Remy

10. Olivia

OLIVIA

I snatchmy arm away and all but run for the door.

I make it outside without breaking down and unlock his seemingly brand-new black Bentley with a scream still bottled in my lungs.

My fingers clench the steering wheel, the threat of a nervous breakdown hot on my heels as I drive across town in the dark of early morning. The smell of new leather clogs my every breath—but worse is his aftershave.

The delicious scent of the man I despise is embedded throughout the car’s interior, poisoning my lungs with each inhale.

I’m tempted to sideswipe every vehicle I pass just to spite him, yet all that will do is attract the authorities, and I meant what I said about the cops. I won’t run to them. Not yet. Not until I know the risks of what I’m up against.

I dump his luxury penis extension in the parking lot across the street from the hospital, then shuffle jog to the main entrance, my breath fogging in the freezing air.

The information desk isn’t hard to find. The middle-aged woman who sits behind a computer greets me with kind eyes.

“I’m looking for my father, Carlo Pelosi.” My stomach twists with the unknown. “I received a phone call a little while ago to say he’d been admitted.”

“Let me take a look.” She taps at her keyboard. “Here he is. The oncology ward. You’re going to want to take the elevator to the second floor for room two hundred and three.”

“Oncology?” All the blood seeps from my face. “But he doesn’t have cancer.”

She winces. “I’m sorry. I can only advise the patient’s location. He may have been relocated due to bed shortages on other wards.”

I stand dumbfounded, blinking, barely breathing. “Okay… um…”

“His doctor will be able to explain the situation.” The woman stands and indicates the elevators with a gentle hand. “Go see him. It’ll be all right.”

I hear the placation for what it is but nod my thanks and hustle to the elevator. I escape on the second floor, then rush to the dimly lit nurses’ station only to find it empty.

I don’t pause to wait for someone to show. I continue down the darkened hall, my heart stopping when I reach the open door of room 203.

My father rests on a hospital bed a few yards inside the room, his face shadowed, the left side of his forehead covered in a square bandage.

“Ma’am?” a gentle voice prompts nearby.

I glance over my shoulder to the female nurse approaching. She takes me in with tired eyes, silently questioning.

“My father,” is all I can muster.

She nods, stopping close beside me. “He just got back to sleep after the request to relocate him to a private room, so please try not to wake him. But he’s doing fine. The doctor only wanted to keep him in overnight for observation.”

“Observation of what?” I ask. “I haven’t been told why he’s here.”

“He didn’t call you while in the ER?”

“No.” I wrap my arms around my middle. “I don’t even understand why he’s on the oncology ward.”

Her expression fills with pained sympathy. “I see. He’s a closed-door kind of dad. I have one of those, too.”

A chime dings and 207 alights from an illuminated sign a little farther down the hall, alerting the nurse to a patient’s call.

She shifts to take in the digits. “I’m sorry. I have to get back to Mrs. Slocum before she wakes the entire ward. But don’t worry, Carlo is doing great.” She backtracks. “Apparently, he had a dizzy spell and fell quite hard onto the corner of a cabinet. And when he lives alone, it’s better to be safe than?—”

“Nurse,” a frail female voice calls from down the hall.

The woman winces. “Mrs. Slocum really does need me.” She continues backtracking. “The doctor will do his rounds in a few hours and can fill you in on all the finer details. Until then, sit with your father and try to get some rest.”

“But—”

“I’m so sorry.” She raises her hands in apology, frantically retreating. “I really need to get to my patient. Maybe one of the other nurses…”

I sigh and nod. “It’s all right. I’ll wait for the doctor.”

She gives another pained smile and turns on her heel, quickly disappearing into room 207.

I turn back to my dad, the snippets of information I’ve received haunting me as I watch him sleep.

Due to the circumstances… A closed-door kind of dad… All the finer details.

What finer details? What circumstances?

I drag myself inside the room and stop at the foot of his bed.

He rests soundly, his lips gaping. A dreaded mouth-breather, my mom would always say. But he seems healthy enough.

Tired, yes. Run down, definitely.

Yet surely not suffering from cancer, right?

I scan the room, finding a chair in the corner, and drag it to his bedside. I sit next to him, my weariness bone-deep as I attempt to piece together the puzzle, not only about his health but his connection to the man who made me a murderer.

“What the hell is going on, Dad?” I whisper.

I brush my fingers over his, the contact pulling at my heartstrings.

I don’t want to wake him, but I need to feel his warmth. His presence. To have a connection to the living instead of the cold isolation of death.

“What are you hiding from me?” I ask.

He whimpers. Stirs.

“It’s okay. Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.” I stare at him until my eyes ache. My back, too. I try to see all the things I might have missed over the past months. The secrets he’s hidden.

Did he willingly step into an illegal arrangement with Remy’s family?

I huff a tortured laugh. No. That’s impossible.

My father’s not a bad man.

He sponsors Little League teams. Donates to charity. Refuses to charge for services on infant funerals.

He’s a role model. My role model.

I don’t know how long I sit, failing to understand how my life has brought me here while I fall victim to the weary effects of adrenaline detox. I lay my cheek on the mattress beside his arm, dozing a little, my lids growing heavy. I close them for a moment. It feels like barely a blink. But when I open them again it’s to tender fingers stroking my hair, gently coaxing me awake.

I straighten, the room now brighter than before, the orange glow of sunrise seeping in through the window.

Dad gives me a strained smile, a wealth of unmasked sorrow staring back at me.

That’s all there is. No words. No admission. Only a pained curve of lips and a regret-filled gaze, and I become acutely aware that this is more than a bump to the head.

I swallow over the questions waging war inside me. Once I have definitive answers there’s no going back to the bliss of ignorance.

“How long have you been here?” he rasps.

I check my watch. 7:05. “A few hours, I guess.”

“The hospital called you?”

I nod. “Around three in the morning. They said that given the circumstances I could come see you straight away.”

His blank features give nothing away.

My heart twists. “The oncology ward, Dad?”

A flicker of pain dances in his eyes, making the twisting, wrenching organ beneath my ribs morph into an instrument of torture.

“I’m sorry, Liv.”

I press my lips tight. Clasp my hands together to stop them trembling.

His palm slides over my tangled fingers. “After what we endured with your mom, I thought it best to keep you as far away from this for as long as possible.”

I shake my head. I didn’t endure. I rallied. I’d wanted to be by her side while she fought breast cancer.

“So it’s been going on for a while?” I ask.

He nods, strong and sure. A valiant warrior in the face of his demons. Or maybe just a deceitful parent, giving it his all to lessen my concern.

“I guess that explains all the days off you’ve been having.” I huff a pained laugh. “And here I was thinking you might have found a woman to occupy your time.”

He crushes me with a sad smile. “Your mom was all I ever needed.”

We don’t cry.

I sit straighter, denying the memory of my mother’s voice leverage over my wayward emotions. “I want to know everything.”

“I understand.” He drags his hand away and repositions himself against the pillows until he’s seated upright. “But I’ve decided that won’t be happening.”

“What does that mean? Surely, you can’t think to continue keeping me in the dark now that I’m at your bedside.”

“No, fragolina. At least not entirely. I just…” He drags in a tired breath. “I don’t want this for you again. Not the hospital visits. Not the worry and the heartache.”

“Worry is a privilege, Dad. Heartache doesn’t exist unless you have people to love. Don’t keep me from this. I already blame myself for not noticing?—”

“Don’t,” he begs.

“How can’t I? How did you hit your head? How did you get to the hospital? Why didn’t you call me? Why couldn’t you trust that?—”

“This has nothing to do with trust, Liv, and everything to do with protection.” He reaches for a glass of water on his bedside table and takes a sip. “Neither one of us have recovered from watching your mother suffer. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that to you. At least as much as possible. And besides, I didn’t need to call you about the fall when I was already here.” He grabs the neck of his hospital gown and drags it down past his collarbone, exposing the small, implanted port in his chest. “Chemo.”

I school my expression, refusing to let him see the effects of the punch to my gut.

“The treatments are why I’ve been taking the time off,” he continues. “I schedule them for a Friday, which gives me time to recover over the weekend. For the most part, I can bounce back well enough for nobody to notice by Monday.” He shrugs. “Or Tuesday at the latest.”

Guilt clogs my veins. “I should’ve noticed.”

“I did everything in my power to make sure you didn’t. I’ve given Ivy extra responsibilities. I hide away in my office more than usual. I take power naps at lunch. And with you always squirreled away in your prep room there’s no way you could’ve known.”

I shake my head, hating how self-absorbed I’ve become. “I thought you were working too hard. But it all makes sense now—the lethargy, the thinning hair.”

“My vanity doesn’t appreciate the side-effects of the treatment, that’s for sure.” He rakes a hand through his short black strands. “Then again, I’ve been lucky. The chemo drugs I’m on don’t always cause hair loss.”

Is that because he’s taking a less effective treatment so I wouldn’t get suspicious?

“I did buy a wig in preparation though.” He chuckles.

“I would’ve noticed a wig, Dad. At least I hope I would’ve. But it seems I’m more narcissistic than I realized because I had no clue you were sick.”

His laughter vanishes. “You’re not narcissistic. You didn’t notice because I didn’t want you to.” He stares at me with the same unconditional love he’s given freely for as long as I can remember. Then something at the door steals his attention, his brow furrowing.

I glance over my shoulder, following his gaze.

Remy watches us from the hall, the sight of him flooding me with panic.

I snap my focus back to Dad, the color drained from his face.

He studies my clothes, his eyes widening. “You’re still in your work uniform. Why?”

My stomach plummets. “I…”

I don’t know what to say. What I can say without putting us both in more danger.

“What happened, Liv?” His gaze ping-pongs between me and the hall.

“I, um, stayed late at work. I wanted to prepare Amisha and the baby so I didn’t have to go back in over the weekend.”

“And?”

“And—” I chance another glance over my shoulder, caught up in the subtle threat of a narrowed gaze that pins me in place. “I fell asleep.”

“Jesus, Liv.”

I want to tell him thatcursingSatan would be more appropriate because I’m sure that’s who spawned the monster in the hall, but it’s too soon for jokes.

I give an awkward smile instead. “It’s definitely been a night of revelations.”

Footsteps carry behind me. Hinges softly squeak before the door clicks shut. Then Remy’s broad frame enters my periphery.

“Carlo,” he murmurs.

“Rem.” My father offers him an agonized smile. “What happened?”

He calls the monster Rem? He looks at him in apology?

I keep my attention on my dad, scrutinizing his reaction to the murderer in the room… Well, the second murderer now that criminal activity has been forced upon me.

“We had an issue we needed to dispose of. You weren’t answering your burner, and there were no cars in the parking lot. The assumption was made that our presence wouldn’t be known.”

Dad winces.

I fight to remain composed.

“She knows,” Remy states calmly.

My father gives a solemn nod, a sheen of unshed tears swimming around his deep brown irises.

“I don’t blame you.” I grasp his hand. “There’s nothing you could’ve done if they threatened?—”

“There was no threat, Liv.” He squeezes my fingers. “The decisions I’ve made were done without duress.”

He’s lying.

He has to be… If only I could deny the truth staring back at me.

There’s no fear in my father’s expression. Not even a hint of trepidation. There’s only sickening regret.

“Why?” I ask.

He scrunches his nose. “Cancer treatment is expensive.”

“We have health insurance.”

“We have basic insurance,” he corrects. “I still have to pay half of all the bills. And with the specialists and treatments… I did what I thought was best for your future. In the event of my death, any remaining debt would be taken from my estate, which means both the house and the business are at risk. You’d lose everything.”

“Don’t talk like that. I’m not losing anything.”

“Liv, it’s a mountain of debt. I’m still paying off the new reto?—”

“Stop it,” I warn. “You can’t go through this with a negative attitude.”

He concedes with a wince, holding my gaze for long heartbeats before turning his focus to Remy. “I’m sorry this happened the way it did.”

Now he’s apologizing? To the menace who interrupted a monumentally private family moment while standing there without any hint of surprise or concern at my father’s cancer admission… just like he wasn’t surprised or concerned when I received the phone call from the hospital?

Wait a damn minute.

“Did he already know?” I ask my father.

The wince lingers.

I turn to Remy, hating how his expression doesn’t falter from the elite level of composure. “You knew about the cancer?”

My father’s betrayal cuts deep. My insides wage war.

Remy must sense my growing unrest because his eyes harden. “Remain calm.” There’s no comfort in the request. It’s a subtle warning.

If I wasn’t fearful for my life I’d contemplate clawing his eyes out.

“It’s okay, Liv,” my dad tries to soothe. “Everything is going to be?—”

“Why the private room then?” I blurt, returning my attention to my father. “If money is such an issue?—”

“I made that request.” Remy strolls closer. “Given the circumstances—and your temperamental state—privacy is a priority. I’ll cover the cost.”

He’s keeping us contained.

Isolated.

Their arrangement may not have been made under duress, but it sure reeks of manipulation.

“Liv, please trust me.” Dad holds my gaze, compassionate and sympathetic. “This is a lot to take on. But you’ll understand in time. All I need you to know is that your future is my main priority. I don’t want you to have to worry about money if I leave you.”

I shove from my chair. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He stiffens at my outburst.

“You’re not,” I repeat, softer, clinging to my last slither of self-control. “I don’t care about money, or debt, or whatever else has made you keep this from me. All I want is for you to concentrate on getting the best care so you can recover.”

“I am,” he vows. “And my arrangement with Remy’s family has allowed for that. I’m not sure how I would’ve approached this without their financial backing.”

A cold sweat seeps over me. “Please tell me you weren’t going to deny treatment due to finances.”

I’ve already lost a mother. I will not lose him, too.

“No.” He beckons me forward with a curl of his fingers. “I admit I did think about it a time or two. But I promise I’m not in a hurry to be reunited with your mom. I’ll do everything in my power to stay with you as long as possible.”

The promise hits like a physical blow.

We have to be strong.

“I—” The ache in my throat renders me speechless.

So many questions remain unanswered. What type of cancer is he battling? What’s his prognosis? How do we dissolve the arrangement with Remy and his family?

A tap, tap, tap at the door claims my attention, followed by a squeak of hinges.

“Morning, all,” a jovial male voice announces.

My father breaks our pained stare, giving the intruder his full attention. “Morning, Doc.”

I take a few seconds to breathe. To battle against the weakness dragging me under before I turn to see a grey-haired man offering his hand to Remy.

“I’m Doctor Julian Parker. Nice to meet you.”

“Remy. Family friend.”

My eyes flare at the lie.

“And you must be Olivia.” The doctor approaches me with a kind smile. “Your father talks non-stop about you.”

“I wish I could say the same.” I clear the fear from my throat and release Dad’s hold to take the doctor’s outstretched palm, pretending there’s no threatening murderer in the room. “Unfortunately, your patient hasn’t mentioned you at all. Or cancer. Or chemo. This morning is the first I’ve heard of it.”

The doctor softly clasps my hand, the touch exuding comfort. “I can assure you it wasn’t something he wanted to hide, but us humans make a lot of hard choices for the ones we love.” He gives my fingers a quick squeeze, then releases his hold. “If it makes you feel any better, I promise he’s been getting the best treatment available.” He turns his attention to my father. “How’s the head this morning?

“Good. I’m ready to go home.”

The doctor chuckles. “Not so fast. Seeing as though you’re already here, I thought we might run my next round of tests slightly earlier than planned.”

“Now?” My father frowns. “Is that really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so.” Doctor Parker looks to me, then Remy. “I’ll have him discharged later this afternoon.”

Dad sighs. “I could think of a million other things I’d prefer?—”

“Dad,” I beg, hating his negativity in light of the life-threatening situation. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not giving him a choice.” Parker smiles. “He likes to pretend he doesn’t enjoy being fawned over by all the pretty nurses, but I see right through him.”

Dad barks a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Can you give me a minute to say goodbye to my daughter?”

“Of cour?—”

“No,” I interrupt. “I’m staying.”

“Liv, that’s not what I want.” Dad’s expression turns somber. “Please let me do this my way.”

No. Not alone.

“Please,” he repeats.

The pressure of everyone’s attention weighs on my shoulders.

It’s not right. Nobody should suffer in isolation. To walk through darkness alone.

“We’ll take good care of him,” the doctor promises. “There’s no need to worry.”

Remy steps closer. “I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

I stiffen and shake my head, wanting to protest, needing to stay not only with my dad but away from the psychopath.

“Thanks, Rem.” Dad gives a solemn nod. “I’d appreciate that.”

He would?

Does he not understand what this man has put me through? What I’ve seen? What I’ve been forced to do?

I ache to tell him. To blurt the atrocities for all to know. But Remy encroaches farther on my personal space as if he can sense my teetering sanity.

“We’ll talk more once you return home,” he says to my father.

Dad nods again, holding my gaze as he throws back the bedsheet, his sun-starved legs on display while he drags them to hang over the side of the mattress. “Until then, try to get some rest, Liv. You look worse than I do.”

“Please,” I whisper. “I really don’t want to leave you.”

“I know. But I need you to. Those nurses aren’t going to offer me a sponge bath with my daughter hanging around.” He winks, yet the stare he gives after is pointed. Pleading.

None of this makes sense.

Why is he pushing me to leave with a criminal? Is it because he thinks I’ll be safe? Or that all of us will die if I don’t?

The doctor laughs, startling me.

“Come on.” Remy grabs the crook of my arm, his grip increasing my panic. “Let’s go.”

It takes all my strength to remain quiet as the doctor leads my father from the room. Every single ounce of my composure not to run for the nurses’ station and scream bloody murder.

“I suggest you quit thinking thoughts that will only get you in trouble.” Remy inches closer, the warmth of his mouth nestling close to my ear. “You’ve been so well behaved, my pretty little pyro. Don’t ruin it now.”