Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(2)

“Worry? No. I’m pretty sure.”

“You’re pretty sure you’re crazy?”

“Yes.”

I laugh, looking at him, seeing he’s watching me curiously. The light changes and people go around us, but he doesn’t move. Not right away.

“There’s nothing wrong with being crazy,” he says. “It’s all just a matter of perception. Hell, I think my brother’s crazy, working some bullshit job with his beauty queen girlfriend studying whatever she’s studying, spending tens of thousands for a little piece of paper that’ll declare her competent enough to get her own bullshit job where she’ll make not even a fraction of what I make, when I didn’t even finish high school. But the world thinks that’s normal, and really, that’s all normalcy is—it’s whatever fucking brand of crazy has the majority.”

He goes on so long, staring at me, that the light changes again and people gather around us.

I stay quiet, waiting until it’s safe to walk.

“Besides,” Lorenzo says, turning to cross the street, “crazy gets shit done, Scarlet.”

We stroll along, finishing our burritos, neither of us saying much of anything after that. He’s right, I guess. Maybe we’re all crazy. Maybe the trick in life is just to find someone whose crazy plays well with your own.

After we discard our trash, Lorenzo heads for the subway. It’s packed with commuters at this hour, so there aren’t any seats left, even standing room scarce. Lorenzo grabs a pole, pulling me in front of him without a word. It’s cozy. Warm. His arm drapes around me as I rest my head against his chest.

He’s so warm I almost fall asleep standing there.

It takes forty-five minutes to make it to his house. As soon as we walk inside, we come face-to-face with Leo and Melody, who are dressed for the day and heading out. Leo works in some fancy ass restaurant, one that requires he wear a tuxedo, whereas Melody is carrying her backpack full of books for class. It’s all so picture-perfect.

Normal.

Leo eyes us. “Long night? You both look like hell this morning.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Lorenzo asks right away. “Somewhere that doesn’t include talking to me?”

Leo laughs at that, slapping Lorenzo’s shoulder. “But I always have time for my big brother.”

“Go to work,” Lorenzo says. “You get fired, you’re fucked, because I’m not paying for Firecracker’s wining and dining, so all romance will be off.”

“Oohhh,” Melody says, making a face as she grabs Leo’s arm. “You know what no romance means...”

“No pussy?” I guess.

Now Leo makes a face.

“Good,” Lorenzo says. “Maybe then they’ll keep their clothes on and stop playing Slip ‘n Slide on my damn couch all of the time.”

“Speaking of the couch,” Leo chimes in, “you were just kidding, right? You didn’t really steal the new couch from some strip club.”

As soon as he says that, I glance into the living room, seeing a familiar black leather couch with gold accents. Oh god, did he seriously...?

“Do you think I’d really do that?” Lorenzo asks.

“I’m hoping not,” Leo grumbles.

“Go to work,” Lorenzo tells him again before turning to Melody. “And you, go wherever it is you go when you’re not in my house, breathing up all of my oxygen.”

They grumble goodbyes and head out, while Lorenzo stands there, staring at the door, making sure they’re gone before turning to me.

He looks like he has something to say, but I beat him to talking.

“You stole a couch,” I say, “from a strip club.”

“So?”

“So do you know what happens on those couches?”

“Probably the same ooey-gooey shit my brother does on it, but it doesn’t matter. I disinfected it.”

“You disinfected it.”

“Yeah, got a can of Lysol and sprayed the fuck out of the thing.”

I scrub my hands over my face. “I, uh... I’m too tired to think of a response to that.”

“Then come on,” he says, stepping past me. “Let’s go to bed.”

I don’t argue with that. Bed sounds like a beautiful place to be, so I follow him upstairs. As soon as we reach his room, I kick off my shoes and yank off my hoodie, falling into the bed with a sigh, still clutching the damn bear.

Lorenzo strips down to nothing, as usual, before climbing in beside me.

Thirty seconds, if even that. My eyes drift closed, exhaustion taking over. Lorenzo’s already snoring. Sleep hits me hard.

Out like a light.

I don’t know how much time passes before I’m jolted back awake, but my body is sore and the room is dim, growing darker, so I sense it’s late. I slept all damn day. Groggy, rubbing my eyes, I pull myself up to a sit as something falls into my lap.

Buster.

It hits me again then, as I pick up the bear. The pressure in my chest makes me feel like I’m suffocating. My fingers explore the bear’s beat-up face, caressing the filthy fur and shoving stuffing back into the holes.

I wondered if I’d ever see the thing again. I wondered where it ended up and hoped—no, counted on—it being with Sasha. She doesn’t have me, I’m not there to protect her, but I thought she’d at least have her best friend Buster.