Page 69 of Grave Love

I grimace; this corpse has no place on my bed.

Using the tip of my boot, I shove the body off of the bed. It clunks down, thudding on the floor. A discarded piece of trash. Like Renshouldhave been.

The only corpse who belongs in my bed, living or dead, is Ren.

I crack my neck in an attempt to control the irritation. I could’ve made the woman’s death a slow, excruciating process, much like I did with my first three kills, but it wasn’t the appealing option. No matter how much this failed replacement screamed—no matter how much she fought or enjoyed what I took from her—this woman would never come close to what I want.

No matter how many women I kill. No matter how hard I search. Even if I find the perfect black-haired woman with dull brown eyes, who looks, smells, and acts like what I want, none of it will make a difference. Because it won’t beher.

No one will ever compare to Ren, and that kills me.

Chapter25

Ren

Blaze avoidsme for three days.

I keep my eyes on the windows and doors of Last Spring, looking for a hint of his white-blond hair. It’s stupid paranoia—why would he be avoiding me? I should be the one avoidinghim—but the instinct that he’s ghosting me follows me around like a shadow.

Last Spring carries on. Mourners. Clients. Corpses. During my lunch, for the third day in a row, I head to the embalming room. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I know it’s not going to be covered in blood; Blaze said he would clean it, and I’ve seen it since then. There’s no trace of us. I’m not there for that, though. It’s like I need proof of what we did.

Emily, our embalmer, inserts a needle into the corpse’s vein. The part-timer bobs her head next to her. Emily twists around and messes with the machine.

“Yes?” she asks.

I bite my lip. I’m not supposed to be here. Emily is going to notice that I keep coming around here, and she’s going to start asking questions.

I don’t care.

“Have you seen Blaze?” I ask.

“Denise said he called in,” she says. “Something about a stomach bug. Why?”

I mumble a lie—something about him giving me a ride home next week—then I shuffle back to the crematory.

My phone lies in my hands as I wait for the retort to finish its work. I want Blaze to call me. To text. To do anything to reach out to me.

My phone stays silent.

The shift ends. I clock out and drive. I don’t realize where I’m going until I’m parked outside of his house.

I gaze at the steering wheel, hoping it’ll steady me. Willing myself to go home. I shouldn’t be here. He didn’t invite me here. He doesn’t want me.

This is insane. You don’t mean anything to each other.

But I turn toward his house. The sun is set now, the sky dark blue. I can’t make myself leave.

The front door opens. His house stays dark, and his shadow waits on the porch.

Butwhatis he waiting for?

What am I doing here?

I don’t dwell on those answers. I walk up to his front porch and meet him there. I tilt my head.

“Where have you been?” I ask.

“Working,” he says.