“What are the odds it ends well for anyone?”
“Not very good,” Seven admits, turning to me. “I should head home. Take care, Morgan.”
He walks away, heading for the front door, as I go into the library. Buster lays on the table, surrounded by a scattering of needles and thread. He bought a sewing kit. Unbelievable. Shaking my head, I pick up the bear, running my fingers along the rough knotted stitches on its side and chest.
Grabbing a needle, I carefully thread it, tucking what remains of Buster’s damaged ear in before doing my best to sew it closed so no more stuffing escapes. I’m trying to ignore the fighting in the kitchen, but neither guy is holding back.
Even the happiest homes aren’t always happy.
The angrier they grow, the more uncomfortable it feels, so after a while I snatch up the rest of the sewing kit and take the bear upstairs. Leo’s bedroom door is open, Melody sitting on the end of the bed, listening to the sounds from downstairs.
Look, I know I’m not any older than her, but I’ve been through so much that it feels like I’ve got a few lifetimes under my belt. When I look at Melody, I very much see a kid, one who has spent her life sheltered from the world, and at the moment, she looks scared.
It stirs up the mother in me, the woman who taught her little girl to face her fears. Monsters are real, but they only really have power if you let yourself be afraid.
“It’ll be okay, you know,” I say, stalling in front of the bedroom, capturing Melody’s attention.
She sighs. “I hope so.”
“It will,” I say. “No matter what.”
“Leo knew he wouldn’t take it well,” she says. “That’s why he hasn’t brought it up until now, but I pushed him to... I feel like it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell her. “Leo’s allowed to have his own life, so don’t feel guilty. Lorenzo’s just...”
“Insane,” Melody mutters.
I laugh. “Well, yeah, but mostly he’s just worried. He’ll calm down.”
“You sure about that?”
“Pretty sure,” I say. “He might not like it, but he’ll deal with it.”
She smiles when I say that, but it doesn’t last long, as a loud noise echoes through the house, the sound of something banging, things clattering.
Yep, flipped the table over.
Bye-bye, pancakes.
Melody looks worried again, but I laugh lightly, turning away. “Of course, he has to throw his little temper tantrum first, but it’ll all work out in the end.”
I head to Lorenzo’s bedroom, making my way into his bathroom, searching drawers and cabinets for a first aid kit. He at least should have one of those, right? He might not give himself stitches, but he ought to have bandages. I manage to dig up a roll of gauze and take it into the bedroom, sitting down on the bed to finishing fixing up the bear. I wrap the gauze around his burned leg, covering it like a makeshift cast, and stitch a line of thread along the edge of it to secure it to the bear.
I hear stomping on the stairs eventually before Leo’s bedroom door slams, followed moments later by another set of footsteps. I listen as they hesitate at the top of the stairs, like he’s deciding where to go or what to do, whether to drop it or keep the fighting going up here.
“Don’t do it,” I mutter under my breath. “Just let it go.”
Lorenzo stands there for an entire minute, debating, before he exhales loudly, almost a frustrated growl, and makes his way to the bedroom where I am. He appears casual, unruffled, but I can tell it’s all an act.
My heart races, skin tingling when his gaze meets mine. He’s teetering on a brink. I know what it’s like to detach from reality, to shut down to keep from feelings things. I pity whoever might cross this man if he ever truly lets the coldness consume him. He’s clinging to a life raft right now. The moment he says fuck it and lets go, everyone’s going to drown in the waves he creates because he’s not going down alone.
Should that scare me? Probably.
Does it? Nope.
“I know how you’re feeling,” I say quietly.
“I’m fine,” he says, sounding fine, but I know he isn’t. He’s so damn far from fine there isn’t even a word for what this man is.
“I have a kid.”
“I’m aware.”
“So I know how you’re feeling,” I say again. “You want to wrap them in bubble wrap and protect them from the world, but you’re only human. We can only do so much for them.”
“Your kid is what, four?”
“Five,” I say. “She turned five after he took her.”
“Five,” he repeats, strolling into the room. “Pretty Boy is in his twenties. And besides, he’s not my kid.”
“True,” I say. “Doesn’t change how I know you’re feeling, though. You raised him. You want to keep him from harm.”
“I want him to not be such a fucking fool,” Lorenzo says, sitting down beside me.
“He’s just hopeful,” I say, “and he’s in love.”
“He’s a fucking fool,” Lorenzo says, lying back on the bed, covering his face with his forearm.
“It’s sweet,” I tell him. “Just because you don’t want all of that doesn’t mean there’s no worth to it. And really, lets be real... did you expect him to live with you forever? He’s grown, and you and him... you’re different people. He wants to cuddle and watch rom-coms with his girlfriend. You want to shoot at things and steal couches that were molested by strippers. This was kind of inevitable.”
His arm shifts. I can feel his gaze.
I don’t look at him, though, only getting a slight glimpse from my peripheral. If what I said pissed him off, he doesn’t say a word about it, just staring at me in silence as I tinker with the bear.
After a moment, he reaches out toward me, his hand on my back, gently rubbing it, sending sparks up my spine. I turn, caught off guard by the tender touch, and finally look back at him.
“Are you trying to fuck right now?” I ask. “Because we just had sex, like, an hour ago, before you ruined breakfast.”
He laughs, sitting up, his hand leaving my back to instead ruffle my hair. What the hell? He pushes up off the bed, strolling toward the bathroom.
“I need to shower,” he says. “I smell like pussy.”
“You go do that. I’m gonna... do something, I don’t know.”
“Do whatever you want, Scarlet,” he says, which is quickly becoming his favorite sentence—even though he totally regretted it last time he said that. “Just do me a small favor and keep yourself out of trouble, because I’m not in the mood to play White Knight right now.”
Kassian used to tell me I was stupid.
So pretty, yet so stupid. That is why you cannot be trusted to make decisions, suka.
How many times had he told me that? How many times had he used those words to justify the brutality he inflicted upon my life?
So many times I lost count.
I never once bought it, never once believed his bullshit, but sitting here at a wooden picnic table on the Coney Island boardwalk, I’m wondering if maybe he was onto something about me.
Stupid. So stupid.
I shouldn’t be here.
The boardwalk is packed, despite the weather still being cool, the amusement park not far off behind me, so close I can hear the rumbling of the Cyclone and the faint noise of the Wonder Wheel running, excited screams and children laughing and music playing... the sound of happiness.
I can still remember the first time I felt it, the first time I saw the lights illuminating the Coney Island night sky and heard the laughter and thought ‘this is where I’m meant to be forever’. Standing right here along this boardwalk, dirty and tired, having no food or money, fourteen years old and on my own.
Still so much a child at heart but looking way too much like a woman on the outside.
Enough to capture his attention.
Enough to pique his interest.
The late-July air had been sweltering, a touch of sunburn on my sweat-sticky skin, sand clinging to my legs beneath my cut-off jean shorts. I was thirsty, and hungry, my stomach angrily growling as I walked along, passing vendor after vendor on the boardwalk, the array of smells assaulting me.