Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(38)

“You’ve seen clips.”

“Yes.”

“That’s just...”

“Pathetic?”

“I was going for more like bullshit.”

“It’s life,” I say, “which, contrary to what you seem to think, can’t always be fun.”

“See, now that is bullshit.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and starts tinkering with it, like the conversation is over now, nothing else to say about it. We stroll along for who knows how long, wandering the streets until my feet start to hurt. I kick my shoes off and carry them, because fuck it, which earns me a peculiar look from Lorenzo. He shoves his phone away eventually, but we still don’t really talk.

I let him lead, and maybe it’s weird, but I’m kind of enjoying the silence. It’s peaceful in a sense and sets me at ease.

I needed that today.

Needed this.

Serenity.

We end up on Broadway in the middle of the afternoon, and I look up, gazing at the yellow The Lion King signs along Minskoff Theater. Lorenzo heads right for the place, getting closer... closer... closer, but I grab his arm to stop him as he nears a gathered crowd. “What are you doing?”

“Going to see The Lion King.”

“I, uh... what?”

I start to argue, but he doesn’t stop to listen to a word of my complaint, heading right inside just as others filter in. The man working the door looks at Lorenzo, averting his eyes quickly in reaction.

I tense. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Lorenzo, though, doesn’t seem bothered.

The guy asks for our tickets, but Lorenzo talks his way right out of it, weaseling past two more workers and an usher inside, like they’re all just too afraid to say ‘no’ to him. We find some empty seats in the back, way up top, but I’m not going to complain a bit. I’m just too damn shocked I’m actually in the theater. Intermission is ending, the second act starting up. We missed the whole beginning, but fuck it... I never thought I’d see this much.

The music starts, and I’m entranced as we second-act the afternoon showing, ignoring the looks of people around us who know damn well we weren’t here earlier. The first few minutes, I’m on edge, waiting to be thrown out, but eventually, the draw of what’s happening on stage is just too much.

I watch, tears in my eyes that I struggle to hold back, pressure in my chest like my heart wants to explode. I’m bursting at the seams with feelings and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s like being swept up in a tornado and I’m just waiting for it to drop me somewhere.

And I land hard the second it’s over.

I’m up out of my stolen seat, cheering loudly, clapping and screeching and crying, because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed outside of my daughter. Nothing will ever be more beautiful than her, but this moment is a close second, and all I can think as I stand here is how much she’d love this, how happy it would make her to see something so touching.

I turn to Lorenzo. He’s just staring straight ahead. He cuts his eyes at me, like he can sense my attention, and makes a face because I’m crying.

“Come on, fuddy-duddy,” I say, shoving against him. “Let’s get the heck out of here.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He’s out of the chair and heading through the crowd while the performers are still taking bows. I wipe my face as we go outside, knowing my makeup has to be a mess.

“That was... wow,” I say when we walk away from the theater. “I don’t even have words right now.”

“Yet you’re talking.” He makes a puppet out of his hand as he holds it up, right in my face, saying, “blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...”

I shove his hand away with a laugh. “Fuck off.”

He looks at me and smiles. He smiles. It’s genuine, no more than a flicker of happiness, but it’s there, and I see it, and it does something to me.

There’s that damn pitter-pattering again.

“There’s something about you, Lorenzo,” I say, shaking my head as I look away, unconsciously returning his smile. “Sometimes I think you might just be human.”

“You’re making shit weird again, Scarlet.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

“So, where to now?” he asks, stopping on the nearby corner, waiting for the light to change to cross the street.

“I don’t know... nowhere, I guess?” I shrug, waving back toward the theater. “I’m not sure how that could be topped.”

He looks at me, raising his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

“Uh, no...”

“It sounds like one.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

He grins, a sly kind of smile just as the light changes, leaning closer to whisper, “challenge accepted,” before walking away, crossing the street.

I’m not sure what he’s thinking right now, but my stomach twists all up in knots. Shit.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

But I’ve got to admit... I kind of like it.



Seven lives in a little brown cookie-cutter townhouse. Potted plants line the steps, the flowers in them starting to bloom.

Purple. And pink.

Seriously, he’s got purple and pink flowers leading to his front door.