Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3) by T. Torrest Read Free Book Online Page A

bringing me right to the edge of the cliff, willing me to fall.
       I allowed the electric charges to overtake me, looking right into his face for as long as I could, until I came, unashamed, the tears slinking from my eyes and down my cheeks. It made a small smile appear across his gorgeous face as he quickened his pace to match the tremors cascading along my insides, finally growling into the air as his every muscle tensed and his movements stilled.
       He collapsed on top of my body, still joined with me, and rolled us to our sides , the both of us breathless. I thought it would be nice to stay like that for a few days, just lounge around with him inside me indefinitely, but I guessed it would’ve been kinda hard to do stuff like drive a car or go to the bathroom. But for now, it was nice.
       It was insane to think it had been so many years since we’d done this. At least I knew it wouldn’t be another fourteen years before the next time. How did we survive without each other all that time? We were always meant to be together. Always would be.
       Trip felt it, too. He was actually tearing up himself as he said, “My God, every time, it never fails. You happen to me all over again.” He swiped a palm across my cheek and added, “I never stopped loving you, Lay. You were always with me. Everywhere .”
     
     
     
    * * *
     
     
     
       We did a quick cleanup in his bathroom and got dressed again. My heart always broke a little whenever I had to watch Trip put his clothes back on. It was just such a crying shame.
       He grabbed my hand and led me around the hall, pointing out the framed pictures from his life. I may have been biased, but Trip was absolutely the most adorable little boy you’d ever want to see in your life. His hair was a much lighter shade of blond, and he looked like a filthy mess in most of the shots. Too freaking cute.
       I was laughing about that when I turned to see Trip staring at a framed portrait of his father. He had his hands jammed into his pockets and was shooting daggers at the image of the man whose life was being celebrated downstairs.
       “Trip?” I asked warily. He was wound too tightly, a mousetrap that could snap with the slightest provocation. I didn’t want to set him off.
       Too late.
       “Asshole!” he spat, throwing a fist at the wall next to his father’s head, denting the sheetrock. It wasn’t a satisfying jab, I guess, because he threw another punch, this one harder, cracking the wall. And then he took another. I stepped backwards as he continued thrashing the wall, eventually going for his real target, landing a punch against the man’s smiling jaw, splintering the glass. “Son of a bitch!” He ripped the picture fully off the wall and threw it to the ground.
       At that, his angry rage quickly turned to collapsed sobbing as he buried his face and elbows against the damaged wall, his arms wrapped over his head, his right hand a bloody mess. “I hate him so much .”
       I didn’t know the right way to console him, and I was hesitant to do so when he was in the middle of such a tirade. I decided to try out a rational angle when I said, “Trip. You don’t mean that.”
       He whirled on me then, his eyes chips of ice as he answered, “ Yes, I do! He died a long time ago, Lay.” He pointed to the ruined picture on the ground. “That man who was my father died years ago.”
       I am the poster ch ild for stubbornness during my anger, so I decided to let Trip have his. I smoothed some hair off of his forehead and kissed him there, soothing the raging beast. I slipped a hand down his arm and gripped his wrist, saying, “Okay. But let’s get you cleaned up, alright?”
       He looked down at his hand in confusion, as if the appendage attached to his body wasn’t his own, finally realizing that it was bleeding. I took him into the bathroom and ran his hand under the water, picking out the occasional shard of glass imbedded in