Chapter 32
Sully picks me up at seven sharp. He’s wearing black skinny jeans with a red and black plaid long-sleeve shirt. He eyes my silky pink top with white polka dots when I slide into the passenger seat. “You might want to grab a jacket.”
I wipe my palms against my jeans, enjoying the friction. “We’re in LA. I don’t think there’s snow for—”
“We’re not going to the mountains, or I’d question your shoes.” His thumbs drum against the steering wheel. I glance down at my flats but let the comment go. He adds, “Let’s just say the air conditioning can be chilly where we’re going.”
“Okay, I’ll trust you.” I jog back inside to grab my gray jacket from my closet and return to sit beside him. “Better?”
“Yes. You hungry?”
“What do you have in mind?” Since my fight with Alice, who still hasn’t responded, I forgot to eat. All I had today was coffee. No wonder my stomach is turning on itself.
He changes lanes. We’re driving toward the beach, and traffic picks up. “There’s food where we’re going, don’t worry.”
Part of me wants to pepper him with questions, but I don’t have the energy. Sully pulls into a parking garage, and I catch the name. We’re going to the local aquarium.
“Aren’t they closed today?” I ask, checking the hours on my phone.
He waves at me, forcing my phone away. “Don’t look at that.”
Sully hands the parking agent folded cash, and we’re in with a parking tag hanging on the rearview mirror.
We find a spot on the third level near the elevator. Sully kills the engine and turns toward me, holding a silky blue blindfold. “I want this to be perfect. Can you put this on?”
My mouth goes dry. I want to say a kinky joke, but my throat closes. All I can do is nod, accepting the blindfold and placing it over my eyes. Sully ties it.
“That’s not too tight?” he asks, running a hand through my hair.
“No. It’s fine.” I can’t see anything. It would be hard to tell if my eyes are open or closed if it wasn’t for my eyelashes brushing against the fabric.
Sully gets out and walks around to open my door. I take his hand, and he patiently leads me toward what I assume is the elevator.
“Don’t bump me into any poles or let me trip over any parking blocks.” I drag my feet, worried he’ll guide me to the edge and I’ll fall to my death on the street below. Unrealistic, but it’s hard to have faith when you’re blind.
“You’re acting like a cow being taken to slaughter.” He drops my hand and moves behind me, guiding me with a gentle hand on my lower back.
“For the record, I’m not a fan of surprises. If someone pops out, fair warning, I’ll punch them in the throat.”
His chest rumbles with his laugh. “I’ll cancel the clown then.”
I freeze. My blood turns to slush, picturing a clown waiting for me. One of my ultimate childhood fears that linger on forever. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”
His hands slide up to my shoulders, squeezing them in a caring gesture. He whispers, “Yes. I promise to keep the evil clowns away.” I hear elevator doors slide open, and we enter. Sully hits a button, and we go up.
When the doors slide open again, we’re greeted with a blast of cold air. It tosses my hair back and raises goosebumps on my arms. The smell of salt and fish lingers in the air. Our steps echo as we move deeper into the room.
“Now look,” Sully says cheerfully, taking off my blindfold and wrapping his arm around my hips.
I blink a few times, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and look around.
To our left, there’s a line of waiters dressed in black and white uniforms. A lone table sits in the middle of the room washed in dark blue, the light shining down and bouncing around the walls made of glass.
I look up and my lungs squeeze out all their breath as my heart leaps out of my body.
Countless fish in different colors and sizes swim above us in a domed tank. I spot a hammerhead shark in the back corner. I twirl, laughing as the water’s reflection dances around us.
“I love it! This is so magical,” I say in a rush, grabbing Sully’s arm.
“Only fitting for my beautiful mermaid.” His lips meet mine before his mouth travels down my throat.
Classical music floats above us as the waiters move, grabbing our chairs and gesturing for us to take a seat.
The tablecloth is soft and feels like handspun cotton.
In the center is a vase of blood-red roses with fat pink candles in golden candlesticks on either side.
One of the waiters lights the wicks as another pours white wine into our glasses.
Fresh salads with the greenest lettuce I’ve ever seen are placed in front of us.
“I didn’t order yet…” I say, confused, picking up a fork.
“Don’t worry. I planned everything.” Sully’s head darts around the flowers, trying to see me. He’s more of a floating head coming in and out of focus.
“Can we lose the roses? They’re a bit much,” Sully says, giving in.
A waiter whisks them off the table and rearranges the candles without a word.
“There’s that smile I love.” Sully’s voice is low and warm, sending a shiver across my skin.
I bite my lip to hide the shy smile tugging at my mouth as a flush creeps up my neck.
Needing something to steady myself, I take a giant sip of wine, hoping it will calm the jittery excitement dancing in my chest.
Above and all around us, fish glide by, moving idly through the water with nowhere to go.
“Have you ever swum with a shark?” Sully asks, gesturing to a nurse shark cruising to our right.
“I have in Fiji and Costa Rica. I was supposed to last year in Hawaii, but my dad got sick, and I canceled to stay here to help take care of him.”
“And he’s doing better, right? When we saw them, he—”
“Yes.” I dab my mouth with a cloth napkin. “It takes more than pneumonia to extinguish his fire.”
Sully nods, his crooked grin sending my heart into flips. If I’m not careful that damn smile of his will send me into v-fib. “I’m happy to hear that.”
The waiters take away our salads and place steaks with loaded mashed potatoes and buttery green beans in front of us.
“What about your family? You haven’t told me much about them.” I glance up from cutting my steak, cooked to perfection with a warm pink center, to see Sully freeze mid-cutting his steak.
He shoves a bite of potatoes into his mouth, chewing the bite slowly, buying time for a response.
I finish my wine and the waiter behind me is quick to refill the glass. “I didn’t mean to step into something uncomfortable. You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to.”
Not to sound like a stalker, but I read about Scarlet Failure online and tried to learn more about each band member years ago when I first discovered them.
Clicking on their names brought up pages about their personal lives—a few paragraphs about their families, where they grew up, and where they went to school.
I learned that Charlotte and Ben founded the band when they were eighteen, and that Lars married his high school sweetheart, someone completely outside the music industry.
But when I clicked on Sully’s name, it was mostly blank.
All it said was when and where he was born—and that after their first album, he became the one who writes most of their songs.
His personal life is a mystery. Maybe it made him a bit more interesting. A spark of the unknown hides behind his blue eyes.
He gulps his wine and waves his hand, slicing into the tension building between us.
A pained expression crosses his face. “It’s okay.
I knew you’d ask sooner or later.” He straightens his plate and places his black cloth napkin onto his lap.
“Mein vater left us when I was five. Started a new familie and then died in a car accident about four years later.”
My heart cracks, seeing a small Sully with wildly curling hair drowning in his tears. His beautiful smile with deep dimples wiped away for what probably felt like forever.
His attention remains on his mashed potatoes, his fork stabbing at them. “Meine mutter did her best to take care of my bruder and me. She had to jump from job to job and never had time to date. I think it’s partly because she didn’t want to give her heart away again.”
I run my fingers through my napkin as my chest tightens, a vise grip twisting until my breath hitches.
“Betrayal is one of the hardest things to recover from,” I say, voice hollow.
“Agreed. After graduating from voortgezet onderwijs…” He looked at me for the words. “What do you call it here?”
My thoughts whirl, trying to understand his words. “High school?” I guess.
He nods. “Yeah, that. I used to play my songs at local pubs. One night, this guy told me about a band looking for a bassist. I found their flyer tacked up in a coffee shop and decided to try out. Charlotte and Ben had already started Scarlet Failure. They took a chance on me.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can hear the weight behind the words.
“I worried about losing control of my songs,” he admits. “At first, I didn’t know if they’d want to rewrite everything or turn it into something fake. But after the first album, they trusted me. Now I write most of what we put out.”
Sully goes quiet, eating his dinner, and I respect the silence.
I never thought about it before, but maybe that's why his music always hit me so hard. It wasn’t just sound or words—it was him bleeding through the speakers, raw and real.
Their first album still lives in my bones.
Rage pulsing through every track, heartbreak stitched between every line.
Songs that didn’t just ask you to feel—they demanded it.
I practically wore out my headphones after my last breakup, clinging to those lyrics like a life raft, letting them scream for me when I couldn’t find the words.
And still, even after all that, Sully once said in an interview that his favorite album was their second record—the one where the anger hadn’t fully faded but hope had started slipping in through the cracks.
Maybe, deep down, he’s always been someone searching for the light too.