by Meghan March
Bump studies my face. “You look pretty with no makeup on. Q says I should only look for girls who look pretty without makeup, because otherwise you could go to bed with a ten and wake up with a two. You’re still a ten.”
God, this kid.
I swipe at a lock of wet hair that’s escaped from the towel on my head. “Thank you, Bump.”
“Gabe shouldn’t have gone walking tonight. He should be here with you. Even Jorie would agree.”
“Who’s Jorie?” I ask, mostly just to be polite, but also because I’m still pathetic and desperate to know anything about Gabriel—even though I just promised myself I was putting him out of my head and life. But, unfortunately, the musical South Pacific was wrong, and you can’t wash a man right out of your hair.
He frowns, running a finger absently along the streak of missing hair on his head. “My sister. She’s dead.”
I jerk back and stare at him. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He shakes his head. “It’s been a long time. That’s why we came to New York. She and Gabe were going to get married and have babies, but . . .”
When he trails off, I can fill in the rest myself. But they couldn’t because she’s dead.
Jesus. Hell.
Gabriel was in love with Bump’s sister, and then she died.
Right there, when I thought it was already broken, my heart cracks again. He lost the woman he loved, and the pain of that revelation socks me hard. For Gabriel first, but then also for me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t compete with a dead woman.
“I’m so sorry, Bump,” I tell him again as I reach out to bury my hand in Roux’s rough coat.
“You don’t need to be sorry. That’s only if something happens to Gabe. He’s the closest family I got.”
“He’s a tough guy. I’m sure he can take care of himself.”
Bump shrugs. “People are looking for him. Bad things will happen if they find him.”
The matter-of-fact nature in which he delivers this news rattles me to the core. “What people? What bad things?”
Another shrug, but it’s easy to see whatever he’s got going on in his mind is agitating him. He scratches his bicep under the wrinkled sleeve of his T-shirt. “I should go. Roux and I need to find him.”
“Just . . . wait.” I grab my phone and find Zoe’s number. She answers on the second ring.
“Scarlett? Are you okay? Your friends left and they were . . . upset.”
“I’m fine. Bump’s here, though, and I think you or Q need to come get him.”
“Bump is where?” She’s rightfully confused.
I explain, trying to keep my tone upbeat, so I don’t make Bump feel awkward. “He’s petting Roux in my living room.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I’ll send a car over right away. Text me your address.”
Bump is standing close enough to me now to hear every word we say. Almost shouting, he says, “I don’t need a car, Zoe. I need to find Gabe.”
I change the call to speakerphone so Zoe can speak directly to Bump.
“Bud, don’t leave. Q was looking for you. He has something to tell you.”
“What?”
“Come back to the club, and he’ll tell you.”
Bump kicks at my rug like a sullen child. “I don’t want to go back to the club. I need to find Gabe. What if they find him first, Zoe?”
“Bump! Stop. The car will be there in fifteen minutes. I’ll see you when you get back to the club.”
“Fine,” he says with a sigh.
I switch the phone off speaker and bring it back to my ear. “Is everything okay? Who wants to hurt Gabriel?” I ask her, praying she’ll give me an answer that will quell the nervous twisting of my stomach.
“Everything’s fine, Scarlett. Thank you for what you did for the club. We’ll never be able to thank you enough. I don’t know what happened between you and Gabriel, but if you ever need anything, call me. I’ll always answer. Send me your address, and I’ll have Bump picked up as soon as possible.”
Before I can ask again, the call drops, and I’m staring at the lock screen of my phone. The lock screen that has a picture of me and the girls from tonight because we looked so damn good before we left, and I had to save it where I could see it.
The girls whose text messages pop up as soon as Zoe and I hang up.
* * *
Harlow: If you don’t answer, we’re coming over.
Kelsey: I will kill him.
* * *
I tap to open my texts and send Zoe my address before typing out a message to my friends.
* * *
Scarlett: I’m fine. He only bruised my ego. I’m heading to bed. Love you, girls.
Kelsey: I want to believe you.
Harlow: She’s full of shit.
Monroe: Meet us at Dolly’s for brunch tomorrow. Noon. I won’t even be late. I promise.
Monroe: If you don’t show, I’ll send a stripper-gram to the store on Friday while you have customers.
* * *
Brutal bitch.
* * *
Scarlett: I’ll be there. Love you. Night.
* * *
“Who are you talking to?” Bump leans over my phone and tries to read the messages.
I shove it in the pocket of my robe and give the belt another tug to tighten the knot. “My friends.”
“The one with the pretty brown hair? Because she is hot.”
He has to be talking about Monroe. “Yeah, the pretty brunette is one of them.”
“I like her, but Q says she’s married, so I have to keep looking. I think Gabe should stop looking, though. He found you. He should be here and not walking the streets.”
“Can we talk about something else?” I ask him quietly. “I don’t think Gabriel would like us talking about him.”
Bump looks at me with a pensive expression on his face and shifts his weight from side to side. “You should come home with me and Q. Then you can see Gabe and tell him he shouldn’t go walking in the night. He might listen to you.”
I sigh, accepting he couldn’t be more wrong. “No, Bump. He wouldn’t.”
His head jerks back. “But he likes you likes you. A lot. More than any girl I’ve ever seen. If you told him whatever he did made you sad, he won’t do it anymore. I don’t like driving over the bridges, so we take the tunnels instead if we can. I don’t like water. It makes me sad. I bet he wouldn’t want to make you sad either.”
I think of the way Gabriel’s voice sounded when he told me he couldn’t have me. It was gut-wrenching. “I don’t think Gabriel and I will be seeing each other again.”
Bump’s eyes go wide. “But why? You don’t like him?”
A lump the size of a Volkswagen rises in my throat. “Right this second, I’m not super happy with him, but no. That’s not why.”
“He probably thinks Jorie would be mad that he found you, but she wouldn’t. She’d like you. You could’ve been mean to me after what I did, but you weren’t. You’re good people, Ms. Scarlett. I hope you see Gabe again. You make him smile when no one else does.”
A horn honks out front.
Bump’s head jerks toward the window, and the dog stands from where she’s been lounging at our feet. “Is that for me and Roux?”
I walk to the pane and see a black SUV out front. “Yeah, that’s for you and Roux. Do you want me to walk down with you?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not a kid. I just act like it because I got shot in the head. See you around, Ms. Scarlett. I hope you stop crying soon. It makes me sad.”
Damn, he noticed. I guess shower tears aren’t so stealthy after all.
He offers me a weak smile before giving Roux’s leash a tug, and they disappear out the door the same way they came.
Five
Legend
There aren’t enough miles of street in Manhattan for me to walk off the guilt of what I did tonight, so I walk all the way home to Jersey. Q is dropping Bump off at the service station wh
en I finally show up.
Bump drops Roux’s leash and runs toward me to clobber me with a hug. “Thank God you’re okay, Gabe. I was worried about you. You went walking in the dark and you didn’t take Roux. You always gotta take Roux. She keeps you safe.”
I didn’t know it was possible to feel any worse than I do already, but Bump’s actions and outburst are another kick to the gut.
“I’m sorry, bud. I’m fine. I promise. Nothing got me.”
Bump holds on for a few more beats before finally letting go. When he looks up, tears shine in his eyes, reflecting light from the streetlights hitting his face. “Promise me you won’t do it again.”
Bump takes promises seriously, so I’m wary of giving them to him. He will hold me to them for years, and I’d hate to disappoint him for the rest of my life if something prevented me from keeping it.
“Only if I really, really need to and Roux is busy, okay?”
He shakes his head and swipes at the moisture in his eyes. “Okay. I can handle that. I’m going to bed now. Can Roux come with me?”
“Yeah, bud. She can stay with you tonight.”
He nods and pats Roux’s head. “He’s okay, girl. He won’t leave us too.”
It’s a sucker punch, but I deserve it, and so I stand silent as Bump leads my dog to the door and disappears.
“What the fuck happened tonight?” Q asks as soon as Bump and Roux are gone.
I stare at my best friend. “I fucked up.”
His black eyes rake over my face. “You fucked her.”
When I nod and say nothing, Q pushes for more info.
“So, what happened?”
Under any other circumstances, I’d ignore the question or brush it off with a bullshit answer, but I can’t this time.
“She’s different, Q. She’s . . . fuck, she’s everything I never knew existed. It wasn’t just sex, it was—”
Q holds out a hand. “Stop right the fuck there. I don’t know what you’re telling yourself, but you need to get your head out of your ass, and remember who you are and what you’re trying to accomplish. A woman like that is nothing but trouble for a guy like you. I love you like a brother, Gabe. You’re the most driven man I know. Don’t let some princess from the Upper East Side take you off that path. She can’t walk it with you.”
Q’s words are the common sense I need to hear, but that doesn’t mean they’re easy to swallow. I stand in the night air, still warm enough with the heat of the fading summer, and shake my head.
“What the hell am I supposed to do? Let something I know is fucking amazing walk away? You should’ve seen her when I told her to go. I might as well have slapped her across the face.” I rake my hands through my hair for the thousandth time since I left my office.
“I don’t know about that. But I do remember the look on your face when you showed up at my folks’ door, interrupting dinner all those years ago. You had a bleeding kid with you and your world was gone. We picked up those pieces once. I don’t ever want to see you like that again, man.”
Q’s memory is right on point. I can still smell the mac and cheese coming from Mrs. Quinterro’s dining room table. I’d smelled nothing but blood and filth for the days it took to drive to New Jersey, switching cars every couple of states just in case Moses’s boys were tailing us. I’d look over at Bump every few minutes to make sure he was still breathing. I kept thinking he’d be dead before I could get him the help he needed, but I was too afraid to stop. We left Jorie behind, and it still tears me apart to this day.
The idea of something happening to Scarlett, like it did Jorie, makes me want to puke my guts out on the pavement beneath my feet.
No. She’ll live a long and happy life . . . without me. It’s better for her this way.
I’m not a noble man. I don’t know the first thing about selflessness, but . . . I know I shouldn’t drag her into my mess.
The sound of her voice as she came on the desk in my office sneaks into my head, but I block it out.
She’s better off without me.
Six
Scarlett
“Someone called you?” I ask Flynn, who is the only familiar face at Dolly’s Diner when I walk in the door at a quarter to twelve.
“Kelsey did. What happened?” my former stepsister asks, dressed more like the college senior she is in white jean shorts and a gray T-shirt, compared to the badass street-racer getup she wore the other night.
I glance around the diner, scanning past the mural on the wall of the busty cowgirl, but I don’t see the rest of the crew yet.
Flynn crosses her legs and pats the open spot beside her. “If you’re looking for your friends, you know they’ll never be early. On time is a stretch. I already put your name in for a table, though.”
I plop down on the bench. “Thank you, Flynn.”
She nudges me with an elbow. “You’re not answering my question. From what Kelsey said, it sounds like I need a getaway car or a hit man. Possibly both. She was really vague on details, but all I got was that last night, you went for it, and now Legend needs to die. So . . . you’re going to have to fill me in here, because I’m coming up with way too many scenarios by myself.”
“If I say it’s a story I really only want to tell once, will you understand?” I turn sideways to see if her expression confirms I’m off the hook. At least for a few minutes. I knew coming to brunch was going to mean rehashing last night, but I’ve only got it in me to do it one time.
“Fair enough. I’ll tell you about the car I picked up last night then. She’s a beauty.” Flynn dives into a description of the back-country roads in Pennsylvania where she, and some guys she has no business dealing with, raced for pinks. Thankfully, the story ends with her winning and the guys not killing her.
Just then Kelsey walks in the door, ahead of Monroe and Harlow.
“We’re only two minutes late. That has to be a record,” Harlow says, checking her diamond-encrusted Rolex.
“I’m going to need a bloody mary, stat. Spicy, and a double,” Monroe replies, walking up to the hostess stand.
Thankfully, our table is ready for us and everyone is too busy ordering drinks to interrogate me. At least, until the server walks away. Now all eyes are on me.
“Are you okay?” Kelsey asks first.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s . . . whatever.” I flip my hair, like that’s somehow going to get my friends to buy my lame reply.
“Did you bang him?” Monroe goes right for the kill, and Flynn elbows her in the side.
“Give her a few softball questions to warm her up, why don’t you?”
Kelsey reaches diagonally across the table to cover my hand with hers and squeeze. “I’m so sorry we—”
“Stop. All of you.” I slowly scan around the table and make eye contact with each of my girls. “I’m fine. He’s just a guy. Things didn’t work out the way I wanted. Shit happens. I’ll move on with my life and barely remember him tomorrow.” The lies taste bitter on my tongue because they should be the truth.
“You fucked him, and he said that was all it would ever be, right?” Monroe is like a dog with a bone. She’s not going to let this go until I give her the dirty details. Thankfully, the restaurant is packed and noisy, and no one can overhear our conversation.
“In a nutshell, yeah. I said I wanted more, and he told me he couldn’t have me.”
Every woman winces in unison.
“That’s harsh,” Flynn says, glancing at Kelsey. “Now the hit-man comment makes sense.”
“Wait, wait.” It’s Harlow who interrupts. “He said he can’t have you? Like he wants you but there’s something stopping him? Tell us more about that.”
I shake my head, my attention dropping to the busty cowgirl salt shaker and her pepper cowboy husband. “I don’t know what to tell you. His friend showed up at my house last night and dropped a bomb about him being in love with a girl who died. I just . . . I can’t compete with that.”
“Dead girlfriend? Oh no, that�
��s the worst,” Monroe says with a grimace. “I’ve been down that road. College boyfriend. He was a total asshole about it too. Did Legend tell you he could never replace her?”
“No. He never mentioned her. Only Bump did. It was his sister.”
“The dude with the missing strip of hair on his head? They call him Bump?” Monroe asks.
“He was shot in the head. I’m guessing that’s his scar,” I reply, fiddling with the straw wrapper from my water.
“But he said he couldn’t have you. That means he wants you, but he’s afraid to give himself permission,” Harlow says, going back to the subject of Legend. “That means there’s something there. I don’t know, Scarlett. Maybe you shouldn’t give up just yet.”
I think of how I felt the moment his expression turned to anguish after I said I wanted to make it real between us. “I want to hate him. He gave me the best sex of my life and then . . . he shut down. And he told me to go.”
“He has to die,” Kelsey says, gripping her butter knife like a dagger. “No one treats you like that and lives.”
“Whoa, street fighter,” Flynn says, pulling the knife out of Kelsey’s fist. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think I agree with Harlow. There’s something there. Not that you should be the one to work out his issues with the dead girlfriend, but . . . I wouldn’t kill him yet either. He’s a good guy, from the research I’ve done.”
My gaze cuts to Flynn. “You’ve done research?”
She lays the knife on the Formica table and shrugs. “You’re practically still family. Of course I was going to look into the guy.”
Monroe leans forward, her boobs almost spilling out of her off-the-shoulder top. “What did you find out?”
“Gabriel Legend didn’t really exist before fifteen years ago. He popped up in New Jersey, and that’s when videos started surfacing of him fighting. He was smart with his money and ruthless with his opponents. He kept at it until he had the funds to open his own place—an illegal club called Urban Legend. It didn’t have a liquor license and the cage fights were unsanctioned, but it did extremely well. Then one day, he just closed it and announced the grand opening of Legend.” Flynn sits back and crosses her arms. “No one can figure out why he cut off the spigot to his cash cow. Then there was the shooting at the club, and you know the rest. Basically, he had it made, and then he tried to level up and it all fell apart—until you saved Legend.”