Page 93 of What Remains

I hesitantly face him, unsure of what kind of conversation I have ahead of me. “Listen,” I start before he says anything, “whatever my sister asked you to say, just tell her you did. No need to actually do it.” I shove my hand into my pocket in search of my keycard and find nothing but my phone and an empty pack of gum.

He holds it up between us, the side of his mouth lifting into a partial smile. “You forgot this.”

I go to snatch it, and he pulls his hand back. “But since I’m here, and you’re clearly shook the fuck up, you wanna talk?”

“Doesn’t my sister hate when you swear?” I smirk.

He briefly glances over his shoulder, his subtle way of saying I don’t see her, do you?

I reach forward and grab the card from him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He rests his hand on the wall by my door, an excellent indication he has no plans to bugger off. Shit, did I just think that word? Gwen’s influence, of course.

Lines deepen across his forehead. “I don’t like to see my wife upset.”

“Good. We’re in agreement on that.”

His eyes turn to slits. He’s not relenting on his fatherly expression, which consists of one part concern and three parts pain in the ass. “She’s worried about you, so now your situation is mine.”

I fake a low laugh. “When has there been a time Juliette’s not worried about me?”

“Fair point.”

Assuming we’re done, I turn away, but he slaps a hand over my shoulder, stopping me. “Easy where you put those big paws of yours,” I joke. “My back still hurts.” It’s not nearly as bad as the other day, but it’s still not a lie.

He lets me go, and I hesitantly turn around.

“I’m fine, okay?”

“That’s the opposite of what you said to me before leaving the room two minutes ago.” He slides both hands into his pockets and stares me down like I’m Colin, not his brother-in-law, and he’s waiting for me to fess up to something.

I bite down on my back teeth and lift my eyes to the ceiling. I can’t talk about Gwen, but I know he won’t leave me alone unless I give him something.

“Do you ever feel like a tally mark gets etched into your soul whenever you take a life?” That’s probably not the direction I should’ve gone. Too late now.

“I used to feel that way,” he says steadily. “But the slate has been wiped clean. I’ve been, uh, born again, ya know?” His voice drops deeper as he continues. “Not saying I can just go kill people and ask for forgiveness after. That all will be good. But⁠—”

“I get it.” I know his faith journey—one my sister was part of. But his past isn’t mine. Plus, I’m not even dealing with my past sins, more like my present ones. And future ones I’m trying to prevent from happening.

“The lives you took on that island were justified,” he says matter-of-factly.

“I’m not questioning that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I have no remorse.” I look him in the eyes. “I’d do what I did again. Only, I’d take my time, if you get what I’m saying.”

“I do. And if that’d been Juliette in the room . . .” He closes his eyes. “I’d offer up my soul to stretch out the time I had to take his life.”

“My sister wouldn’t let you do that,” I say without hesitation.

His eyes flash open. “I know,” he rasps. “Thank God for her.”

I shove my keycard into my pocket as my phone dings from another text. Reflexively, I check the message.

Gwen: I have the movie on pause, just waiting for you to start it.

“That Gwen?”