39. Remy
REMY
I stare at her,drinking in her pain, punishing myself with her despair. “I can?—”
“Leave.” Her arms tighten around her middle, like they’ve done so many times before. It’s different now. The sight of it destroys me.
I wish I could touch her. Comfort her.
But if I get the chance to do that again it won’t be anytime soon.
I bridge the space between me and the bedside table where two envelopes are propped against the stack of paperback memoirs Carlo had been reading.
I take the one with my name written on the front, my gaze casting over the man I admired, and even now, can’t find the will to condemn.
Ollie doesn’t say a word as I walk for the hall, her hard sniffs marking my path toward destruction.
It kills me to leave her.
I pause in the doorway and turn back to face the pale starkness of her beauty. “You know I love you, right?”
Her expression crumples, her lips trembling, eyes watering.
I fight to remain in place, waiting for her to forgive me, even if only slightly.
But she locks down the heartache, my pretty little Pyro clutching the unraveled threads of her composure to reel them back in. “Please, Remy, just leave.”
I would’ve preferred her anger. For her to scream and slap and shriek. Hell, I’d settle for her knocking me out and throwing me back in the retort. I’d even let her follow through with the cremation.
But this? The mature composure and brutal vulnerability?
It only makes me love her more.
I incline my head and force myself to walk away.
For her sake.
For Carlo’s.
I could’ve fabricated the truth and made up an excuse for the vial. But despite all the nails hammered into my conscience, I couldn’t stand bearing that one, too.
I’m responsible for her father’s death. Just like I was with Flynn’s.
I arranged the pento. I handed it over. And I believed Carlo when he promised he wouldn’t take the lethal dose until we both agreed it was time.
Son, I just want to have it here so I know you won’t back out of the agreement.
After all the lies he told his daughter, why did I think I’d be spared?
Lucy looks up to greet me from her seat on the top step of the external stairs. “Is she okay?” She pushes to her feet. “I heard raised voices.”
“She’s definitely not okay. You should go back inside and wait in the living room just in case she needs someone.”
She nods. “How are you holding up?”
I ignore the misery decimating my chest and slide Carlo’s envelope into my jacket pocket. “I’ll be good once I know you’re close by to help her.” I descend the stairs, skirt the building, and make my way through the unlocked front doors of the funeral home.
Voices carry down the hall, and I continue to the break room where two men turn from the coffee maker to greet me with forlorn expressions.
Stanley Flores, the older of the two and the replacement mortician Carlo hired, who stands beside John Welch, the taller, skinnier assistant.
“Mr. Costa.” Stanley places his mug on the counter and strides toward me, offering his hand. “I’m sorry we’re meeting again so soon.”
I clasp his palm and shake it numbly. “So am I.”
John strides forward and does the same, killing me with the menial gesture in the midst of devastation. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“As previously discussed with you and Carlo, we will give Olivia the time she needs to be with her father, then we’ll safely transport him downstairs and fulfill his wishes regarding his after-life care.” Stanley raises a brow. “Now, I know you’re well aware of what will happen moving forward, but has Olivia been brought up to speed on who will be preparing Carlo for the funeral?”
“No. And I don’t think she’s going to appreciate being kept out of it.”
He winces. “I understand. I’ll show her the notes he left, and hopefully it will help to ease the situation. It really isn’t wise for close family to handle the preparation of a loved one.”
I scrub a hand down my face.
“I want you to know everything else is in safe hands,” he continues. “John and I have been familiarizing ourselves with the current decedents in the funeral home’s care, and additional staff will be here first thing Monday morning to assist with all ongoing duties until Carlo’s employees feel they’re able to return to work.”
Speaking to a man who has already slipped so easily into Carlo’s shoes feels fucking heartless.
I hate this.
One minute Carlo is here; the next, he’s been replaced.
“Great.” I make for the door, desperate for fresh air. “You’ve got my number if you need it.”
“And you’ve got mine,” Stanley calls as I stride down the hall. “If you have any concerns at all, please reach out.”
My concerns for Carlo are over.
I’d spent months dreading his death, visualizing the unwelcome conversation when he would tell me he’d decided his time was up, and how I’d comfort Ollie when she learned the news. I was meant to be by her side and his when he took his last breath. She was meant to say goodbye.
He stole those moments from us.
He bailed early, like a fucking coward.
I stalk around the building, my ability to breathe getting harder with the increased tightness in my chest. I stop at the back of my car, plant my palms against the trunk, and bow my head as I take in gulps of air.
I didn’t bat an eye when my own father died.
I could get a call right now that my own mother had passed and not give one flying fuck.
But Carlo?
His death has sliced me open and left the vultures to tear at my insides. I’m wrecked. Fucking shattered.
I yank at the top button of my shirt, the restriction making it harder to breathe.
Fuck his promises. His friendship.
He left me.
I ball my hands into fists and squeeze my eyes shut.
He left Ollie.
I choke on my anger. On the suffering.
I can’t believe he did this.
I drag the envelope from my pocket and tear it open, unable to fathom what the hell he could have to say for himself.
What could you possibly have written to explain or excuse your actions?
I yank out the folded piece of plain white cardstock and spread it open.
Forgive me.
xoxo Carlo
The agony beneath my ribs explodes, spreading through my limbs.
I scrunch the card and launch it across the parking lot, my eyes burning as I glare at the brickwork of the building.
Fuck. Him.
Fuck everything.
I pace.
I curse.
I stare at the upstairs window, despising that I can’t be in there. That I don’t know how Ollie’s coping. If she’s coping.
It takes a fucking lifetime to regain some semblance of calm, which is when I call Wesley and tell him to get his ass to the funeral home.
He arrives fifteen minutes later and takes the news with a solemn nod.
“I want you to drive Ollie home when she’s ready,” I mutter under my breath.
“Me?” He frowns.
“Yes. She needs her space from me.”
His expression fills with pity. “Sure thing.”
“Call me as soon as it’s done.”
I text Lucy, letting her know a car is waiting to take Ollie home whenever she’s ready.
Then I leave.
I drive away from the place of grief that brought me so much fucking life.
I aimlessly pass through the suburbs, the image of Carlo on that bed haunting me. I do it for hours, keeping myself behind the wheel and occupied because being back in my penthouse where the pain of Flynn’s death already lingers would only send me on a bender I wouldn’t recover from.
It’s two in the morning when I get the call from Wesley.
“She’s safe at home,” he says.
“Did she say anything?”
“Not a single word.”
The weight in my gut grows heavier. “Was she crying?”
“Not a single tear.”
I disconnect the call and check my GPS. I’m a few blocks from Ollie’s house. I’m pretty sure I’ve been subconsciously circling the vicinity, unable to stray too far from her.
I take the next turn, driving a familiar path until I’m parked on the street opposite her darkened house, then climb out to stare at the place where she remains hidden from me.
I’ve dragged her through hell.
She’s struggled with fear—from me and the thought of conviction.
She was assaulted by one of my staff members and almost raped.
Then the Irish could’ve killed her if given the chance.
I’ve hurt her so much.
I’m still doing it.
A twig snaps nearby. Normally I’d flinch, maybe pull my gun, or make some effort to protect myself. But I don’t bother as the old crone walks barefoot from the darkness of her front yard in an ankle-length nightdress, her long grey hair loose around her shoulders. She comes to stand before me, undaunted and curious.
“I see you’re back to your stalker routine.” She sidles up to me and leans back against my car to mimic my interest with Ollie’s house. “What happened this time?”
“Her dad died.”
She releases a weary sigh. “I didn’t expect that so soon.”
“None of us did,” I grate.
“That explains why I woke up to her vomiting a little while ago. That girl’s bathroom window is in line with my bedroom. I can always tell when she’s upset.”
“I think you’re going to be hearing a lot more of it in the days to come.”
She nods, and for quiet moments we stand there, side by side, staring at the house I should be in.
“Well, I’m very sorry this has happened,” she finally murmurs. “I’m also very sorry that I’m getting the distinct impression you have no intention of leaving your stalking post. You know, back in my day, it wasn’t polite to loiter on the street in front of someone’s home like a thief waiting for an opportunity.”
I drag in a frustrated breath.
I’m so fucking exhausted, annoyed, and completely over this shit.
I’m tempted to kill the old witch just for the spike of adrenaline. It wouldn’t take much. A belt. Maybe a pillow. I could make it relatively painless… if I wanted.
“Lesley,” I say patiently, “you’re currently leaning against a car that’s worth more than Ollie’s house. Do you really think my intention is to steal?”
“Maybe not any earthly possessions. Her heart, on the other hand…” She pushes from the Aston Martin and stands up straight. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you.”
“How refreshing.” I glower.
“Olivia has had a lot more bounce in her step since you’ve been snooping around.”
“Is that so?” I cross my arms over my chest, regretting the happiness I brought her because now it only means more suffering.
“Mmm.” She nods. “She’s also been checking in on me more often, and that music she blares from her living room on the weekends hasn’t been the depressing, moody garbage she usually listens to. She even seems to have more energy, despite rushing from the house at all hours of the night—I assume to see you.”
I scoff a laugh. “Now I understand why you don’t like me. Your position as neighborhood stalker must feel threatened.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “It’s obvious you’re the reason for the positive change in her. But do you want to know what I really think?”
Fuck, no.
Not even a tiny bit.
Not even if I was on fire and her thoughts were the only thing capable of extinguishing the flames.
“I truly believe, that despite the positive change in her, the best thing you can do for that girl is stay away.”
The words repeat in my head, the message an agonizing echo.
Stay away.
Leave.
I never want to see you again.
It’s time to quit ignoring how truly destructive my presence is in Ollie’s life.
It’s selfish to want her.
It always has been.
“You know what, Lesley?” I push from the car and swing around to open the driver’s door. “I think you’re right.”