Chapter 2 The Worst Time to Meet Again
One second, everything was perfect. Remy Pelletier was about to debut his photograph collection at a prestigious Paris gallery—his breakthrough, his future, his proof that the struggle meant something.
But, in the next second, everything went up in flames... literally.
And just like that, a day that was supposed to bring him joy brought him immeasurable sorrow.
The fire not only took his photograph collection; it took with it his healthy father, leaving his mother scorched.
Barely making it out alive with only a few bruises, Remy found himself sitting hopelessly in the sterile hospital hallway, the smell of bleach and antiseptics threatening to numb his nostrils.
"Mr. Pelletier?" A doctor emerged from the ER, gloves stained, voice steady—but not comforting enough.
Remy sprang to his feet, staggering slightly as his vision blurred instantly. But he forced his eyes to focus on the older man in front of him, his heart racing for whatever else he was about to receive.
"How is she, Doctor? How is my mother?" he asked in his most urgent voice, his amber eyes moistened with unscheduled tears.
The doctor softly cleared his throat. "Mr. Pelletier... your mother is out of harm's way. However, her condition remains very critical."
Remy's heart sank into his stomach, beads of sweat forming along his forehead.
"Critical? How critical? Is she going to die?" he asked, his voice breaking.
The doctor furrowed his brows. "I cannot give a definite answer to your question. Your mother encountered severe burns and smoke inhalation, which require the ICU and multiple skin graft surgeries. Only when we do our best can I have an answer to your question, Mr. Pelletier," he said, his tone serious.
Remy stood still for a while, his mind going blank for just a moment.
Everything the doctor had just listed required a choking sum of money... money he did not have.
How was he supposed to save his only surviving family?
"Yes, thank you, Nurse Amelia," the doctor said, drawing Remy out of his thoughts.
Remy blinked and realized that a short woman was standing in front of him with a white document.
"Here you go, Mr. Pelletier. Also, my deepest condolences about your father." Nurse Amelia handed Remy the document and walked away.
"That is your bill, Mr. Pelletier. Help us to help your mother. Best of luck," the doctor said and left.
Remy stood there, drenched in blood and sweat.
The hallway lights cast his slouched shadow in front of him, the bill hanging loosely from his fingers.
He hadn't looked at it.
Couldn't.
For he knew that what he would see would rip the rug from right under his feet.
His tears mixed with his sweat and dropped onto the sterile floor as he replayed the day's events in his mind.
If he hadn't stepped out to take a call, he would have ended up like his mother... or, worse... his father.
With a shaky breath, he lifted his trembling hand, bringing the document to his face.
He skipped the whole write-up and found the total at the bottom of the white paper.
A choked gasp escaped his lips as the figure glared right back at him, threatening to pull him to the ground.
"One—one hundred and fifty thousand?" he stammered, his lips trembling.
How?
How was he ever going to raise such money?
He was an artist, not a freaking magician!
He lifted his head and brought his tear-obstructed vision to the ER entrance, wishing a miracle for his poor mother.
With a drowning heart, he turned away, dragging his feet along the hallway.
He had absolutely no way in mind to raise that enormous amount for the hospital bill.
No arts, no drawings... even if he still had his collections, a thousand of them wouldn't even be a quarter of the bill.
He felt doomed and guilty.
If he hadn't asked his parents to come for his debut, they would've still been alive and fine.
Now, he couldn't even save his mother's life.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him, blocking his path.
Slowly, he lifted his head, ready to mutter his excuse and take another path.
However, the moment his eyes met those ever-so-striking blue eyes staring at him from under a baseball hat, his breath hitched in his throat and the air seemed to still around them.
The bill slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a faint flap that sounded louder than it should have.
"J-Jaxon?" Remy stuttered, his legs rooted.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
Once, the boy who sat four rows from him in Art History; now, the star of the Boston Bruins.
His heart was almost jumping out through his throat.
Jaxon's eyes narrowed as he took in Remy's disheveled, bloodied form.
Something must have happened to land him in the ER.
"Hello, Remy," Jaxon greeted calmly, holding Remy's gaze as he easily picked the bill from the floor.
"N-no, don't look at that—"
"A hundred and fifty thousand? What happened?" Jaxon asked, lifting his eyes from the bill.
Remy looked away, willing his tears back.
"Just give it back, and I'll be on my way." He reached out to take the bill. Instead, he felt Jaxon's large hand close around his wrist.
"Let me help you," Jaxon said lowly, lowering Remy's hand.
Remy frowned, obviously perplexed.
He searched Jaxon's eyes, checking to see any mockery or unseriousness.
"No, thank you," he said and snatched the bill from Jaxon, sliding past him.
If he was going to get help from anyone, it shouldn't be Jaxon Thorne.
"I'll pay right now," Jaxon's voice halted Remy's steps.
His fingers curled tightly into his palms, his pride and conscience colliding brutally.
"I'll pay right now, Remy..." Jaxon's voice echoed lowly right behind Remy, "let me save your special someone."
That struck the right chord because Remy's body turned, facing Jaxon with vulnerable eyes.
His mother's life was on the line; walking away from help because of the helper would make absolutely no sense.
"Why?" he whispered.
"I'll tell you... after I pay?" Jaxon said and gently took the bill from Remy's hand, walking off.
A few hours later...
Remy sat alone in Jaxon's car, his head lowered.
The AC was blasting against his face, yet he felt hotter than the sun.
His mother's bills had been cleared, and his mind was supposed to be at rest.
Yet, he couldn't stop questioning himself...
'What have I gotten myself into?'
Suddenly, Jaxon pulled the car door open and Remy's back pressed harder against the backrest, his fingers curling into his palms.
Jaxon's door closed with a soft click, locking just the two of them in the tension-filled car.
Remy felt it when Jaxon's gaze landed on him; still, he couldn't bring himself to lift his head.
"Remy..." Jaxon's deep voice reverberated around Remy, vibrating his very core.
"Tell me now, Jaxon. What is so important that you offered to pay my hideous bill?" Remy questioned quietly, tapping his thumb on his thigh.
"Be my boyfriend," Jaxon finally said.
"What?" Remy's head snapped up in a flash, his eyes studying Jaxon with undissolved shock.
"Be my boyfriend, Remy," Jaxon repeated huskily.
This was just the beginning of something that could either make them... or break them.
