Page 31 of The Sculptor

He turns and walks toward me, his brow cocked. “So, you’re saying the ink streaks down your chest aren’t dried tears?”

I glance down at the inked heart on my chest. He’s right. There are streaks. It was as if she was crying when drawing the heart on my chest. I stand up abruptly, ignoring the nausea, and look around.

“Looking for this?” Remington pulls out a piece of hotel stationery, holding it between his fingers. “Since I’m being paid by the hour, let me give your brother his money’s worth.” He opens the folded note and clears his throat. “Dear Dr. Douche,” he starts with a grin, knowing good and damn well Ramsey didn’t address me that way. “I promise to make the screaming stop. I promise we can rest soon.” Remington’s eyes widen. “Just what kind of shit were y’all doing last night?”

I reach for the note, but he jerks it away and continues reading. “I never did fulfill my end of the bargain and show you your heart. So, I left you mine. Let it be a reminder that I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. Just trust me—like I trusted you. Because we’ve been here before, my love. But this time, it’s my turn to save us.” Remington’s voice slows as he lowers the note, his eyes full of curiosity. “My, oh my. No wonder Vance-hole has been in such a delightful mood lately. His little bro is into some shady freaking shit.”

I snatch the note from his hands. “You didn’t read this note,” I warn him.

“Oh, I definitely read this note—this bizarre and cringey love letter.” He laughs. “Why does Vance dislike this chick so much?”

“One, she’s not a chick. And two, Vance doesn’t dislike her. He just doesn’t understand what happened between us.”

“And what exactly happened?”

“Well,” I push past him, “that would be the time when… it was none of your damn business.”

Remington chuckles. “You really love this girl, don’t you? I can’t blame you. The toxic ones are always more fun.”

“Ramsey isn’t toxic.”

Remington looks down at his shoes. “Maybe she isn’t, but I’ve seen what happens when you ignore the poison for too long.” He looks up, and something dark passes through his eyes. “Spoiler alert: They both die in the end.”

“I won’t let her die,” I promise him, with more determination than I’ve felt in a long time. “But it sounds like you didn’t die, either.”

Remington grins, his mask slipping back into place in seconds. “Perceptive, Dr. Douche.”

“How’d you do it, then?” I ask. “How did you keep from dying?” I realize we aren’t talking about physical death. The death of one’s soul is much more catastrophic.

“Who says I didn’t?” He taunts me with a secret. “Maybe I’m just an excellent liar.”

His words hit me with such ferociousness that I step back, the memory overwhelming as it plays out like a movie in my head.

“Tell them, Duke! Tell them what you did!”

I don’t answer her. Instead, I pull her closer as she screams and pounds her weak fists into my chest.

“Tell them, Duke!”

But I can’t. I can’t tell our fathers what I did in the cabin.

Because what I did doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is whatI didn’t do.

I didn’t protect her like I promised.

Everything was not okay.

The truth destroyed my family.

More importantly, hiding the truth destroyed her.

“You’re gonna be okay, Ray,” I whisper into her ear, soaking up her last seconds in my arms.

“I won’t be okay. Not without—”

“Come, Ramsey,” her father barks out. “You’ve said your goodbyes.”

Her cries grow quieter as she gathers her strength, keeping her face buried in my shirt, which allows her father to turn his attention to Harrison while he waits. “You’ll keep your son away from my daughter, as we agreed. I will take care of the media, and you and your son will make this right for our family—for Ramsey.”

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