Mine (Real, #2)(50)

Fascinated, Mel and I watch him make his turn. He’s smiling, drinking in the attention. Then I see him stop where he always does and automatically look at my empty seat, and then his smile falters. He pauses for a moment, then cracks his neck and goes back to Riley and turns away from the crowd.

“Aww. I think he misses you too. He never goes to his corner like that.” Melanie sighs. “Brooke? Brooke?”

I’m crying into a pillow.

“Brookey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Brooke, what’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

I squeeze the couch pillow tighter and then wipe my eyes.

“Ugh! It’s rained more inches in my apartment than it has in the whole of Seattle,” I groan. Then I stand and get away. I go to the kitchen, get a napkin, and am patting my tears when I hear the scream from the public as a big thunk! is heard. I rush back over and peer into the screen, and a man is splattered on the canvas, facedown, Remington standing before him, feet braced apart, chest heaving, arms at his side. Like a conquering god of war. Who I desire with every aching molecule of my body. Who can have any woman in the world and might not just want me anymore, and I cannot fathom the way my heart will break if I’m to live the rest of my life without him.

“Riptide! Ladies and gentlemen! Your victor, undefeated this season, leading the championship in the number one spot! RRRRRIP-TIIIIIDE!”

My heart swells in my chest, and it throbs, and I grab the computer and turn it to me, see his arm is raised as he catches his breath. He’s not smiling tonight. He’s somber and panting, staring at a spot in the crowd as if he’s lost in his thoughts.

“I love you so much . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to make you love me this hard too,” I whisper, caressing his face on the screen.

“You’re going to be a daddy, Rem!” Melanie squeals. “Your baby momma loves you so much!”

Remington turns his head to the ringmaster, and, with a nod, the announcer calls up someone else. My stomach tangles when I realize he’s going to keep fighting.

Melanie answers the phone and I forget to tell her not to.

“Riley! What . . . oh, she’s fine. Really? Well no, actually, she’s also not doing good either.” I close my eyes and look at my phone as they start talking about how badly we’re doing. “Yes, yes, I told her he’s coming over. Right after the fight? All right, she’ll be happy.”

She hangs up. “Remington just finished the fight and he wanted to know if you were all right, and Riley wanted to know how you’re doing since Remington isn’t doing so well. He wants you to know they’ll be in town soon.”

The frustration of being bedridden is enormous, but this added frustration of wanting to see him just boils me over. I can’t stand thinking that he will be here in Seattle fighting and that I won’t watch him fight.

Suddenly I grab my cordless telephone and start dialing.

“What are you doing? Who are you calling?” Mel asks.

“Dr. Trudy please? Brooke Dumas,” I say, then cover the speaker. “Melanie, I don’t care if he doesn’t want to see me. I want to see him and I’m GOING to see him, period.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You need to get me into the Underground.”

? ? ?

“I’VE ALWAYS WANTED to dress like an old chick since I saw Mrs. Doubtfire,” Melanie says as she pulls out the wigs we ordered off the Internet.

“Mel, I won’t get out of that wheelchair—tell me again nothing will go wrong?”

“Dude, you cajoled permission from your doctor. It will be fine. Remy won’t even know you went. We’re young, Brooke! Hello? YOLO. You only live once.” She huffs resolutely and goes to try on her floral “old chickie” dress.

“But I told the doctor I was visiting my boyfriend at his place,” I remind her.

“That IS his place. The ring is Riptide’s lair. Plus, don’t underestimate the power of happiness. People heal better when they’re in their loved ones’ arms. The baby will love it, won’t you, you adorable little baby?” she coos stupidly down at my stomach.

Biting back a laugh, I shove her away, but she’s right, I’m pretty sure the baby will love it. Already I feel invigorated, and I don’t really think the baby has been having fun with me in my current sorry state. I am in love with a complicated man, and he makes me feel complicated feelings. I have run it over in my head a thousand times, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if he doesn’t want me there. I am going to go see my man. Period.

“What do you think?” I ask Melanie as I adjust my shoulder-length blond wig.

“Awesome. You look cheapish. Now let me paint you.” She smears a makeup cake on me while the prospect of seeing him makes my heart wham excitedly into my rib cage. “Mel, my pores are drowning.”

“Tut-tut! Hush! Now me.”

I eye myself in the mirror as she does her own face. “Okay, I look like a prostitute. They’re going to ask us how much we charge.”

“You ding-dong, we have to make you not look like you.”

“But you still look hotter! You’re a hot grandma—why can’t I be?”

“Because I’m the one who can still walk, and you’re the one in the chair.” She pushes me closer to the mirror and we look at ourselves in our floral dresses. Mel added a little cashmere sweater to hers and a flower to her gray-and-white wig, while my blond wig has an Alice-in-Wonderland black headband holding the hair in place.