Page 94 of Remy

Then there’s Dad, who has Monday rostered as another leave day, which I can only assume means more chemo. It makes perfect sense for me to take over his responsibilities to give him headspace to focus on recovery.

I’m the one Remy needs to liaise with.

I’m the paranoid perfectionist who can make sure we don’t all end up with a relentless fear of dropping the soap in the shower.

I want to be on the inside. No, I have to be.

And if that means I have to steal my father’s cell to get Remy’s contact details, so be it.

It’s not like he’d hand over the murderer’s number if I asked when he won’t even disclose his health status.

“Thankfully he hasn’t changed his cell password in more than a decade,” I murmur as I hose down my workstation. I just need to hope like hell I don’t get caught because adding to my father’s worries isn’t an option.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Allison’s voice carries from the hall.

I ignore it, ignore her, my friendship score card receiving a one-star rating for how deplorably I’ve acted this week.

I pray she ignores me too. There’s only a few hours until the workday is over and then I can spend the entire weekend coming up with a foolproof plan to rewrite the train wreck of my life.

But the universe gives me the bird as Allison sneaks into my prep room and gently closes the door behind her.

“Hey.” She levels me with a sad smile.

“Hey.” I keep hosing, trying to pull off nonchalance that probably looks more like psychotic awkwardness. “Are you knocking off early?”

“No.” Her eyes turn pleading. “I actually came to see if you’re ready to discuss what’s been going on.”

I kill the water’s spray and yank the hose so it retracts into its spool. “What do you mean?” I grab my antibacterial spray bottle and douse my workstation, not daring to look at her for more than a brief second.

“Liv.” She sighs. “You know what I mean.”

Fuck. I’m not equipped for this conversation, despite having had five days to prep for it.

I shake my head and scrub at a nonexistent mark on the stainless-steel slab. “I’m sorry, Al, but I’m completely clueless. I’ve been busy as hell this week.”

“Don’t give me that. Ivy and I know exactly what’s going on, and we’re both scared.”

My hand pauses mid scrub, my pulse kicking into third gear.

She steps closer, lowering her voice. “We don’t know what to do.”

My skin breaks out in a wash of goose bumps.

They figured it out? When? More importantly, how am I going to hide their knowledge from Wesley so he doesn’t relay their insight to Remy?

I swallow. Backtrack.

I meet her gaze, the color draining from my face at the look of apprehension that stares back at me. “Al…”

“Please,” she begs. “We thought we were doing the right thing. We only wanted to help.”

I frown. Straighten.

“I swear it, Liv.” Her eyes plead. “When Ivy suggested she handle last weekend’s call-outs, I thought you’d appreciate it, despite your protests. I know better now. I should’ve listened to your instruction to divert the business line to your cell instead of going behind your back and transferring them to Ivy. Luckily, no calls came through, but still… It was the wrong thing to do.”

I blink at her, the cogs of cerebral function taking forever to turn.

“It was a mistake.” She steps closer. “And we’re both truly sorry. We’ll do whatever it takes to regain your trust and completely understand if we need to be given a formal reprimand. But please stop avoiding us. It’s been bad enough with Carlo keeping his distance, but the thought of losing you as a friend is killing me.”

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