My house had a lot less black than his did. I liked some color but I did have the requisite flat screen that covered the wall over the fireplace and a few signed jerseys that were matted and framed, that keep the space from looking anywhere close to overly styled.

Dom was standing in front of a wall that had a few pictures of my family on it and one of my favorite pictures of me and Remy from when we had first moved in together. We had our arms around each other, and Remy’s best friend, Shaw, in all her adorable blond glory, was hugging us both. For a long time Shaw had been the only person in Remy’s life that knew about me, that knew about us. The three of us looked happy, like nothing in the world would stop us from living the lives we were meant to live. How quickly that had all changed.

Dom tapped the picture and looked over his shoulder at me. “He’s the football player in your office, too. Who is he?” I shouldn’t be surprised by his keen perception. It was part of his job after all.

I found my own coat where I had abandoned it along with all my common sense in my rush to get him naked and to get myself inside of him last night.

“Someone that isn’t in my life anymore.” I hated talking about Remy, hated having to admit out loud that he was dead, that I would never see him again, that the world would never be touched by his beautiful and warm nature ever again.

Dom gave me a questioning look and followed me to the front door. “Not in your life but still on your wall and in your office? And if I had to guess I would say the reason you no longer like football.”

I bristled a little as we both slid into my car. The weather was steadily getting colder and I was going to have to swap out the sports car for my SUV in the next few months. I kept the big four-wheel drive stashed at my folks’ until the weather really called for it, but I loved my Jag.

“He was someone that once was my whole world. Not anymore.” It was so hard to say “because he died.” The words always seemed to get stuck in my throat.

“So it ended badly but you cared about him enough to keep a reminder of him in plain sight wherever you look?” Dom was trying to put the pieces together, but he couldn’t solve the puzzle when there were major pieces of it not even on the table.

I cut a look across the car that practically begged him to quit asking questions about this particular subject and about this particular man. “It ended as badly as anything can end and I thought I would never get over it.”

He was quiet for the rest of the ride across town to his apartment. When I pulled up in front of it next to his truck, I heard him suck in a breath and then let it out slowly. “So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you ever get over it?” He asked the question carefully like my answer could very well break apart this fragile thing we were building between us.

I rubbed my thumb over my lower lip and contemplated the truth. When someone you loved died, was taken tragically with no room for resolution or good-bye, it wasn’t something you forgot or moved on from. The guilt stayed with you. The remorse covered you. The what-ifs buried you under mountains of possibilities but eventually you learned how to function with all of those anchors holding you down. Was I over Remy’s death? No, and I never would be, but I had come to terms with my role in it and in his life. That had been a battle hard fought and I wouldn’t ever take that progress or self-growth lightly.

“No, I’m not over it, but each day I work closer and closer to being okay with things I know won’t ever change.”

“The new normal?’

I nodded a little. “Yeah.”

He had more questions and now some serious concerns. I could see them swirling and colliding in his eyes. But I didn’t have the right words to soothe them away, so I leaned forward and gave him the same kind of kiss he landed on me this morning.

“I’ll see you at the gym tomorrow. You’re getting really close to your goal. You can probably schedule your physical with both your doctor and your job within the next month.”

He just looked at me without saying anything and when he got out of the car he shut the door with more force than was necessary. He was upset and I didn’t blame him, but I also couldn’t tell him that he was angry about a dead man. That made me feel too exposed, too vulnerable and where he was concerned, I had done a very good job of insulating myself from the start.

I tried to push it all to the back of my mind and focus on the twisty, winding mountain roads that lead out of downtown Denver and into the mountains towards the small, upscale community of Brookside. The Archers made it a point to have a family get-together every Sunday and ever since Shaw brought me into the fold I had a standing invitation to join them. I couldn’t always make it considering work and my own family obligations, but I did try and stop by once a month just like I told Dom.

Rule and Shaw now had a baby boy named Ry and he looked so much like Remy that it took my breath away every time I held him. Remy’s older brother Rome was also on his way to getting married and was expecting his second child with his pixie-sized girlfriend, Cora Lewis. They had a toddler, a tiny spitfire who was a carbon copy of her mother, named Remy … or RJ as the rest of the family called her. Not me. She was named after her uncle, and her happy and mischievous personality would have thrilled him. I called her Remy and gave her hugs from both of us whenever I got to see her.

My boy was alive and well through memory and family. Spending time with the Archer brood always soothed the jagged parts of me that losing one of them had caused. We helped each other remember and heal. Remy would have danced a goddamn jig if he could’ve seen us all together and happy celebrating him the way we tended to do.

It was Rule who opened the door when I knocked and like I always did when I looked at him I had to take a moment to remember he was not Remy. I had to soak in the colorful ink that covered his neck and hands. I had to zero in on the metal bars that dotted his eyebrow and the hoop that lived in the center of his bottom lip. He usually had some crazy-colored hair that was spiked up or shaved off, but ever since his little boy had been born, he was leaving it the natural dark brown all the Archer boys were born with. It was longer than it had ever been and even had a little curl to it. If it wasn’t for the cocksure grin and the sharpness in his blue eyes that were paler than my own, I would call him pretty. Rule had too much edge to be pretty, but he was close.

“You good, man?” It was the same every time I saw him. The same question and the same sad look in his eyes. I needed a minute and he gave it to me.