Page 35 of Sinful Desires
People like him didn’t rewrite stories.
They just buried the version they didn’t like and called it the truth.
A brown-skinned woman with silver curls tucked behind pink glasses waved me over, her smile warm enough to thaw Antarctica. She grabbed a few bags from my arms without asking, balancing them with surprising strength.
Her name tag readNurse Zarah.
“The oncology floor got your message,” she said. “The kids are waiting for you in the playroom.”
I followed her quietly.
“They’re buzzing with excitement,” she added, glancing back. “Some of them even wrote questions.”
“Well,” I grinned, “they can’t be worse than reporters trying to pin down who I’ve slept with this week.”
Zarah’s smile faltered and she cleared her throat.
“Just a heads-up before you go in. These kids live with sickness every day. They need joy, not reminders of what they’re fighting. And definitely no clowns.”
“Clowns?” LeRoy rumbled.
“Yes.” Zarah’s cheeks flushed. “They’ve either seen or heard ofIt. Around here, clowns are basically a curse.”
I threw a look over my shoulder. My mouth twitched.
“You heard her, soldier. No sulking. No death glares. And definitely no creepy clown behavior.”
He growled low, adjusting the bags hard enough to nearly rip one open.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” I added, winking at Zarah. “One wrong move, and the kids are gonna think Pennywise got promoted to bodyguard.”
LeRoy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’ll show you a clown,” as he stalked after us.
I smiled sweetly and kept walking, the click of my heels daring him to try.
“What’s your favorite country, ma’am?” a little boy named Lee, no older than five, asked with that earnest sweetness only kids could pull off.
His tiny arms were covered in bandages decorated with alligators, elephants, and chimpanzees, his smile the kind that could melt the coldest of hearts, complete with a few missing teeth.
I threw a hand in the air, crossing my legs on the ridiculously small chair that was digging into my skin like some sort of medieval torture device.
“Sweetheart, please, call me Scarlett,” I said with a grin, trying not to wince at how uncomfortable I was. “And my favorite country is?…”
I stopped myself. For once, I didn’t have a snarky answer ready. It hit me—I’d never really asked myself those stupid questions before.
Favorite country? Favorite color? Favorite food? Favorite movie?
In a life where control felt like a distant memory, I’d always let the people around me decide what I should want, what I should like.
So, what was my favorite country?
“Well, shit,” I muttered under my breath. “I don’t even know.”
“Language!” the kids yelled in perfect unison, their giggles spilling out as they pointed at me. Some tried to hide their laughter behind their hands, but I could still see those little eyes twinkling.
I bit my lip, glancing over at Nurse Zarah. She just shook her head, trying to stifle her own smile while rifling through the piles of gifts we’d brought.
LeRoy, however, seemed entirely uninterested in the chaos I’d just caused.
