“The Rialto on Thirty-Fifth and Grand. One-thirty showing ofDog Day Afternoon. That enough info for your nosy little ass?”
“Okay…” I say slowly. “I admit I wasn’t expecting you to have the exact movie title and show time for your alibi, but...”
“The Rialto shows old movies twenty-four-seven. Sometimes I go there when I can’t sleep. Clears my head and beatsdealing with assholes and groupies at other bars around the city.”
I’m taken aback enough to forget what else I was going to say. Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting it out of him.
Mostly because Killian doesn’t strike me as a movie buff or someone who would opt to go see a movie over hitting up a bar for more drinks or prowling the streets for a fight.
But I knowofthe Rialto. Even considered crashing there one of the nights after I escaped the shelter but before Tom hired me. The only reason I didn’t was because the five-dollar ticket was too expensive for someone as cash strapped as I am, even if it would mean a dark and secluded place to fall asleep.
“I want to come with you,” I blurt out.
“Go back to sleep. Last time I’m telling you.”
“You know I’ll follow you, right?”
His scowl deepens. “Are you determined to be a pain in the ass?”
“I can’t sleep either.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I stand up from the bed and push my glasses onto my face. “I haven’t been to the movies in over a decade.”
That seems to get him.
His jaw screws shut, still rigid and hard, as he studies me as if assessing how truthful I’m being. But I have nothing to hide—this time—as I await his verdict.
“I’m serious,” I add on. “I can’t sleep, and the last movie I saw in theaters wasSuicide Squad. I wasfourteen.”
“Never heard of it,” he grumbles.
“Point is, I’d rather go with you. I don’t like being here alone either.”
He regards me a second longer, hands clenching at his sides, then huffs out a sigh. “Fine. But don’t think you’ll complain if the movie’s boring.”
“Anything’s better than staring off into the dark listening to the cats in the alley dig through the trash.”
“Put some shoes on.”
The walk to the Rialto takes about ten minutes from start to finish. The entire way we’re silent, and it once again takes some effort to keep up with Killian’s stride.
But I wouldn’t say the silence between us is hostile. It’s actuallysettled.
More like we’re both aware the other person prefers it. Neither of us are big talkers. Both of us seem to prefer our own company.
Just now we’re indulging in our own company together.
…if that’s even a thing.
The Rialto emerges among the other dark and closed businesses on a side street away from heavy traffic.
The marquee on the front of the building is a relic of an era long past, advertising the double feature ofDog Day Afternoonand another film I don’t recognize.
We make it to the cramped little box that’s the ticket booth, behind which a teenager watches TikToks on his phone. He glances up only to sell Killian two tickets forDog Day.
Inside, I’m amazed by how thick the crushed velvet carpeting is—except in certain areas where it grows weird and patchy, another sign of how old the theater really is.
