Page 126 of Painted Scars
She stares at me like my eyes have changed color. “It doesn’t have to be weird. We’re adults. I started it by calling you Daddy.” Her lips twitch. “Bad Book Girlie.”
And just like that, she steals the air from the bunker.
I tap the screen, telling her to get back to it before I catch the back of her neck, draw her in, and declare war on her mouth.
She huffs at me and dives back in, and together, we discuss ideas, punchier words, or get each other a coffee. An hour in, the article’s starting to take shape. It’s not just a hit piece, it’s a precise missile strike that will devastate our adversaries. Every line is sourced, every claim backed with documents, which we’ll attach as supplementary evidence. We link in Burt’s misconduct to the newspaper’s leadership covering it up, and stitch in the ending so it lands with enough perfect punch to dislodge teeth. It’s her voice, but my fingerprints are all over it.
Kate pauses her fingers over the keyboard. “It feels weird writing about myself like this.”
“It’s strong and brave,” I correct. “You’re setting the record straight, not letting them dictate the story.”
She smiles and returns to typing. I lean into her and brace my arm beside hers. She doesn’t pull back, and neither do I. By the time we’re done, our coffee’s gone cold, my neck aches from leaning in close, and Kate’s smile has grown. Our knees have brushed more times than I can count, and in the end, hers stayed pressed against mine.
“How’s it coming together?” Grayson is the smart one, getting in a yoga workout on his floor mat, bending in the downward dog, stretching his back and leg muscles.
“It’s gonna start a war.” I lift out of my seat to stretch my back, linking my hands behind my head and stretching my chest.
Kate closes her laptop, resisting the urge to hit send. “I want to let this draft rest for a night and think on it.”
Smart. Once this article goes out, there’s no taking it back. Her relative anonymity as a community reporter goes up in flames, and her freedom is compromised.
She explains her practice, “A college professor drilled into us to sit on our work for a day and let the words breathe. To give our mind time to reset and come back to it later with fresh eyes, sharper angles, fresh perspectives, or the humility to admit we wrote garbage. Revise, if necessary.”
“Giving yourself space is fair, Glitter Bomb. No deadlines, no chaos, just breathing room.” I lean back in my chair, close enough to feel her body heat.
“I love that you get me.” She realizes her mistake and tucks her head, letting her hair curtain her face.
I don’t give those thoughts room to breathe. I want this to be our next chapter of redemption. “How about we take the bike out for a ride? Grab a meal? Watch a movie? Wear hoodies, caps, and sunglasses.”
“Like a date? A real one.” Her brows arch. “August Kelly advocating for fun?” She snaps open the laptop lid. “I’m sending out a press release to the media.” Her grin makes it difficult to maintain my dignity.
Yeah, I’ve been strict, cautious, and very careful. I can accommodate her need for normalcy for one night. Reassess the threat tomorrow. She’s earned this treat.
“Think about it.” I make my case. “Tomorrow, we light the match and fire the first blow. Tonight, we ought to enjoy the last hours before everything changes forever.”
Her expression shifts, and she chews on her bottom lip. “You’re right. Tomorrow we walk into Hell.”
I don’t like the way she puts it, but she’s right.
“Harper invited me to the Velvet Viper tonight,” she says. “She’s performing a burlesque routine. Want to go?”
She may as well have suggested walking into a burning building.
My heart works overtime. “That’s a Pluto club. Their clientele isn’t safe. We’re already wanted in connection with an aggravated assault. Going out in public is risky.”
“I know.” She goes quiet for a few beats. “I want to see my friend if I have to say goodbye.”
Kate knows I hate this idea. We may walk into a trap. May never walk out alive. She’s watching me with that fire in her eyes, daring me to tell her no. I should. But this may be our last night as free people. Dropping the article paints an even larger target on our backs.
“We can wear masks,” she counters, trying harder to convince me, when every nerve screams fuck no. “Half the city’s celebrities, politicians, and VIPs wear them to avoid a scandal. Trust me, that’s another article I have up my sleeve. No one will look twice at us.”
A smarter man would hold the line, keep her out of sight, and protect her from the fallout I dragged her into. I’m not smart when she’s concerned. I take her hand and warm it between mine.Fuck the betrayal. Fuck the rules. She needs me. If this is the last night before the world catches fire, I’ll give her the one thing she won’t have to run from. Love. Her radiant smile makes the risk worthwhile.
I drag my hand down my stubbled cheeks. “If You Asked Me To, then we’ll blend in, Glitter Bomb.”
Her eyes light up with comprehension. “I’ll make a closet Celine fan out of you yet.”
Something kicks in my chest. I read into her words, maybe too much. She wants me to stick around. After everything—the secrets, surveillance, the mess I made between us—she could have shut me out forever. Instead, she is giving me one more chance, at least for tonight. The question of whether she wants me in her life is one for another day, and I hold onto hope shemakes that choice. I want to believe that I haven’t ruined things between us.
