The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (49)

“Remy—” she calls, clearly concerned by my climbing while wearing Izzy, but I know with one-hundred-percent confidence that this moment will be worth her temporary freak-out. I’m also a pro at this rock from back in my wild childhood days. My brothers and I utilized it often for sneak attacks on one another.

“It’s fine,” I call back, being careful with my foot and hand work as I pick my way to the top. Izzy coos a little in the carrier at my chest, having just woken up and enjoying the ride. “I promise. She’s liking it!”

“Remy, she’s six weeks old. She’d probably like razor blades and needles if I let her!”

I laugh at that; I can’t help it. Maria has always been funny, but I’m pretty sure she’s gotten even funnier with age.

“You’re right, Ri. We’d better be careful,” I call down as I climb. “Forget preschools. Let’s start looking for a good toddler rehab.”

“I don’t appreciate your jokes right now, Remington Winslow.”

“Oh wow,” I whisper down at Izzy. “She must be serious. She’s using her mom voice.”

“I can’t hear what you’re saying, but I just want you to know I can tell you’re talking about me.”

I laugh and turn around carefully to wink down at Maria. “I was just telling her how beautiful you are.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

I pretend to cover Izzy’s ears as I make it to the top and turn around dramatically. “Language, Maria. There are little ears here.”

“I hope your dry cleaner is good with blood.”

I chuckle as I grab my phone out of my jeans pocket and search until I find what I’m looking for.

“Remington Winslow, get your ass down here!” Maria calls toward us, but I’m already working to unbuckle Izzy from the carrier.

I turn her in my arms to swing her slightly as she fusses a little. I give her nose a quick brush of mine that makes her relax, and then I turn and present her to all of Central Park Prideland. As planned, the music from The Lion King crashes into full volume from the speaker of my phone, and I fall into my stance with pride.

“An heir!” I yell into the distance so loud that strangers start to turn and look.

Maria’s face turns beet red in an instant, but there’s a subtle smile there too as she buries her face into her hands.

Of course, that reaction only makes me yell louder. “An heir has been born!”

And Izzy is my ride-or-die, stretching her little neck like she’s watched this movie before.

A couple of passersby amused by our display stop and even bow down to the new Queen of Pride Rock. “Congratulations!” one exclaims. “She’s gorgeous!”

“Lord help me, you’re crazy!” Maria shouts up toward us, her embarrassment receding and giving way to the kind of genuine smile I was going for. She plays it cool, though, just to keep me on my toes. “And where are Scar and the hyenas when you need them?”

“You wish harm on poor Simba?” I call, tucking Izzy to my chest and covering her ears dramatically.

“No, no. Just Mufasa. The big, cocky prick.”

A couple of straggling strangers laugh at that, and a smile spreads from one corner of my mouth to the other.

“Can you come down here now?” Maria requests with a stubborn hand to her hip. “Or do I have to call your mother?”

I laugh. “Wendy would be thrilled to hear from you.”

“You know, I think a couple of decades hanging out with your brothers has really had an effect on you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms with a nod. “Baboons tend to breed more baboons. Just ask Rafiki.”

“Was Rafiki a baboon?” I find myself asking, and Maria rolls her eyes.

“How about you come back down here, and I’ll tell you.”

I smirk, satisfied with the awakening of Maria’s humor that my little stunt has caused. That was the goal. To cut through the exhaustion with fresh air and antics and remind Maria that she’s human. That even when she’s feeling like she’s trapped at the bottom of a deep well of darkness and unknowns and unexpected motherhood, the breath of fresh air she’s looking for is just a short walk away.

God, it’s good to see her again.

When I don’t move, Maria tosses out both of her hands in front of her and eyes me with a squint. “Remy? What are you doing?”

“Just trying to decide if I should come back down. Does trouble await me at the bottom?”

“You know, I almost forgot how freaking ridiculous you are.” Her smile is so big it clones itself, jumps onto the rock beneath my feet, rolls up through my toes, and reveals itself on my own face.

“What’s the verdict? Am I in trouble?”

“Only the good kind, you lunatic.”

Only the good kind.

Man oh man, do those words give me déjà vu.





Twenty-Eight Years Ago…

Junior year, early October

Remy

“It’s going to be okay, babe,” I tell Maria as we walk out of her doctor’s office.

She’s about four steps ahead of me, and my words make her stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turn around to meet my eyes.