Page 246 of Remy

I sigh and return my attention to the podium despite the ache it brings.

“He had a way of turning things around,” Ollie says with heartfelt poise. “He helped those who grieved to celebrate a life instead of focusing on their loss.” This time when she raises her gaze, she stares at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “He always seemed to find the light in the dark. In situations, as well as in people.”

Jesus Christ.

She’s talking about me.

“He tended to be conservative, but at times he liked to mix things up with a radical decision or two. He was fun, yet professional to a fault. And he loved with all of his heart. Always.” She dabs her nose with a tissue. “My mother once claimed my father was the epitome of devotion and selfless sacrifice. Actually, it was a lecture she gave early one Saturday morning,” Ollie continues in a lighter tone. “All I’d wanted to do was watch television but Mom kept nagging me to pick up the dirty clothes I’d left lying around. She told me Dad deserved a clean home after the long hours he’d worked all week. Then she went on to relay an extensive list of all the recent sacrifices he’d made.”

She sniffs. “I wish I could remember even one of the sacrifices she mentioned, but in my defense, I was twelve, and the new season of Brooklyn Nine-Nine had been released, and anything outside of watching that show was static I didn’t want to hear.”

Abri chuckles, along with numerous other attendants throughout the room.

“But I get it now.” Ollie pauses, dragging in a shaky breath before letting it out slowly. “It took my father’s death for me to scrutinize his actions and find the multitude of sacrificial gems he left behind.” Her shoulders curl and she wraps her arms around her waist, tormenting me with the distance between us. “I wish I could thank him for being my father, my mentor, and my greatest inspiration. And one day, I know I will. But until then—” She sucks in a sharp breath. “—take care, Dad, and give Mom a hug for me.”

“Damn,” Salvatore groans. “That was rough.”

“Fucking brutal,” Matthew adds.

“She’s a strong woman.” Abri’s voice is barely audible as Ollie leaves center stage to reclaim her seat.

There’s a moment of reflection where a fucking torturous a cappella version of “Hallelujah” fills the room while a montage of images are plastered onto an overhead screen above the podium. Ones of Carlo. Of him and Ollie. Then him with his wife. There are group photos. Those with what I assume are friends or colleagues.

Then the breath gets punched from my lungs when an image of me flicks on screen. One that must’ve been taken at Berkeley Springs without my knowledge.

We stand side by side on the deck of the vacation house, Carlo’s hand on my shoulder, his fatherly eyes staring back at me.

It was when he’d asked me about my interest in Ollie.

Fuck.

I lower my gaze and pinch the bridge of my nose.

Goddamn you, Ollie.

Why include me? Why make me a part of this when it must have hurt her to acknowledge any role I’ve played in her father’s life?

I keep my focus on the floor for the remainder of the song. I don’t raise it for the entire conclusion of the ceremony. Not even when guests pass to exit the chapel.

I’m done.

Cooked.

Fucking fried.

Matthew leans close. “Do you remember when we were little and you wanted to ride your bike over the dirt jumps me and Salvo built in the back field, but it was already past your bedtime and Dad told you no?”

I raise my gaze with a scowl. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do you also remember how you did it anyway and bit the dust so hard you got a concussion and your face looked like a mangled piece of day-old meat?”

I scowl harder. “Yes, Matthew, I remember. Why the fuck are you asking?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Was just thinking about it. It’s a great memory.”

Salvo, Bishop, and Abri chuckle. The rest of the entourage smirk.

“Get the fuck outta here.” I jut my chin at the door. “Mom should’ve swallowed you.”

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