Jesus.What a mess.
Thirty-Nine
Legend
Iknow she hasn’t replied, because like a tool, I checked my phone first thing in the morning. Nothing.
She probably passed out and hasn’t woken up. It doesn’t mean anything. Also, why the fuck am I thinking about this?
I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom to take a piss and brush my teeth. It’s Sunday and preseason games are on today, which means Q’s entire extended family will be having a barbecue at his folks’ big white house on the other side of the scrap yard, and Bump will want to hang out there all evening.
That leaves me the morning to check out the numbers from last night and see how much room it bought us. I can’t count on her coming next Saturday, so I’ll have to watch the numbers closely all week and see if the Scarlett Priest effect sticks around to bring people in, or whether it was a one-shot deal. My gut says people are going to keep coming, but my gut didn’t foresee a shooting on opening night.
“Gabe! You up? I made pancakes.”
Bump’s voice comes through the door, along with the wafting smell of burning pancakes.
I grab a pair of sweats and yank them on before I run to the door. Bump is standing there with a plate of blackened breakfast, but I rush past him to his apartment. In the kitchen, a pan is on the stove, smoke billowing from it. I grab it off the burner, flip on the fan in the stove hood, and move to the fire escape to set the skillet outside.
“Hey! That’s my breakfast! What are you doing?” Bump follows me outside, his face red.
“Bump, dude. You gotta watch stuff when you’re cooking. Remember what we talked about after the grease fire? You don’t want us to have to find a new place to live, do you?”
Bump’s face screws up into a sad expression. “I don’t wanna move again. I like it here. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay, buddy. Shit happens. What do you say I take you out for breakfast instead? Just you and me?”
Instantly, his expression softens into a smile. “Really?”
I know in that moment that I haven’t spent enough time with the kid lately, and it cuts deep. “Yeah, really. Get dressed. We’ll take care of the pan later.”
He claps his hands together like I just told him we’re going to a strip club. “Okay, Gabe! Give me two minutes. I’ll be ready. Don’t go without me.”
“I’ll meet you in the truck. Take your time.”
With Bump’s excited humming following me out of the apartment, I head back to grab a shirt, a different pair of pants ... and my phone.
Still no text.
Maybe it was the alcohol talking last night.
Maybe Scarlett doesn’t want a damn thing to do with a guy like me in the light of day.
Forty
Scarlett
After waking up Harlow and Jimmy with my phone call, I learn that she wasn’t responsible for the text to Legend.
Which means it was Monroe. Instead of calling, I hoof it over to the Upper East Side and pay her a personal visit.
“Why are you here so early? You were out last night too. Don’t you ever sleep?” Monroe asks with a yawn.
“Are you going to invite me in or not?” I ask her from the airy lobby outside the penthouse door.
Monroe rolls her eyes and steps back, letting one of the double doors swing open. “Fine. But I’m making a bloody mary, and I don’t want to hear about how it’s not good to start the morning with vodka. It’s Sunday, and I don’t give a fuck.”
As soon as the door closes behind me, I follow her across the travertine foyer and into the massive kitchen that Monroe mostly uses to mix drinks.