“I’m fine,” he said, his grip tensing on the statue. His voice was cross, sounding nothing like Nick. I couldn’t help my awkward smile of understanding, remembering Ivy bothering me with the same question. My stomach gave a lurch.

“I wasn’t going to ask how you were doing,” I said, fiddling with the two charms about my neck. One was for pain that wouldn’t cover the hurt caused by being hit, the other was to keep my head from meeting the dash. Peter had refused both.

My eyes lifted to the rearview mirror to see that Ivy and Jenks were still behind us. “Do you want me to turn the lights on?” I asked. It was our agreed upon signal to abort the plan. I wanted him to say yes. I didn’t want to do this. The statue didn’t matter right now. Peter did. We could find another way.

“No.”

The sun was setting past him, and I squinted at him. “Peter …”

“I’ve heard it all,” he said, his voice rough as he kept his stiff position. “Please don’t. It comes down to one thing. I’m dying. I’ve been doing it for a long time, and it hurts. I stopped living three years ago when the medicine and charms quit working and the pain took everything away. There’s nothing left of me but hurting. I fought for two years with the thought that I was a coward for wanting to end the pain, but there is nothing left.”

I snuck a glance at him, shocking myself when I saw Nick sitting there, his jaw clenched and his brown eyes hard. It sounded like it was a story he had told too many times. As I watched, his shoulders slumped and he let go of the door. “This lingering isn’t fair to Audrey,” he said. “She deserves someone strong, able to stand beside her and meet her bite for bite in the passion she’s aching to show me.”

I couldn’t let that go without saying something. “And becoming an undead is fair to her?” I said, making his jaw clench again. “Peter, I’ve seen the undead. That won’t be you!”

“I know!” he exclaimed, then softer, “I know, but it’s all I’ve got left to give her.”

The whirl of air under the tires rose above the sound of the engine as we went over the first of the grates designed to lighten the bridge’s load.

“She knows it won’t be me,” Peter said, his voice calm. He seemed to want to talk, and I would listen. I owed him that.

He met my gaze and smiled a scared little-boy smile. “She promised me she’ll be happy. I used to be able to dance with such passion that it could drive her wild. I want to dance again with her. I will remember her. I will remember the love.”