Page 100 of The Sculptor

“Sure.”

I hand her my phone and unlock it. “Will you see if you can reach Ray? At least tell her he’s okay.”

Halle nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I will. Now, come on. Your son awaits you.”

She leads us up the staircase. It’s tense and quiet as we go up what seems like a bazillion steps before she stops at the door.

“Thank you for doing this,” I tell her. “I know Remington wouldn’t have seen me if you hadn’t convinced him.”

“He would have seen you on his own,” she disagrees with a frown.

Eventually.

That’s the word she doesn’t say, but we both know Remington is a hard ass. He would have made me work for his presence.

And I would do it.

“Well, thank you for threatening him to come back with you from California.” I swallow down the emotion, thinking how much worse this could have been. “If you hadn’t found him…”

Halle stops and turns around to face me. “He would have found his way back to you.” She wipes a stray tear from my cheek. “Because he’s a stubborn asshole. He wouldn’t rest until he got to confront his father.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

She flashes me a grin and opens the door, a plume of smoke hitting us in the face. Halle hangs her head. “The cigarettes came in handy. I couldn’t risk chasing him all over town.”

I get it. Again, he’s grown. He can smoke if he wants to.

She smacks my chest. “Remember that trick when you’re in there and want to kill him. He’s like his father. He will negotiate with the right leverage.”

And like her point needed reinforcement, a shout comes from the en suite bathroom. “That fucking burns!”

Halle sighs. “Good luck, darling. I’m afraid you’re going to need it.”

She closes the door and leaves me to face my son.

“Ow! Fuck. It’s fucking clean, Vance. Just leave it alone. I’m fine.”

I follow the bitching, pulling in breaths with each step, until I come to the bathroom door, glass crunching underneath my shoes. Remington sits perched on the counter amongst the glass, a cigarette hanging from his lips as my brother pours antiseptic over his knuckles.

They both turn to me, but Remington breaks the silence. “You have until Vance-hole finishes torturing me to say what you need to say.”

Vance sighs but returns to work, pouring more antiseptic and making Remington hiss through his teeth. “Fuck!”

“I would have numbed it first,” I say, frowning.

Vance’s head rises, and he looks at me, surprised. “I appreciate the consult, Dr. Duke, but my patient is a giant pain in the ass. A little pain reminds him he isn’t invincible and is replacing this mirror with next week’s paycheck.” He flashes Remington a glare. “But be my guest and take over.”

“No.” Remington grabs Vance’s shoulder, preventing him from leaving. “You stitch it up, or it doesn’t get stitched.”

“It’ll leave a scar,” I warn, in case he’s serious.

Immediately, I regret speaking when Remington’s gaze whips to mine, his face hardening into something menacing. “I think I’ll live. After all, it won’t be the first scar you’ll have inflicted.”

At that, Vance takes his cue to leave, stepping back and passing me the antiseptic. “There’s still glass under the skin,” he tells me.

Then he turns and looks at Remington. “Are you going to be a big boy, or do I need to stay and hold your hand?”

“Fuck you,” Remington spits, his eyes steaming with fury.

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