that made my guilt rise even higher. No matter what was happening around him, people still depended on him.
His son.
His family.
His business.
