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money.
    “I can’t, Ree…”
    “I know. I can’t either.” She was quiet for a while, then said, “So we won’t.”
    I looked over at her in surprise. “You really mean that?”
    She nodded. “We don’t need that money.” We both knew that was a big, fat lie. She’d severed all financial ties with her parents months ago, and I’d lost most of my work in the explosion at La Période Bleue. To say that we were broke was an understatement.
    Still…
    “I just can’t stand to profit from this,” I said. “It would feel too much like I was celebrating his death.”
    She looked down at the flowers laid out on the frozen earth—piles of them from friends, colleagues, and fans—and smiled softly. “Then what about celebrating his life instead? What if, instead of keeping the money, we did something with it in Rex’s honor? Something that celebrates the mark he left behind, both in the art world and in our hearts.”
    I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with crisp, winter air. When I was at my lowest, Rex had been the only one to believe in me. Not only that, but he’d also supported my work when no one else would. By the time I got out of juvie, many people had written me off completely. And those who hadn’t only wanted me to be Daren Junior.
    Rex had steered me onto the right path, never doubting that I would get my act together. His faith in me had made me want to be better, do better. To be more like him.
    And I suddenly knew exactly what we could do with the money to achieve that.
    “What do you think about creating a scholarship fund in Rex’s name to an art school?” I said. “Something to help underprivileged kids looking to make a positive change in their lives, a transition in the right direction.”
    Ree’s face lit up. “It’s perfect. I know Rex would approve.” She rose up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against my cheek. “He’d be so proud. It will be a celebration of the two of you as a team.”
    The two of you. Those words stung.
    Rex and Dare. Never again.
    “But I need more time to decide what to do about the townhouse,” I said. “Rex lived there for over thirty years.”
    “We don’t have to rush it.” Ree gave me a reassuring squeeze. “There’s time, Dare.”
    While I couldn’t part with the place, there was also no way in hell I could live there. And I knew with certainty that Ree couldn’t either. Not after everything that had happened within those walls.
    “As for his art…” I stiffened. Fuck, this hurt. “I can’t sell his paintings.” They were him. The only tangible thing I had left of Rex. The money and the house were mere objects, but those paintings were his fucking soul.
    Ree shook her head. “We’ll keep them forever. When you’re ready, we can adorn our entire house with his work. And when I have my own gallery one day, I’ll have monthly exhibits dedicated to him.” Her mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to leave room on my walls for some Wildes, too.”

eight

    I felt Rex’s presence as Ree and I worked to pack up his house over the next week. He was everywhere—and nowhere—all at once.
    “Dare, come in! Show me your latest work. I want to see how you’ve grown.”
    I saw him in front of the old gas stove where he taught me to cook so I could make sure the twins wouldn’t go hungry. His laughter echoed in the TV room that was riddled with a mountain of those damn Smothers Brothers tapes he loved so much. How he was able to watch the same episode over and over again, and still find something to laugh about had always baffled me. As did the fact that he refused to switch to DVDs when most of the modern world got rid of their VCRs.
    “Why would I need something new? I already have everything I could wish for.”
    The house smelled of his faint, woodsy cologne. It even sighed and groaned every so often as if it, too, was missing him. Hell, his spirit even bloomed in the now-withered and frost-covered