Page 87 of Remy

I know.

I shouldn’t want to spend a minute more in his presence, but there’s still so many questions.

I unclasp my belt. “Will I see you again?”

He huffs a sardonic laugh. “You’ve asked me that before. The answer hasn’t changed.”

Not if you’re lucky.

The relief that takes over my chest feels different. Empty and cold. But it is relief. It has to be.

“You’re still going to continue to use our equipment, though, right?” I ask.

“Right.” He releases the steering wheel and inspects his palm. His own burns. The sacrifice he made for a stranger.

I want to see. To grab his wrist and drag his arm toward me so I can inspect the injury he received on my behalf.

Instead I return my hand to my lap and squeeze my fingers tight. “It’s not comforting to feel appreciation toward a man who’s forced you to do the worst?—”

“I’ve told you that the alternative was?—”

“I know.” I raise my voice slightly, cutting him off. “I’m not trying to cause an argument,” I say, softer. “I’m just…” I drag in a breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you, Remy. I have no idea what it cost you to fight for my life like you did, but I do appreciate it. More than I’m ever going to want you to know.”

He returns his hand to the steering wheel, his knuckles white from the tight grip.

It’s weird. Since the witching hour Saturday morning I’ve prayed to get away from this man. And now that the opportunity is here, I’m finding it hard to open the car door. “Will you tell me about this new guy? Is he actually going to do his job or is he merely there to?—”

“Wesley will do his job, and he’ll do it well. If he doesn’t, I’ll hear about it.”

“Just not from me,” I assume. “You and my father will continue to communicate behind my back.”

He doesn’t respond.

“What happens if I slip up? If I say something I shouldn’t, or get caught in a lie?”

Hard eyes meet mine. “You won’t.”

“But—

“You won’t.” He returns his attention to the street, his jaw ticking. “If there’s any chance of that happening, I have a responsibility to my family to turn this car around and take you back to Lorenzo.”

My insides squeeze. “Right. Understood. No messing up allowed.”

He sighs. “I don’t enjoy scaring you, Ollie. But I’d hate killing you even more.”

Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze.

“I get it.” I push open the car door. “I’d wish you all the best with your future endeavors but that seems highly unethical, so…” I shrug. “I guess I’ll just say goodbye.”

Dark eyes turn to mine, his expression stark. “Goodbye, Ollie.”

The finality stabs through me.

I swallow it down, grab my coat, and climb from the vehicle, not looking back in the fear my seesawing emotions will notch another confusing level of unhinged into my psyche.

I ignore the tingle up the back of my neck. The thoughts of Remy. The memory of his touch. Instead I focus on moving forward. On thinking about how my father might be feeling. On the importance of keeping my nose clean.

The frigid winter air chills my lungs as I finger-comb my hair one final time, then push through the front door of the funeral home.

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