Page 79 of Jagger's Remorse
"Anything involving him." Doc points at me.
"Then I'm definitely tearing them," she says.
Doc rolls his eyes and leaves us alone.
"We should talk," I say.
"Should we?" she asks.
"About what comes next. About us," I elaborate.
"Us." She tests the word. "When did we become an 'us'?"
"Somewhere between you stabbing me and saving Mel," I answer.
"That's very specific," she observes.
"I'm a specific kind of guy," I tell her.
She stands, winces slightly. "I need a shower. A real one. And sleep. And maybe a bottle of whiskey," she lists.
"Scarlett—" I start.
"I know what you want to talk about. The feelings. The future. The way we can't seem to stop saving each other." She heads for the door. "But not tonight. Tonight I just want to wash my trainer's blood off and pretend I'm not relieved he's dead."
"Are you? Relieved?" I ask.
She pauses. "I thought I'd feel... more. Satisfaction, maybe. Or closure. Instead I just feel empty," she admits.
"That's normal," I assure her.
"Is it? Is any of this normal?" she asks.
"No. But that's kind of our thing, isn't it? Nothing about us has ever been normal," I point out.
"True," she agrees.
"Go shower. Sleep. We'll deal with tomorrow when it comes," I tell her.
She nods and leaves.
I sit in the empty medical room, trying to process everything.
Diego's dead.
The Three Devils are crippled, without leadership.
Scarlett chose us—choseme—over her original mission.
And somewhere in all that violence and chaos, we became something more than enemies playing at lovers.
We became partners.
Maybe more.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
