The next three hours were some of the longest hours of Florence Shelby's life.
After Bonnie had left, Florence only exited the quaint little room to get Charlie more bread and jam and double-check that the front door was locked. Once she had done that, she went back into Bonnie's room and locked the door behind her, crawling into Bonnie's bed with Charlie and plucking up a book from the bedside table, opening it to where he had left off.
"The Age of Innocence, by Edith Wharton," Florence murmured to Charlie before flipping to where Bonnie had folded the corner of the page to mark his reading spot. She began to read the first paragraph she laid eyes on. "'I want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that—categories like that—won't exist. Where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter.'"
After that, she had closed the book. Florence felt her heart in her throat.
"Where's Bonnie?" Charlie asked, staring up at the ceiling as he rested his head on Florence's stomach, his legs hanging off the edge of the bed. "He's nice."
"I know," Florence agreed, sticking her fingers into Charlie's growing hair, fingers scratching at his scalp. "He's quite nice, isn't he?"
"D'you think he'd play football with me if I asked him?"
"Maybe, I dunno."
"I'll ask him when he comes back."
"Alright Charlie, you do that."
After that, they stayed quiet. Charlie didn't question why they were staying inside of a locked room for hours with no apparent end. He was young, but he was still able to recognize patterns. And doing strange things with no apparent, logical reasoning was a Shelby family specialty. Charlie was already used to it.
There were times that Florence felt like crying when she thought of Charlie. Anybody who met him immediately fell in love with him. From the moment he was born, he was Florence's best friend. It didn't matter that they had different mothers; the blood that ran through their veins was Shelby blood, and they were connected in that way. That was all that Florence cared about.
When he was kidnapped by Father Hughes, Florence had sworn she had never felt so panicked. On the nights she spent at Polly's, she and Michael used to stay up late and swap stories about their fucked up childhoods. Father Hughes was a frequent villain in Michael's stories, and the thought of him with her dear little brother made her want to vomit. When she and Michael stormed the church where he was being kept, Florence felt no shame in the feelings of joy she felt when Michael killed the evil priest.
Florence loved Charlie. That was it. Charlie loved Florence, and they both loved their dad. Nothing besides those facts mattered.
And then there was Bonnie.
The second she began to think of him, she heard the front door being unlocked. She shoved Charlie off of her with an unforgiving speed, opening up the bedside drawer and taking out the loaded Webley that was waiting for her palm.
Florence's finger slid through the trigger, resting steadily. Her hands did not shake. Whoever stepped through that door would receive a bullet through the heart if Florence applied just the slightest bit of pressure. Nothing would make it past her to Charlie, she swore it. Nothing. She was ready for whatever—whoever—stepped through that door.
Bonnie Gold's hands immediately lifted past his head the moment he stepped into his bedroom, Florence Shelby pointing the barrel of a gun straight at his heart. They stared at each other, Florence only lowering the gun after Bonnie counted to thirty in his head. Turning, she placed it back in the drawer and closed it shut. Charlie was watching the interaction with wide eyes.
"It's done, then?" Florence asked, folding her hands in front of her, rocking back on her heels.
Bonnie nodded. "It's done, Florence," he said, taking a step forward, hands still outstretched carefully despite the fact that she didn't have a weapon in her hands anymore. "Two Italians are dead. That's two less men who want to kill you."
"Bonnie?" Florence closed her eyes at the sound of Charlie's voice. Two less men were after her brother. "Will you play football with me later?"
"Of course," Bonnie replied softly, immediately. His eyes were still on Florence, his feet carefully approaching her. "Maybe we can play in the field by the canal. Do you think Florence would care to join us?"
Charlie thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "She doesn't play football, she only listens to the radio," Charlie informed matter-of-factly. "She likes the goalkeepers."
Bonnie smiled. "Lucky me, then." His hands dropped to her waist, her entire body relaxing at his touch. "I'm the best goalkeeper Small Heath has ever seen."
Florence rested her hands on his biceps, dropping her head forward 'til it hit his chest. "Not likely," she murmured, feeling him shudder with laughter. Her voice dropper quieter. "You're okay?"
"Just peachy," Bonnie said quietly in her ear. "Peachy as some jam."
Florence lifted her head. "Stop saying peachy, please."
"Got it, peach."
And then they were wrapped around each other like ribbon, clinging onto one another as if their life depended on it. Florence's fingers scrunched themselves up into the fabric of Bonnie's shirt, her nose pressed into his neck. He smelt of pine leaves and mint, and Florence swore she would never get enough of it.
Bonnie pulled back slightly, lifting Florence's face up by her chin. "D'you think your dad would let you stay the night?"
Florence flat-out laughed, covering her mouth with her fingers to keep back her genuine giggles. Bonnie rolled his eyes and hugged her close again, resting his chin on the top of her head as she continued to laugh.
"My father would sooner marry us off, Bonnie," Florence joked, letting out a small sigh. "But I do propose that you sneak into my bedroom window tonight. Can you climb, Gypsy boy?"
Bonnie kissed his teeth, shaking his head. "I can't climb, but I can fight fairly well." He brought her face forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, ending it there as he released her. He glanced over her shoulder. "What d'you think, Charlie? Could I beat your dad in a boxing match?"
Florence didn't have to turn around to see Charlie shaking his head, a smile forming on her lips as he vocalized his disapproval. "Nuh uh," he said finally, and Florence looked over to see him with his hands folded in his lap. "My daddy's strong."
Florence turned back to Bonnie. "You heard him," she said, hand smoothing against his back. "Our daddy is strong."
"Looks like I'm in a fair bit of trouble, then."
