Page 66 of Last Man Standing

“I think you’re too hard on yourself.” Dad does this thing in the back of his throat, a grunt that declares he’s settling in for comfort. “Though I’ll admit, your honesty is a little unnerving. In my line of work, we’d consider it a decoy. You tell me how vulnerable you are, how incapable you are of fighting back; I’d consider it an attempt at softening and forcing us to underestimate you. That’s when you’d strike, because while we’re looking left, you’re moving right.” He chuckles low on his breath. “It’s a classic for a reason.”

She’s brave as fuck, Mav mouths. Then his lips curl into a wicked smirk. And cute.

I grit my teeth and show him my hand. Instead of popping him in the face like I kinda want to, I close my fingers in the international sign for shut the fuck up.

“I’m not sure what else you want me to say,” Scarlett murmurs. “I prefer honesty over bullshit, and technically, there are potholes in every road across this country. If you want me gone, but you don’t feel like killing me, you could probably put me in a car and circle a roundabout a few dozen times. Chances are I’d be too dizzy to find this place again.” She pauses for a beat. Sips. Lowers the cup. “If you’d rather the certainty of knowing I was dead, then I guess you can do that, too. I won’t run in zigzags, since my brain doesn’t have that setting.”

“Do you like my son, Scarlett?”

I snap my head up, my eyes wide, and look toward the doorway with an aching neck.

“Do you care for him? Do you have my son’s back the way he has yours?”

“D-do I—” She releases a wheezing breath. A choked exhale. “I think you’ve misread⁠—”

“I’ve yet to tell you what I’ve read,” he cuts in with a brutal bite in his tone. “I’m asking a specific question, and you, Ms. Castro, assured me of honesty. So, if you’re faced with the choice between keeping my son safe, or stepping aside and watching his demise, which would you choose? If neither outcome brings harm to you or the people you love, would you save my son?”

“M-Mr. Jameson. I don’t⁠—”

“You’d allow him to suffer?” he snarls. “For no reason except you don’t care enough to help him?”

“I couldn’t count on me,” she whimpers, shame pulsing on the air until it settles in my lungs. “If he was heading toward danger and you thought sending me along to watch his back would make him safer, then I’d suggest you make alternate plans. Since clearly, I freeze, like a friggin’ imbecile.”

“Scarlett—”

“Yes,” she rasps. “I would save him. If it was within my power, if I could make my feet move and my brain shut up, I would help him. There is no other choice for me.”

“And if doing so would put you in danger too?”

Fuck, Paul. Stop!

“If you were forced to choose between your safety and my son’s?”

“I would still choose him.”

The kitchen falls silent for a beat. Adrenaline sizzles from me to Mav, while outside, I hear his troops as they finish their morning run. They’ll come inside in a moment. They’ll be noisy and hungry. Their presence will spook Scarlett into fleeing the kitchen and running back this way.

But do I move? Not a single fucking inch.

Why not? Because I want to know how much she cares.

“Sebastion is…”

Sebastion is what, Princess? What?

“He’s a complicated man,” she decides. “It’s obvious he’s lived a unique life completely unlike mine. He’s had experiences I couldn’t even hope to understand, and often, that means he’s apt to conduct himself in ways regular society wouldn’t easily accept. He can be caustic and mean. Unkind and unsympathetic. He’s often too impatient for life’s frivolities, like good manners and general common decency.”

Mav’s smile stretches so wide, I’m tempted to break his teeth.

“He’s rough and rude and everything I would warn other women away from,” Scarlett continues on a soft snicker. “He’s just so rough on the outside. But underneath it all, I believe he’s a good man. He makes me feel safe, and there are only a couple of other people on this planet I could say that about.”

She exhales a sweet sigh.

Is it possible for her breath to leave her chest and enter mine? Because I’m pretty fuckin’ sure…

“Sebastion considers me high maintenance and bitchy. I annoy him more often than not, and if you asked him the same question you asked me—would he step in, if not stepping in hurt no one except me—I would’ve assumed apathy at best. In fact, I would presume a gleeful acceptance of letting me rot. But…” She draws a thoughtful breath. “I would’ve been wrong. Your son has taken the time to teach me how to defend myself, even when I offered nothing in return but snide remarks and bitter comebacks. When faced with a situation I should have defended myself from, but didn’t, he did it for me. He doesn’t freeze, Mr. Jameson. He never runs away. He brought me to the one place on the planet he’s spent a lifetime keeping a secret, and not once has he rubbed my weaknesses in my face.”

“I have to wonder if you’re overselling your inaction,” Dad rumbles. “Shy, perhaps. Unenthusiastic in the face of conflict. But you use words like useless and weak. Those are strong words.”