Page 51 of Remy

No need to worry about me.

I’m convinced hospital coffee is just dirt and hot water.

Only a few more tests to run.

There’s no elaboration on what the tests are or how he’s feeling. He’s in full-blown avoidance mode. I’ll wear him down, though. I just need to talk to him alone.

God, we have so much to figure out.

It isn’t until after lunch that the mortuary door opens and Remy invites himself in to dump a filled coffee mug and a granola bar on the stainless-steel tool tray beside me.

I ignore the peace offering, at least until he leaves the room and my grumbling stomach convinces me that succumbing to his bribe is far better than being violently hangry after I refused to eat the breakfast he bought this morning.

More hours pass. The anxiety roller coaster continues.

I’m sterilizing my preparation bench after finishing Amisha and her daughter’s embalming when I hear something over the music humming from my cell playlist.

I pause. Cock my head.

It’s faint. Barely a murmur of Remy’s voice. But I’ve heard that all day. I even eavesdropped on a call he made earlier to Russo—the interloper from the bar—until I grew exhausted trying to decipher his deceptive lingo.

I continue busying myself with a deep clean of my instruments in the sink and zone out, watching the water cascading over the stainless steel, my heart heavy, my limbs tired.

I need sleep. Food. Maybe a lobotomy. Not necessarily in that order.

Ten minutes later, the prep room door opens again and Remy strides in to grab my cell from the counter, silencing Billie Eilish mid chorus.

“Obviously you didn’t hear me earlier.” He returns the device to the counter. “Your dad is here. I just finished settling him upstairs.”

I dump my tools in the sink, quickly wrench the faucet, then yank off my protective gear and rush for the hall.

“Choose your words wisely when speaking to him,” Remy warns, following me to the outside stairs leading to my father’s home on the second floor. “It’s best not to give him details on what happened last night.”

I pause on the third step. “Why?”

“Because this situation can’t handle any more complications.”

I slowly turn, needing to see what he means. What he’s hiding.

He peers up at me from the cement path, his expression giving nothing away. “Like your father mentioned at the hospital, he requires my family’s money for his treatment.” He grabs the handrail and takes a predatory step. “You wouldn’t want to risk messing that up, would you?”

I hear the threat for what it is.

But it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and I’m already becoming burned out from intimidation.

“Your game plan can’t be to keep threatening me forever, Remy. It’s unsustainable.”

He encroaches another step, suffocating my personal space for a moment of intense eye contact that has my mouth drying. “Have more faith in me.”

God, I want to gouge his gorgeous face.

“How this proceeds is entirely up to you.” He continues upward, nudging around me. “If you’re sick of threats then come to terms with the arrangement and keep your pretty mouth shut.”

Fire consumes my chest, the fury heating my eyes.

I may have withheld my tears of sorrow for years, but holding back those of violent rage might break me.

His footfalls continue up the staircase, each thud a hearty punch through my insides.

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