Chapter Twenty-Four
The seven deadly sins and I are on a first-name basis.
Gluttony. I don’t deny myself anything.
Greed. I want it all, everything there is.
Pride. I’m full of it, every inch of me.
Sloth. I’m a lazy son of a bitch.
Wrath. I’ve got an itchy trigger finger.
Lust. Pretty sure this one goes without question.
Last but not least, the one they call ‘envy’. I don’t find myself feeling jealous very often, not anymore, but as I stand in the doorway to my living room, staring at the little girl asleep on my couch, I feel a twinge of it. At barely three-feet tall, not even forty pounds, she’s tiny, but something about her just fills the room, like her personality can’t fit in that minuscule body.
She’s just like her mother. It’s eerie.
I know what you’re probably thinking: this dumb son of a bitch is jealous of a five-year-old. And you’d be right. But I’m not jealous for the reasons you’re thinking, so knock that shit right out of your mind. It’s got nothing to do with Scarlet.
I’m jealous because the kid’s asleep.
Not just dozed-off, dainty sleep, either. I’m talking sprawled out on her back, hanging halfway off the couch, mouth wide open, snoring and drooling kind of sleep, the kind where you can shake her and she’s not waking up.
The kid is practically comatose.
I’ve never slept like that in my life.
Just one night of that sleep would probably cure me of every problem I have. I’d wake up the next morning feeling like Mr. Rogers, welcoming motherfuckers to my neighborhood.
“I should probably get going,” Scarlet says. “Get her to bed... it’s been a long day.”
“No, stay!” Melody says right away. “I mean, I know it’s not my house or anything, but it’s so late, and she’s already asleep... there’s no reason to drag her out of here right now, right?” She looks to Leo. “Right?”
Leo shrugs. “It’s not my house, either.”
They both look to me as if I’m going to contradict that, as if I’m going to kick them out on their asses.
“You know you can stay,” I tell Scarlet. “Mi casa es... everybody’s fucking casa.”
“She can sleep in my room,” Leo says. “Mel and I can take the couch tonight.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Scarlet says. “I’m not taking your bed from you. We can just crash right here.”
“Besides, who-fucking-knows what the two of you have done on that bed, what kind of ‘monkey see, monkey do’ shit you play when you get naked,” I say. “It would take us until sunrise to sanitize the mattress to make it safe for her to sleep on.”
Leo shoots me a look. “Are you kidding me? She’s asleep on a couch you supposedly stole from a strip club.”
“One that I thoroughly sanitized.”
“You sprayed it with Lysol.”
“Which kills 99.9% of germs.”
“Pretty damn sure syphilis falls into that .1%, bro.”
“What the hell do you know about syphilis?”
“I took a health class.”
“That better be all you took when it comes to syphilis.”
“Guys,” Scarlet says, cutting in, physically stepping in front of me before I can question him more. “Seriously, I’m fine right here.”
“I’ll take the couch,” I say, looking at Scarlet. “You can take my room.”
“But—”
“Enough with the fucking buts,” I tell her. “My bed’s big, it’s comfortable, you’ve slept in it dozens of times before. Besides, it’s not like I’m actually going to be doing any sleeping. So just... take her to my room.”
She scowls but doesn’t argue, walking over to pick up her daughter. The kid sleeps right through it, not even opening her eyes as Scarlet carries her from the room and takes her upstairs.
I stroll into the living room, toward the couch.
“I can’t get over how stinkin’ cute she is,” Melody says as I approach. “Like, whoa, she looks just like Morgan. That’s got to be a mind-fuck for her.”
“Right?” Leo grins, looking at his girlfriend. “Can you imagine a little Mel running around?”
As soon as my brother says that, I reach over, smacking him on the side of the head. “Don’t get any ideas. You better be wrapping it every single time.”
He winces, grabbing his head. “Jesus, bro... I am.”
“Good. I’m not ready for you to make me an uncle.”
“Aw, Uncle Lorenzo,” Leo says with a laugh. “You know, you’re always talking about how you raised me, which would kind of make you Grandpa, wouldn’t it?”
I glare at him, shoving him over to sit down on the couch. “Get the fuck out of my face, Pretty Boy, before I lock you in a tower until you turn thirty-five.”
Rolling his eyes, he stands up, grabbing Melody’s hand to lead her out. “Come on, Mel... lets go defile this mattress of ours some more.”
I groan as he flicks the light switch, turning the lights off on me on his way out. “I swear to fuck... wrap it up or I’ll rip it off.”
“Noted,” Leo hollers back. “Goodnight, bro.”
Goodnight.
Sighing, I lay down on the couch, not bothering to even take my boots off. There’s no ceiling fan in here, a fact I’m just now noticing. I’m not even sure how to force myself to fall asleep anymore without incessantly watching the fan blades go round and round and round until I pass out.
Fuck.
I lay here for what feels like forever, analyzing the plain white ceiling in the darkness. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. I’m going out of my fucking mind.
Digging in my pocket, I grab my tin, pulling out a freshly-rolled joint and lighting it. Dropping the tin and the matches onto the coffee table, I lay there on my back, covering my eyes with my left forearm and smoking in silence.
I hear the floor creak after a while and move my arm, peeking over, my gaze instantly meeting Scarlet’s in the shadows. Before I can even greet her, she climbs onto the couch, sitting right on top of me and straddling my waist. Wordlessly, I hold out the joint, and she grabs it, no hesitation, taking a deep drag, drawing the smoke into her lungs before passing it right back. I watch her in the sliver of moonlight filtering through the nearby window, watch as she tilts her head back and closes her eyes, slowly exhaling. She’s wearing only a pair of black underwear and a too-big black t-shirt. My shirt, I realize, straight out of my closet.
“Stealing from me again?” I ask, my free hand slipping beneath the shirt and coming to rest on her slim waist.
She smiles, looking down at me. “Just borrowing it.”
“Did you ask?”
“Can I wear it?”
“Fuck no.”
She laughs as I tuck what’s left of the joint between my lips to grab the shirt. Her hands go up, letting me pull it off and toss it onto the coffee table.
No bra.
Reaching up, I palm her tits, squeezing them, tweaking her nipples, watching as they perk up, growing hard under my touch. She snatches the joint right from my lips, smoking the little bit that’s left.
After caressing her chest, my hands trail down her stomach, my fingertips tracing the scar beneath her belly button.
“He didn’t want to take me to the hospital,” she says quietly, discarding the remnants of the joint.
I meet her gaze, raising an eyebrow curiously.
“He said women gave birth at home all the time, that I’d be fine, that I didn’t need a doctor—I just needed to be a woman. So I gave birth on a mattress in the basement of Limerence… there, not at home, because he didn’t want to have to listen to my screams.”
Soundproof.
“You did it alone?”
“Some of the girls were allowed to check on me, but for the most part…” She trails off, a soft smile on her lips. “I was by myself when I had her. He came down after it was over. Took her, cleaned her up.”
She averts her eyes. I can tell there’s more to the story. Hell, I know there is. My fingers graze along the scar again. “So where did this come from?”
“He took me to a hospital afterward,” she says. “Markel convinced him to. I was sick, hemorrhaging blood. I ended up needing a hysterectomy. That’s when they, you know—”
“I know,” I say before she has to explain.
She can’t have kids anymore.
Makes sense why she told me she couldn’t get pregnant. I took her at her word, pretty sure only a fool would risk making a baby with me, but I figured she just put herself on some potent birth control, given the life she was living. Never crossed my mind to think she might’ve had that choice ripped away from her when she was still just a teenager.
He stole more from her than I realized.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, those words from my lips before I even think about what the hell I’m saying.
Her eyes instantly meet mine. “Did you just—?”
“Apologize,” I say, letting out a laugh. “Sure as fuck sounded like it, huh?”
She smiles as she leans over me, pausing with her lips just shy of mine. “Thank you.”
She kisses me, slow at first, soft, before her lips grow frenzied. My hand drifts lower, sliding between us. I stroke her pussy through the thin fabric separating us before my hand slips beneath it. She lets out a soft moan as I rub her clit, closing her eyes and shifting her hips.
Fuck, she’s so wet... so warm... so soft. I grow rock hard as she grinds against me for more friction, taking what she wants. Breaking the kiss, she pulls away, tilting her head back. Her palms press against my chest as she practically fucks my fingertips, my free hand caressing her side before grasping her ass, squeezing it.
Her breathing gets heavier, turning into pants and moans. It doesn’t take long at all, a minute or so, before her breath hitches, her fingernails digging into my skin, clawing at my chest.
“Fuck,” I groan as I watch her come, her muscles twitching, jaw going slack, chest rising and falling fast. My free hand moves yet again, roaming, caressing, my fingertips swiping along her parted lips as I mumble, “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
Her eyes open, and she looks down at me, leaning closer, her voice shaky as she says, “It’s been so long since somebody said that and I actually felt it.”
She kisses me again before I can respond, deeply, feverishly, as I reach between us, undoing my pants. I pull my cock out, stroking it, giving her a moment, before pushing the fabric separating us aside.
No hesitation, she slides right down onto me.
She moves slowly, and I don’t push her, don’t rush her, don’t flip her over and shove her face into the couch and fuck her—although, come on, you know part of me wants to. No, I let her take her time, let her do this how she wants, how she needs. She wasn’t just tormented emotionally—her body has been through hell. Remnants of bruises still pepper her pale skin, fading but visible. So I just lay here, my hands gentle as they explore, running through her hair, gripping it, holding on.
I can feel it building inside of me, twisting, tightening, as I kiss her breathlessly, my lips never leaving hers. My chest fucking aches at the sensation.
“Fuck, I’m going to come,” I groan into her mouth, my hands sliding down her back, grasping her ass as I buck my hips. I know, I know... take it easy, asshole. I just can’t help myself. I slam into her a few times, her cries echoing through the living room, as I let out a fucking growl, pleasure rippling through me. “Fuck.”
As soon I stop moving, Scarlet lays down on top of me, nuzzling into my neck, her breasts pressing against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, stroking her back, still balls deep inside her pussy.
It’s a strange sensation.
Cuddling.
We’re fucking cuddling.
What the hell happened to my life?
Scarlet reaches up, her fingertips grazing along my jawline, stroking the scruff I need to shave.
It doesn’t last long before it grows uncomfortable.
She’s covered in body fluids—hers and mine.
“Ugh, I’m all sticky,” she grumbles, lifting up so I finally pull out. I miss her warmth right away, as she gets to her feet and pauses in front of me. She snatches the shirt up off of the coffee table, tugging it back on as I eye her in the moonlight, seeing her thighs are slick with juices.
She stares down at me, and I can tell she has questions. She’s going to want details on everything that happened. It’s inevitable, I know… I’ll have to tell her about the dead girl in the basement, have to tell her what I did to the Russians, have to tell her about Seven, but I’m not in the mood. And maybe that’s selfish, maybe it makes me allergic to feelings, but I’d much rather use my mouth for something other than talking right now.
She yelps as I tug her to me, my hands on her waist. Ducking my head, I trace my tongue up her inner thigh, tasting her, licking it off. She whimpers, grabbing ahold of my hair, “Oh god.”
Go ahead, cringe if you must. Scoff and say no, nada, not doing it, nope. Do whatever you want, I don’t care, but me? I’m not afraid of body fluids. I’ll drink every last fucking drop she has to give.
She stands there, gripping onto me as I nuzzle into her pussy, licking, sucking her right through her underwear, but the position gets awkward real fucking quick, I get a kink in my neck, so it’s either stop or—
“Fuck it,” I groan. “Come here.”
She squeals as I pull her back onto the couch, yanking her up, bringing her pussy right to my mouth as I lay down flat. She laughs, bracing herself there, straddling my face, as I tongue-fuck her right to orgasm.
“Oh fuck, Lorenzo,” she whimpers, arching her back as she comes, grinding against my mouth, no shame at all. She will ride my face if it means she gets off, and fuck if that doesn’t turn me on.
She stalls when the pleasure fades, looking down at me, her face flushing. She blushes.
Filthy fucking woman has the nerve to look innocent.
I push her off, sitting up, and she laughs as she falls over onto the couch. Before I can pull myself together, there’s a noise above us on the second floor, somewhere in the vicinity of my bedroom. Shit. Scarlet gets to her feet, quickly leaning over and kissing me... just a peck on the corner of my mouth. “I’ve gotta get back to bed.”
“Seriously?” I call out as she starts to leave, just like that. “You just fuck my face and run?”
“Yep.”
I hear her laughter again and then she’s gone.
I desperately need a shower, but that’s out of the question, so I instead wander into the kitchen, doing what I can with what I’ve got to clean myself up. Afterward, I drop back down onto the couch, staring up at the blank ceiling again, my eyes heavy.
Finally tired.
* * *
You know that feeling you get whenever you’re being watched? That skin-crawling, nagging sensation, like you can feel their gaze as it penetrates you, sliding along your insides. Hair stands on end. Goose bumps spring up. It’s eerie. You know somebody’s there. You can feel it in the air.
That’s what I wake up to, the sensation so strong it forces me conscious. My heart races, my fingertips tingling from the rush of adrenaline, as my mind starts screaming ‘attack, motherfucker, attack.’
My eyes snap open.
The second they do, I see someone else’s eyes.
Curious little brown eyes.
Right fucking there.
I shove up, startled, sitting up so damn fast I get dizzy. Everything goes black for a second before coming back. Blinking, I look at her, the little Scarlet Letter just standing there a foot in front of the couch.
Sasha.
“Jesus,” I grumble, scrubbing my hands over my face, trying to wake the hell up. She’s standing there, staring at me, like it’s the goddamn Children of the Corn up in here. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hungry.”
She says that shit so matter of fact, like that’s a perfect reason to be staring at me at whatever o’clock. The room is dim, like the sun isn’t even fully shining yet. “What time is it?”
She shrugs.
Doesn’t even look for a clock.
Hell, can she read a clock?
Sighing, I search through my pockets, not finding much, suddenly aware I’ve got drug paraphernalia sitting just to the left of the kid, splayed out on the table. I snatch it up, shoving it away.
We’re off to a great start.
“Where’s your mother?” I ask, looking around.
“Sleeping.”
“Sleeping,” I say. “And you’re just, what... roaming around my house? Why?”
“I’m hungry,” she says again.
“So you stare at me instead of eating something? What kind of sense does that shit make?”
She shrugs. Again.
I blink at her, thinking maybe if I wait she’ll figure out what she’s doing, but we’re talking about Scarlet’s kid. Should’ve known better. She’d probably stand here all goddamn day waiting for me to get my shit together and make sense of things for her.
“I, uh... okay. You want some food?”
“Yes, please.”
Please.
She whipped out the manners on me.
Who can say no to that?
Well, hell, I easily could, but I’m not going to.
I shove to my feet, stretching before strolling out of the living room, heading down the hallway to the kitchen. The kid follows me, right on my heels, marching along like we’re part of a goddamn parade or something.
It’s way too early for this shit.
5:27 a.m.
That’s what the clock in the kitchen tells me when I glance at it.
“What are you hungry for? What do you want?”
I don’t have to look at her to know she’s shrugging. Her silence gives that away. I glance around the pantry, scowling. Seeing as my brother is moving out in a matter of days, he hasn’t bothered going to the store, which means we’re running short on shit that’s convenient, unless the kid likes raisins.
“You like raisins?” I ask, glancing behind me as I hold up a bag of trail mix, most of the mix part gone, leaving half a bag of pretty much just raisins at this point. Sasha slides up onto a chair at the kitchen table, so damn short her legs dangle, and makes a face at my question, clearly not a fan. “Yeah... me, neither.”
I look at the bag again before tossing it in the trashcan.
“You don’t have any allergies, do you?” I ask, realizing I should’ve probably asked that first.
“What’s that?”
“Allergies, you know... some people are allergic to peanuts, which means peanuts can kill them, so they can’t eat them. You got anything like that? Anything that can kill you?”
“Lots.”
Shit. “Really? Like what?”
“Guns.”
I look at her, brow furrowing. “Guns?”
“Guns can kill people.”
The little walking, talking PSA stares at me, not being a smart ass about that at all, simply answering my question. I almost forgot what it was like dealing with a kid. Almost.
“Allergic to guns... got it,” I mutter, moving on to the fridge. “No foods that can kill you?”
She hesitates before saying, “Porridge.”
“Porridge?” What the hell? “What kind of porridge?”
Again, she hesitates, before saying, “All the kinds.”
I glance at her, eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me porridge will kill you if you eat it?”
She nods adamantly.
I’m pretty sure she’s bullshitting, but I can’t call her bluff. She’s only five, for fuck’s sake. If I try to make her eat some, to prove she’s lying, I might accidentally kill her, and we can’t be having that.
Besides, it’s not like I have the shit around here to make porridge. What do I look like, Oliver Twist?
“No porridge, then. I won’t ever feed you it.”
She grins, a smug little smile. Manipulative little shit.
“Okay, look, kid... I’ll be straight with you. We’ve got bologna, we’ve got fish sticks, and we’ve got a bunch of shit to maybe make a salad in here.”
She makes another face.
Doesn’t sound good to me, either.
“You don’t have breakfast?” she asks. “Lucky Charms?”
“No, but I can probably make pancakes.”
Her eyes widen, her expression brightening.
Ding, ding, ding.
“Pancakes, it is,” I say, gathering what I need. Truth be told, I could make pancakes in my sleep with how often I’ve made these things for Leo.
Sasha kicks her legs impatiently as I whip up the batter, her heels banging against the legs of the chair.
“You want some kind of something in these pancakes? We’ve got...” I glance around. Shit. “Looks like we have some chocolate chips.”
She gasps. “Can I? Please?”
“Yeah,” I say, grabbing the bag of chocolate chips, dumping the whole fucking thing in the batter.
As I wait for the pan to heat up, I grab a tangerine.
“Can I have some of that, too?” she asks, watching me.
I grab another tangerine and walk over, rolling it to her on the table. She picks it up, eyeing it warily, clutching it tightly as her gaze turns back to me. I peel my tangerine, tossing the scraps on the counter, and pull out a segment to eat as the pancakes start to cook.
“Ugh, how do you do this?” she grumbles.
I look at her as she claws at the tangerine, poking a hole, her finger going right through it as juice drips out onto the table. “Never peeled a tangerine before?”
“I don’t know,” she says, frustrated. “I just wanna open the orange.”
Laughing under my breath, I walk over again, taking the tangerine and starting to peel it, showing her how to do it so she can finish the rest. “It’s a tangerine, not an orange.”
“It’s not an orange?”
“It’s more of a mandarin,” I tell her. “They’re all citrus fruit, but tangerines are smaller than a normal orange.”
She glares at it, looking skeptical. “How does it taste?”
“Like an orange.”
She gives me a look that says, ‘Are you fucking kidding me? What was your point?’
I’m so preoccupied with the tangerine that I burn the first pancake, having to toss it out. I focus after that, still trying to wake up, stacking up nearly a dozen pancakes on a platter. As soon as they’re finished, I grab some plates and turn around, freezing when I look at Sasha.
The kid’s a fucking mess.
Juice drips from her chin, smeared on her face, even somehow finding its way into her unbrushed hair. Tangerine covers the table in front of her, clinging to her shirt, like she fucking bathed in the juice. She licks her fingers, not at all bothered, her eyes lighting up when she sees the pancakes. I slap a few on a plate in front of her, ignoring the tangerine as I give her a fork.
Sitting down across the table, I hand her a bottle of syrup, watching as she drowns the pancakes in it and dives right in. I eat some, just folding the fuckers over like tacos, not bothering with silverware.
If I thought she was a mess before, it’s got nothing on her now. Mess on top of mess on top of mess. Sticky syrup and melted chocolate cover her—on her hands, on her face, on her clothes. I watch incredulously as she drops her fork and jumps down out of the chair, licking her fingers once more. My gaze follows her as she heads straight for the fridge, leaving a chocolate covered handprint on the door handle as she opens it.
She doesn’t say shit. Not a goddamn word.
She reaches right inside, helping herself to a Capri Sun.
“Give me one of those,” I say, holding my hand out, a sticky juice pouch landing in my palm.
“You’re welcome,” she says right away, even though I hadn’t thanked her, and I almost feel a twinge of guilt over that—over forgetting my manners—until it strikes me she hadn’t thanked me for the fucking pancakes.
Yeah, I know I’m petty.
You don’t have to tell me.
Pulling the little straw off the back of the pouch, I take the plastic off and aim for the hole.
I miss.
Every fucking time.
I stab the air, I stab the pouch, I stab myself. I’m about to lose my cool and throw the fucking thing when I hear Sasha laugh. My gaze darts to her. She’s sipping her drink. She got her straw in the hole, no problem.
“I can do it,” she says, launching herself across the table, grabbing the straw from me. I surrender it, pushing the juice pouch at her. She shoves the straw right in before giving it back. “There you go!”
My gaze flickers between her and the Capri Sun. “Thanks, shortcake.”
She smiles widely, her voice soft as she says, “You’re welcome.”
“Oh my god.”
A voice cuts through the room, coming from the doorway, catching both of us off guard. Scarlet stands there, wide eyes watching us.
“Mommy, I ate chocolate in pancakes!” Sasha says, turning toward her, nearly falling out of the damn chair as she tries to shift out of the way, to show her mother her breakfast.
“I see that,” Scarlet says, strolling closer, grasping the back of the chair as she looks her daughter over. “Looks like you’re wearing it, too.”
Brow furrowing, Sasha looks down, like she can’t fathom what the hell her mother’s talking about. Plucking off a piece of pancake that’s stuck to her shirt with syrup, she pops it right into her mouth. Scarlet laughs with disbelief, hauling her out of the chair and onto her feet. “Why don’t you go find a bathroom and wash up?”
Sasha doesn’t argue, trudging out of the kitchen. Once she’s gone, Scarlet slips into the chair across from me. I can tell she has shit she wants to say, so I just sit here, waiting her out, sipping from my juice pouch, knowing she’ll get to it eventually.
Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks. “What are you doing, Lorenzo?”
I glance down at myself, just as confused by that as Sasha had been about wearing her breakfast. What does it look like I’m doing? “Sitting here.”
“No, I know that, I just mean... what are you going to do now?”
“Probably keep sitting here for a while.”
She smiles softly. “What’s your plan?”
“For today?”
“For every day.”
“For every day,” I repeat, not sure how to answer that. “I’ve never been good at making plans, Scarlet... even worse at keeping them. I kind of just get up and go and hope for the best.”
“Any idea where you might be going?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how long it takes you to quit beating around the fucking bush and tell me what it is you want,” I say. “Because the rate you’re going, I might not ever make it out of this chair.”
She makes a face at me, like I’m being a pain in the ass, but I’m not a mind reader. I’m not in the business of making assumptions, so while I could guess what she’s getting at, I need her to just be straight.
For her sake.
For my sanity.
Because there’s a kid off somewhere in my house, probably flooding my fucking bathroom, and she needs us to be on the same page about this. If there’s going to be a ‘we’, it’s not just ‘her’ and ‘me’, since there’s also a little ‘she’ that has to be factored in somehow.
A little ‘she’ that complicates shit greatly.
“I’m just trying to figure out where I fit,” Scarlet says. “Trying to see if there’s even a place in your life for me.”
“For you both, you mean.”
She nods. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for, Lorenzo. That’s why, when Declan gave me your message, I tried to respect it, and I still will. I understand if we don’t fit in your life. It’s okay. But I just need to know. Because if we don’t fit here, I have to figure out where we do. She’s been through too much for so much of her life to be uncertain. She deserves to belong.”
“So do you,” I say.
Scarlet doesn’t react to that, just staring at me, waiting for something more.
“Look, your plan is what matters here,” I tell her. “Don’t try to squeeze yourself into somebody else’s life, like you’re just a guest in their universe. Because yeah, that’s fitting, but that’s not belonging. I could fit my cock in a million holes, but that doesn’t mean my cock has any business being in any of them. So why don’t you tell me what your universe looks like, Morgan... what life looks like for you and Sasha... and then we’ll decide if I belong there.”
She stares at me for another moment, like maybe she doesn’t know what to think, before finally, she says, “I just need it to be a place where we can be ourselves—where she can be who she is, and I can just be me. I don’t care if there’s a picket fence. I don’t need a boy to turn into a stupid bird. I just... I want to be happy.”
“What makes you happy?”
“You do,” she says quietly.
I think about that, those words bouncing around in my skull. “How do you feel about Florida?”
“Florida?”
“Nothing permanent, just maybe get away for a while, you know, decompress. The guys can handle business here. It’ll give my brother a chance to do his own thing without me looking over his shoulder and breathing down his neck, and it’ll give us a chance to test the waters a bit.”
“Florida, huh?”
I nod. “Florida.”
Scarlet’s quiet for a moment, staring off into space, before Sasha comes running back into the kitchen, not much cleaner than she had been.
“Hey, sunshine,” Scarlet says, grabbing the girl, pulling her toward her. “How do you feel about Florida?”
“What does it have?”
“Uh, sunny skies.” Scarlet glances at me. “Alligators, maybe? Help me out here.”
“Beaches,” I say. “Oranges.”
“A lot of oranges,” Scarlet says. “Oh, and Disney World is in Florida, too.”
Sasha’s eyes widen. “Can we go, Mommy? Please?”
“If you want to go, sure.”
A grin lights up her face as she leans over, cupping her hands around Scarlet’s ear, whispering something to her.
Whatever it is makes Scarlet’s smile grow, a laugh escaping as she says, “Of course.”
The kid lets out a squeal as she runs away, literally running in my house, yelling, “I’m gonna tell Buster!”
She’s gone in a blink.
I stare at Scarlet in silence for a moment before curiosity gets the best of me. “What did she say?”
“She wanted to know if Mommy’s friend could come with us to Florida,” she says. “She likes the way he makes his pancakes and she thinks it’s funny that he doesn’t tie his shoelaces.”
Brow furrowing, I glance down at the loose laces of the combat boots I’m wearing, the ones I never bothered to take off at bedtime, before I meet Scarlet’s gaze again. She’s still smiling, radiating happiness. Warmth.
“When she comes back, you tell her I said she’s not half-bad herself.”