Remy’s search for Ethan didn’t take as long as she expected. She found the older man sitting on a dark green sofa in the office at the back of the house, his eyes closed and a pair of headphones in his ears. He didn’t hear Remy as she stopped in the doorway and examined the room. It was decorated in dark colors, reds and greens and browns, leathers and soft fabrics covering the assorted furniture littering the room. It reminded Remy of a lawyer’s overdone office. Or maybe a doctor’s office. The thought was a bit unsettling; she’d never liked either. She wandered to the dark mahogany desk and looked over the office supplies there, picking up a silver letter opener and tapping it over her knuckles as she turned to face Ethan.
Remy frowned as she stepped toward him, slipping the letter opener into her pocket. He hadn’t reacted in the slightest to the noise she made. She wasn’t making an effort to keep quiet either. It was a sign of how upset Ethan was that whatever music he’d chosen to listen to was too loud for him to hear his surroundings. That was incredibly dangerous, Remy knew. It opened the door for one of the infected to attack and kill him before he realized they were even there. Remy wondered if he secretly hoped that would happen. The thought was more unsettling than the idea of being in a lawyer’s or doctor’s office.
Remy moved forward more slowly and leaned to pick up the music player on the couch at his side. She bumped the touch-sensitive controls just enough to see the track name. Before she could read it, though, Ethan’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Remy nearly dropped the music player in shock, and her eyes darted to meet Ethan’s. Ethan looked up at her, his green eyes intense, and Remy swallowed hard as she saw the expression in them. She set the player back down on the cushion and gave him a reluctant smile, pulling one of the earbuds out of his ear. “What are you listening to?” she asked casually, sinking down onto the couch beside him and ignoring the way her heart raced from the startle he’d given her.
Ethan wordlessly passed Remy the music player, and she finally got a glimpse of the device’s screen. “Simple Man,” she read out loud as she fingered the edge of the player, tracing her nail along the metal casing. “Lynyrd Skynyrd?”
“Yeah,” Ethan confirmed.
Remy smiled. “I didn’t even know you liked them.”
“I like almost everything that’s at least a little bit listenable,” Ethan replied. Remy smiled again and scooted closer to him, blatantly cuddling against his side. She stuck the earbud she still held into her right ear, resting her head against Ethan’s so they could both listen. “I didn’t know you liked them either,” he commented.
Remy shrugged. “I’m a lot like you. I’ll listen to pretty much everything.” She ran her fingers absently along the hem of her jacket and added, “My dad—my birth dad—he was a musician. Used to play guitar. I remember he was amazing at it.” Ethan gave Remy a sad look, and she found his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. He died a long time ago, when I was eight,” she assured him. “And everyone else is gone too. I’m coming to terms with their deaths. Hell, I’ll join them sooner or later anyway. Most likely sooner.”
Ethan leaned back to look Remy in the face. “What makes you say that?” he asked, his eyes scanning her features.
Remy shrugged and averted her eyes as she said, “I don’t know. I just have this feeling, right here,” she touched her stomach, “that I’m not going to live to see the end of the week.”
“Yes, you will,” Ethan said immediately with a firm shake of his head. “You’re one of the toughest people I know. You’ll make it through Atlanta fine.”
“Just because I’m tough doesn’t mean Atlanta isn’t tougher,” Remy said. “I don’t think I’m going to live to see Luckie Street.”
“If you think that, then why are you going?” Ethan asked.
Remy shrugged again and ducked her head. “Because I need to. I’ve already explained that to you.”
Ethan sighed and leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes. He stayed silent for two songs, so long that Remy wondered if he’d fallen asleep. When he finally spoke again, his voice was strained, as if he struggled to hold back a strong surge of emotion. “I swear to you now, Remy Angellette, I will not allow you to die in Atlanta. I won’t let anything touch you. Not as long as I’m breathing long enough to stop it.”
Remy smiled at Ethan’s words. “Aw, Eth, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she joked with a little laugh. The laugh caught in her throat as Ethan lifted his head from the sofa, the expression in his eyes hard and serious.
“I mean it. I’m not kidding, Remy,” he said. His voice was just as serious as his eyes.
Remy drew in a slow breath and closed her eyes momentarily before she leaned her head back against Ethan’s. “Let’s not think about it right now,” she suggested. “Let’s just enjoy the music and relax and just … be.”
Ethan let out an exasperated breath and ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “I don’t want to just relax, Remy,” he said. “We need to talk about this. I want to know what the fuck is going on in that pretty little head of yours.”
Remy looked at Ethan and pulled the earbud out of her ear, dropping it between them. “Do we really? I don’t think we do.” She sat up straight and started to work her hair out of the braid Cade had put in it. “Why can’t we just enjoy our fucking free time? It’s probably the last chance we’ll have to do it.”
“Remy, please,” Ethan said. Remy closed her eyes slowly at the heavy pleading in his voice. She almost didn’t know what to say. “I lost Nikola. I never got the chance to talk to her about any of this shit. I never knew what she thought about Atlanta.”
“She was a teenager, Ethan,” Remy said patiently, sliding a few inches away from him. “Nobody ever knows what’s going on in their minds.”
“Yeah, well.” Ethan sighed and slid an arm around Remy’s waist, tugging gently at her body. “Come here.”
“What for?”
“I just want you to sit here with me, Remy,” Ethan said. His fingers rubbed slowly at her ribs. “I want your company.” He offered her the earbud she’d dropped. “Music?”
Remy stared at Ethan as if he’d lost his mind. Perhaps Nikola’s death had unhinged him more than the rest of them realized; she wondered if he was really not thinking that clearly anymore. He seemed so flighty and easily distracted and, quite frankly, absolutely depressed; she didn’t see how he’d manage to make any serious decisions. This sort of attitude could get them all killed. It was the same careless attitude for which Ethan had often admonished Remy herself.
Remy touched the back of Ethan’s neck, running her fingers lightly over the bones of his spine as she watched him closely. “Are you okay?” Remy asked, twisting to face him on the couch, sitting sideways with one foot on the floor and the other tucked underneath her.
Ethan hesitated, looking down at his lap. And then he seemed to just crumble. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. “Oh hell,” he said, his voice muffled. He started to rock back and forth. “Oh fuck, I’m not,” he admitted softly.
Remy swallowed hard. Ethan looked seconds away from a total breakdown, and her heart hurt for him. She quickly wrapped her arms around him and held him close, resting her head against his back and rubbing her hands soothingly over his sides and chest. “Shh, Eth, it’s okay,” Remy murmured. “Shit’s hard, I know. This whole mess is just … it’s all gotten so fucked up.”
Ethan let out a slow, shuddery breath. “How did everything get so fucking turned around, Remy? We were all fine and perfectly happy. And then she showed up, and everything is just … wrong now.”
“It’s because she showed up,” Remy said simply. She closed her eyes and added softly, “Is there anything I can do for you to at least see you happy again? Anything at all?”
Ethan was silent for a moment before he spoke. His voice vibrated into Remy’s ears through his back. “Yeah. You can live.”