Still, retrospect had shown that decisions I made on feelings alone had proved to be correct nine out of ten times. There were times I hadn’t realized until after the situation had unfolded how this odd sensation had played a part—hindsight came to me later on.
It had all started that night out in the snow. Like he had pulled it out of me, caused it to take a breath and latch on. He was in my blood, dammit! He could leave me, yet my heart pulled me to him, the blood in my veins congealing the deal.
No use in thinking about that now. What’s done is done.
While Violet tried to capture Mick’s attention, I stuck the paper Ace had given me in my book. Mick glanced at her for a fraction of a second before his attention settled back on me. Whatever he had witnessed had bothered him. That much was clear. And whatever Brando had wanted him to watch for, he had, and his expression communicated his displeasure with the situation.
A curious voice in the back of my mind taunted, egging me on, whispering, find out, find out, find out. I silenced the voice with a grim reminder—why made no difference; I didn’t need another big brother.
Chapter Six
Scarlett
I felt a sudden rush of panic at the thought of giving back Brando’s leather jacket. It felt like giving back a puppy after I had fallen hopelessly in love with it. I sat in Violet’s purple ’91 Ford Mustang, my eyes refusing to leave a sleeve that covered my hand completely.
I liked that about it. How it was much too big but somehow still fit. I grew with it, and in return, it always stayed the same—constant, reliable, worn in and comfortable. Sad as it was to admit, the leather jacket felt more like home to me than a place with four walls and a bed. His scent still clung to it. His fibers had become a part of the leather’s fibers. All of that in combination with the smell of leather made my head swim in the clouds.
There was no doubt that the jacket had a history too, and I wouldn’t be the one to discover its legacy. The thought made me flinch.
The night Brando had given it to me, I had raised the collar up to my nose, inhaling the smell as though air had never touched my lungs before. I did it again, and again, and again, until Violet gave me a strange look.
“Stop doing that. It’s weird.” She waved a hand. “It’s like you’re sniffing drugs or something.” The Mustang’s top was up, protecting us from the rain, but every so often a drop would drip down from the roof, right on to Violet’s head. She wiped it off in a huff, complaining about her parent’s not getting it fixed.
I brought my shoulders up to my neck, just so my face could be closer to the leather without her accusing me of being weird. Not only did I love the way it smelled, I loved the feel of it against my skin. With each second that passed, bitterness started to blossom and take root inside of me.
What if he gives it to someone else? Another girl?
Bile rose in my throat and, without thinking, my hand came up to try and stop it.
“Do you have any gum?” I asked Violet.
She nodded, reaching over me into the console. She handed me a pack. That was somewhat better, but not the remedy. Another disturbing thought came at me: What if he sticks it in the closet and it doesn’t get to see the light of day anymore?
I wore the jacket all through the cold season. I took care of it as if it were a precious diamond. I hugged myself, debating whether I was brave enough to give him back something he had given to me.
It was all I had left of him, of that night out in the snow.
Violet sat forward, turning down the Gin Blossoms singing on the radio. She turned on the windshield wipers. After a bit they started to squeak. The wipers were too fast for the rain. The deluge had tapered down to a fine mist.
“Scarlett…”
I put a hand up. “Violet.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. She turned off the wipers and slammed her head against the seat. She turned the Gin Blossoms back up. She wanted me to open up, but when I compared her pent-up tirade to giving back the jacket—giving