Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(90)

I give him the address.

He punches it into the GPS.

It takes us about an hour to get there, night falling by the time we arrive, darkness shrouding the neighborhood. He parks just down from the place, cutting the car off. I get out but don’t approach, perching myself on the hood of my car.

White house, red door, quaint little picket fence in quiet suburbia. A stone walkway leads from the gate to the front porch, a trail of outdoor landscape lights illuminating it. The place is lit up, shining bright in the night, a soft yellow glow coming from a few of the windows. I’m not close enough to hear anything, but I can sense shadows as they move around inside.

Seven climbs out of the car, coming over to stand beside me. I don’t know how long I sit here, just watching the house in silence, but it’s long enough for the lights to flick off, one-by-one, until all that’s lit up is the right top window. Scarlet’s room, I imagine. I faintly catch glimpses of her as she moves around, brief flashes of her through the break in the dark curtains.

“You going to go say hello?” Seven asks.

I shake my head.

He’s quiet, like he’s trying to make sense of why we’re here if it’s not to visit her. I hope he doesn’t ask, because I’m not in the mood to explain myself.

Just when I’m about to end this, to do what I came to do, so I can go back home and close this chapter, the phone in my pocket rings. I look away from the house, pulling the phone out to glance at it. Blocked number.

I’m not sure what compels me to press the button, to answer it, since I’ve never answered a blocked caller before, but I do.

Bringing it to my ear, I say, “Gambini.”

The line is silent.

Without a word even spoken, I know it’s her.

Call it my gut. It’s just the feeling I get. I can sense her on the line, I know she’s there, but she says nothing. Maybe there’s nothing left to say. Maybe this is all it is, all it was, all it could ever be. Maybe this is the end of the story. Yeah, my gut says it should be.

But the traitorous heart beating in my chest isn’t having that bullshit. It’s angrily banging, begging me to do something, something my brain definitely doesn’t agree with. My brain says fuck that.

“Tell me a story,” she says finally, her voice barely a whisper.

“A true story or a fairy tale?” I ask.

“Surprise me.”

“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Luke Skywalker—”

Laughter cuts me off.

I don’t finish, because I’m pretty sure she already knows how it goes. Silence falls over the line again before she says, “I have a confession to make, Lorenzo.”

“I’m listening.”

“Pretending to listen?”

“No, I’m actually listening.”

She sighs. “I don’t really know how to say this, but I need to get it off my chest, and I just... I feel like you should know, that I should tell you how I really feel...”

“Just spit it out, Scarlet.”

“I really love the prequels.”

I hesitate. “You love the prequels?”

“Yes,” she says. “The Star Wars prequels. I know a lot of people hate on them, but I really love them.”

“I, uh... I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Anakin and Padme’s story was just so heartbreakingly beautiful, you know? The Phantom Menace is probably my favorite movie.”

“Of the prequels?”

“Of the entire series.”

I grimace. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Jesus, fuck, woman... and you call me crazy. You’re insane. I just... what the hell is wrong with you?”

She laughs again.

The genuine kind of laughter.

I don’t know that I’ve ever heard her laugh like that before, so lighthearted, like a heavy burden has been lifted off of her. I smile at the sound, even though she’s lost her fucking mind.

“I feel better,” she says, “now that I’ve confessed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m wishing I wasn’t listening,” I tell her. “You should’ve saved that confession for a priest, someone who could help you get over that shit, because I don’t even know where to begin.”

She laughs some more before it all goes quiet.

“Thank you,” she whispers after a bout of silence.

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

She says nothing else, although I can tell there’s more she wants to. Whether or not she should is another question. Maybe I’m not the only one with a heart and a mind at odds.

“Goodnight, Scarlet,” I say. “Take care of yourself.”

Her voice is barely a whisper as she says, “Goodnight.”

Hanging up, I shove the phone back into my pocket before pushing away from the hood and reaching into the backseat of the car, snatching out the filthy, old teddy bear I’d thrown there days ago after cleaning out the car. I walk away, finally approaching the house, my footsteps quiet as I go through the gate and navigate the walkway. Stepping up onto the porch, I prop the bear against the door where I know it’ll be found.

Darkness falls over the rest of the house as I walk away, the bedroom light turning off. I climb straight into the passenger seat of my car, waiting for Seven to get in behind the wheel. A minute or so passes as I stare blankly at the dashboard, waiting for Seven to start the car, when I hear his voice. “Uh, boss...”