Page 140

For one horrible second, I can still see her through it. The ridge of her nose. The shape of her mouth.

I jerk back.

Nate notices.

He’s standing on the other side of her, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jaw set so hard I can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. His eyes are focused.

“Ella.”

I look at him.

“Don’t think about her,” he says.

I let out a sound that almost becomes a laugh. “How exactly do you suggest I do that?”

“Think about us.”

Us?

There is no us without this.

Nathaniel reaches for the latch on the old cedar chest. He opens it. The hinges groan.

I flinch at the sound.

Everything is too loud. The creak of wood. My breathing. The pulse pounding in my ears. Somewhere outside, wind scrapes branches against the windows, and I swear it sounds like fingernails.

Nate nods to me. “On three.”

I stare at the sheet-wrapped shape between us.

I want to say no. I want to say I can’t.

Instead I grip my side of the sheet.

“One,” Nathaniel says.

My throat closes.

“Two.”

The room tilts.

“Three.”

We lift.

The body sags in the middle, and nausea thumps up my throat so brutally I nearly drop her.

We move awkwardly. Slowly. Until⁠—

Thud.

She’s in the chest. The same one that took her life.

The sheet catches on the edge. Nathaniel tucks it in. I can’t bring myself to look too closely, so I stare at his hands instead.

Strong hands.