Page 236 of Remy

I take the one with my name written on the front, my gaze casting over the man I admired, and even now, can’t find the will to condemn.

Ollie doesn’t say a word as I walk for the hall, her hard sniffs marking my path toward destruction.

It kills me to leave her.

I pause in the doorway and turn back to face the pale starkness of her beauty. “You know I love you, right?”

Her expression crumples, her lips trembling, eyes watering.

I fight to remain in place, waiting for her to forgive me, even if only slightly.

But she locks down the heartache, my pretty little Pyro clutching the unraveled threads of her composure to reel them back in. “Please, Remy, just leave.”

I would’ve preferred her anger. For her to scream and slap and shriek. Hell, I’d settle for her knocking me out and throwing me back in the retort. I’d even let her follow through with the cremation.

But this? The mature composure and brutal vulnerability?

It only makes me love her more.

I incline my head and force myself to walk away.

For her sake.

For Carlo’s.

I could’ve fabricated the truth and made up an excuse for the vial. But despite all the nails hammered into my conscience, I couldn’t stand bearing that one, too.

I’m responsible for her father’s death. Just like I was with Flynn’s.

I arranged the pento. I handed it over. And I believed Carlo when he promised he wouldn’t take the lethal dose until we both agreed it was time.

Son, I just want to have it here so I know you won’t back out of the agreement.

After all the lies he told his daughter, why did I think I’d be spared?

Lucy looks up to greet me from her seat on the top step of the external stairs. “Is she okay?” She pushes to her feet. “I heard raised voices.”

“She’s definitely not okay. You should go back inside and wait in the living room just in case she needs someone.”

She nods. “How are you holding up?”

I ignore the misery decimating my chest and slide Carlo’s envelope into my jacket pocket. “I’ll be good once I know you’re close by to help her.” I descend the stairs, skirt the building, and make my way through the unlocked front doors of the funeral home.

Voices carry down the hall, and I continue to the break room where two men turn from the coffee maker to greet me with forlorn expressions.

Stanley Flores, the older of the two and the replacement mortician Carlo hired, who stands beside John Welch, the taller, skinnier assistant.

“Mr. Costa.” Stanley places his mug on the counter and strides toward me, offering his hand. “I’m sorry we’re meeting again so soon.”

I clasp his palm and shake it numbly. “So am I.”

John strides forward and does the same, killing me with the menial gesture in the midst of devastation. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“As previously discussed with you and Carlo, we will give Olivia the time she needs to be with her father, then we’ll safely transport him downstairs and fulfill his wishes regarding his after-life care.” Stanley raises a brow. “Now, I know you’re well aware of what will happen moving forward, but has Olivia been brought up to speed on who will be preparing Carlo for the funeral?”

“No. And I don’t think she’s going to appreciate being kept out of it.”

---