19. Scarlet
19
SCARLET
A s long as I can remember, I’ve hated waking up in a new place, at least for the first few days. There hasn’t been a sleepover or a family vacation when I haven’t woken up with my heart in my throat. The first week at MIT was a real treat. Not only was I in a new bedroom, but a whole other state.
Should it have mattered? Not necessarily. I guess in my subconscious, I knew how far I was from home and wasn’t a fan of the idea.
So it shouldn’t come as a surprise when my heart wedges itself in my throat the instant my eyes open, and I find myself in a bedroom I haven’t yet gotten used to. What surprises me is the way I remain frozen stiff, unable to breathe, even after my memory catches up to me.
I should be able to relax by now, right? I know where I am and who I’m with. So why is it taking so long before I can move and breathe and think normally?
Sometimes, I ask myself questions I already know the answer to.
I look to his side of the bed and find it empty. I run a hand over the pillow, and it’s cool to the touch, telling me he got up a while ago.
The sun has barely risen, filling the room with thin, gray morning light. He’s an early riser, I guess, even though we didn’t get to sleep until way after midnight, according to the alarm clock on the nightstand.
I don’t know if I’m glad or not that he isn’t with me, considering I don’t know what sort of mood he’ll be in. He was contrite last night, but that was then, in the immediate aftermath.
Now that I know how he reacts when asked questions he doesn’t want to answer, I’m less inclined to ask if he hurt himself while he was in hiding. If he’s been struggling, I doubt he would take it well—and it would probably come off as insulting no matter how I’d try to make it sound otherwise. Nobody wants to hear they’re acting like they have a head wound. Just the thought makes me cringe.
So does the discomfort from my chafed wrists when I pull the sleeves of my shirt over my hands to ward off the chill in here.
That settles it. No questions. If he wants to offer information, I’ll gladly accept it, but I’m not going to be the one to start the conversation.
I can’t believe I have to think this way about him. That I need to plan every move. I used to think strategically like this, but I was more interested back then in finding clever ways to seduce him, to get his attention, and make sure he couldn’t take his eyes off me.
What I wouldn’t give to go back to those days. Even the torment of wanting him and figuring he’d never look twice at me was better than rehearsing what I’ll say to keep him from freaking out.
How do I get us back to where we used to be?
“Good morning.”
Holy shit . I almost jump out of bed at the sudden greeting, even though he delivers it in a soft voice. He’s only wearing socks. There were no heavy footsteps to tip me off.
“Morning,” I pant, laughing shakily, a hand over my heart. “Damn. I need to get you a bell to hang around your neck. It gets so quiet around here.”
“It does, doesn’t it? And a sudden noise sounds so much louder.” He chuckles, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets while I sit up, shivering a little from the chill.
“I just used the stove and turned the oven on for heat, so it’ll get warmer in no time. I did my best to be quiet, so I wouldn’t wake you.”
“Thank you.” Once I’m on my feet, I stand on tiptoe to give him a soft kiss. The fact that he accepts it gladly leaves the room feeling warmer already.
Not only that, but he cups my face between his palms, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. How does he do it? Something so simple, yet it lights me up inside and reminds me of why he’s been the only man for me ever since I was old enough to develop my first crush. His familiar blue eyes shine with all the love I’ve missed for so long.
Instinct leaves me wanting nothing more than to melt against him and beg him to come back to bed with me. One thing that hasn’t changed is the way my body responds to his nearness. I have no control over it. If he touches me or looks at me a certain way, I’m lost.
Now that I’m standing so close to him, though, it’s obvious he didn’t get enough sleep. “You look exhausted.” I run my hand over his scruffy cheek, which is paler than I’ve ever seen him, like he’s not getting nearly enough sunlight or exercise and far too little rest.
“I’m fine.” He kisses my palm before wrapping an arm around my waist. “I made you breakfast. Nobody will ever accuse me of being a chef, but I can fix oatmeal like a pro.”
“That sounds perfect.” I allow him to pull me from the room, wrapping my arms around him as we walk the short way to the kitchen table. If it could only be like this always.
If only, if only, if only I knew why he keeps swinging from one mood to the other.
Two bowls wait, both full of steaming oatmeal sprinkled with raisins. “I remembered you like raisins in yours,” he offers.
“I do. You pay attention to everything, don’t you?”
He’s almost glowing as he pulls out my chair. “I pay attention to you. I always have.” My heart could break from happiness, I swear. I have Ren back. My Ren.
Even if he looks completely wrung out.
Now I wonder if his mood swings have to do with stress and exhaustion. The stress would explain the lack of sleep, too. I can only imagine kidnapping someone and getting away with it would be a stressful undertaking.
I’m clinging to the idea like I’d cling to a life raft in the middle of a stormy ocean. But I need to hang on to something, anything to give me hope.
“So listen.” He takes the chair across from mine and picks up his spoon to stir the raisins in. “We need to have a talk.”
I’ll have to ignore the shiver that runs through me and the goose bumps now pebbling my arms and legs. I don’t like the sound of this any more than I like the way his voice went a little flat. Serious.
Something tells me this isn’t going to be about anything pleasant or happy.
But I love him. And I want to help him in any way I can. That hasn’t changed. “Okay,” I murmur, stirring my oatmeal to cool it off a little. “I’m all ears.”
My stomach’s in knots now, unfortunately. Since when do I carry this pit of dread in my stomach when I’m around him? I hate it. I wish it wasn’t there.
I wish so many things. For instance, that we could go back in time and erase everything that happened last night after I got out of the shower. The stuff before that, we can keep. Most definitely.
Note to self: remember not to demand answers.
Rather than settle back in the chair like he does, I sit on the edge, my body holding the memory of last night, even if I want nothing more than to forget it.
He doesn’t seem to notice, taking a few spoonfuls before continuing. “I started to tell you about this last night. How it’s time to make things right. For my family and all the other families destroyed by those sick bastards. This is more important to me than I can explain. It’s the sort of thing you have to feel in order to understand.”
I nod slowly, less inclined than ever to eat. He’ll notice and bring it up, though. That’s enough to get me lifting the spoon to my lips.
He’s right. I can’t begin to understand what he’s been through, no matter how much I wish I could relate, if only to help him.
“Do you want to be with me?”
His seeming change of subject, out of the blue, startles me into sitting up straighter. “Of course I do.”
“No matter what?”
Haven’t I already proven that? I know better than to ask. “Yes. No matter what. My feelings haven’t changed.”
“Good.” A look of relief washes over his face. “Because I need you to join me in what I have to do. I need you to be a part of it.”
Anxiety’s been tapping at the back of my mind since he started speaking, but now it’s threatening to break the door down. “How so?”
“I’m not asking you to hurt anybody—you don’t have to worry about that. I would never put you in that position.”
“But people are going to get hurt?”
His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. “For starters.”
One thing about being a Rossi: the prospect of violence doesn’t bother me much. Especially when the violence is warranted. If anybody deserves it, it’s the sort of people who’d run a cult.
“I can’t hide it from you,” he continues with a frown. “So I won’t bother lying. Are you okay with knowing what we’re working toward?”
“You and your brother?” I ask, and he nods in reply. Right away, questions bubble up in my head, but I shove them back down before my mouth gets away from me. Again. “Do what you have to do. I’m not going to try to stop you.”
His face takes on a glow that leaves me glowing inside. For a moment, everything else falls away, and there’s nothing but us. No past, no vengeance. No stress or sleepless nights.
This is how it was always meant to be. Ren and me sharing breakfast, smiling at each other from across the table. Nothing big and flashy. Nothing exotic, no jet-setting. Just the two of us. That’s all I’ve ever needed.
I can almost forget the pain I know my family is suffering now as I sit here gazing at the man I love.
Almost.
I should find a way to contact them. Maybe suggest it while he’s in a good mood, acting like himself. Maybe if I mention Adela, it might be enough to get through to him. Adela and Mom. They’re innocent in his quest for vengeance.
If that fails, I’ll be honest and admit it pains me to know I’m hurting the people I love, as it would hurt to know I caused him agony.
Anything, so long as he lets me reach out and ease their minds.
“It might mean a little traveling.” He goes back to eating his oatmeal, inspiring me to do the same. Now that he’s got that off his chest, the weight on mine also seems to have lifted. There isn’t a massive fist squeezing my stomach, either.
“Okay.”
“But I doubt we’ll be on the road for long. I’ll have everything well in hand by the time it ever comes to that. No wandering around aimlessly.”
“I trust you.” Still, even though I mean it, the idea of going on a trip sparks fresh doubt. I really wish it wouldn’t. Why won’t my stupid brain stop screwing things up?
And just my luck, he notices. I don’t know how I gave it away. A muscle twitch? The inflection of my voice? No matter how, he sees through me. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, eyes on my food. I’ve never been so fascinated by plain old oatmeal. “Nothing. This is a lot to take in all at once, is all. But I’m fine.”
“Have you forgotten how long we’ve known each other? A wall came down in front of you just now.”
Terrific. I need to work on managing my reactions if he insists on watching me so closely. Especially when my reaction has to do with someone he probably won’t want to hear about.
Which is the better choice? Pretending nothing’s wrong or coming clean? Which one will keep us in this warm, cozy place where all that matters is being together?
“If we’re going to travel…” I hate this, I hate this, I hate it with every fiber of my being, with all the intensity of a thousand blazing suns. “I don’t know. It might not be a bad idea to get word to my dad and brother. Let them know I’m okay, and they don’t need to look for me. I don’t want us getting pulled over because there’s a description of us making the rounds, you know?”
Did that work? I sneak a glance at him, eyes darting up from what’s turning into concrete after cooling off, to find him scowling down at his bowl.
“We don’t have to,” I quickly add, almost tripping over my tongue in what’s dangerously close to panic. “I’m only thinking of you. There’s enough for you to worry about. You don’t need that extra concern. That’s all.”
He keeps me waiting for a beat. The longest beat of my life. It stretches out for years, millennia, while my gut twists, my heart seizes, and I forget to breathe. I would swear my wrists hurt worse than before, a silent reminder. A warning.
What will he do to me this time?
“I already sent a secure message to Q to tell him you’re safe.” He says it with enough sarcasm to send my heart plummeting. “But thank you. If I ever need you to be concerned for me, I’ll tell you so.”
No, no, this is all wrong. How did I screw up so spectacularly? “I’m sorry.” Thanks to my shaking hand, my spoon rattles against the edge of the bowl, so I drop it in favor of digging my nails into my palms and wishing I would learn to keep my mouth shut.
Silence falls between us, so thick and uncomfortable that it leaves me squirming in my seat. The pop of wood in the stove makes me jump, but Ren doesn’t seem to notice. He’s busy brooding. I made him feel like I don’t trust him or something, I guess. Like I don’t believe he can make this work.
Right? Is that it? How do I know if I don’t ask?
I know better than to ask.
I can’t sit here like this forever. I miss him, and he’s sitting across from me. A few feet away. But that’s just his body. His soul—everything that makes him Ren—is far away. Lost behind years’ worth of resentment and a thirst for vengeance.
I know none of this is about me.
But I miss him. I want him back.
“I have a confession to make.” It’s a whisper and a choked one at that, but at least I managed to get it out. Speaking didn’t kill me.
His gaze meets mine from beneath his lowered brow. Nothing about his demeanor encourages me to continue, but I have to. I need to bring him back to me and break through the stress and strain of what I know weighs on him. He’s been alone for too long. He can’t stand letting me get too close after spending years answering only to himself, with nobody to help him.
“When we were talking about the camping trip, I wasn’t completely honest.” I raise my shoulders, wincing. “I wasn’t actually afraid of the dark.”
“No?”
“No. I made a big deal about it so you would pay attention to me. I know, it’s stupid,” I admit with a laugh. “But I already had such a huge crush on you, and I knew you only looked at me like a little sister you needed to protect. So I figured that was a good way to at least make sure you comforted me.”
He stays silent, content to stare at me. Shit . This isn’t working, is it? No, I can’t give up. Not on Ren.
“And the harder I cried, the more attention you gave me.” I shrug, folding my arms and putting on the same playful, flirtatious act I used to give him back in the day. “Really, it’s your fault. If you had told me to shut up and deal with it like Q did, it would’ve been a different story. But no, you had to go and be all heroic and protective, and my twelve-year-old heart ate it up with a spoon.”
I can’t help but smile fondly at the memory. Sure, I was a complete brat to drag the two of them away from a camping trip they’d been looking forward to, but it wasn’t like I set out trying to cut the trip short. And when Ren suggested we go home because I was so freaked out, I couldn’t backpedal. Q would’ve picked up on it right away. I was sort of trapped.
“Kids do stupid things,” I conclude, still grinning. “But even then, I knew you were special. I couldn’t get you off my mind or out of my heart any more than I can now. It was always you.”
He nods slowly, his mouth set in a firm line. “Yeah. I have a habit of thinking I can save you, don’t I?”
There’s nothing to do but let my mouth drop open in dismay when he stands, taking my bowl along with his and putting them in the sink. “Looks like it bit me in the ass that time.”
What the hell?
I can’t peel my eyes away from the back of his head as he washes the dishes. It isn’t until the pain in my palms screams loud enough for me to notice it that I realize I’ve broken the skin, nails having pierced both hands.
It doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much as being dismissed so coldly.
Just last night, we were joking about the camping trip. He’s the one who brought it up, for God’s sake. I hadn’t thought about that trip in years.
Now? We might as well be strangers, all because I made the mistake of caring about him and my family at the same time. Is this how it’s always going to be? Having to choose between them? Because I’m not sure I can.
He’s my choice, now and always, but they still care about me. Mom couldn’t stand the thought of me flying to Corium—I can’t imagine what she must be going through now. Is it so wrong to want to lessen their stress? Why would I want to hurt them all because I love him?
Guilt tugs at my heart, and I can’t help thinking about Aspen. I really hope he got the message to Q sooner rather than later. I would hate to think about her going through stress while she’s pregnant.
Naturally, I can’t mention any of this to the back of Ren’s head. I shudder to think how he might lash out if I dared.
Tears well up in my eyes before I can stop them. It takes rapid, frantic blinking to push them back. I don’t want him to know how this is killing me. Seeing him like this. Knowing how badly he must’ve been hurt out here.
Stupid me. I used to think the most painful thing in life was being kept away from the person I loved.
Now I know there’s a fate far more painful. So terrible, I’m afraid my heart’s literally about to shatter. I can’t reach out and touch him—not when he’s like this, brooding in his dark place.
I can’t ask any questions about it for fear of how he’ll react.
I can’t help him. Not at this very moment, at least. I don’t know what to do. How to fix him.
No way would he want to act like this if he had any idea what he was doing. No, he either had a fall or was in an accident. Or maybe he was sick with a high fever and didn’t get treatment in time. This cabin seems very remote from what I’ve seen through the grimy windows. Trees and more trees. Even a moderate snow might make getting to a hospital all but impossible for a sick or injured person.
My poor Ren. Out here all alone, with no one to care.
And now he has someone who cares but isn’t well enough to accept help. Not all the time. Not when his temper flares up, and he ends up shutting me out of his life.
Out of his heart, even. It sure seems that way.
I can’t help but shed a tear, but I manage to brush it away before he turns to the stove and feeds more wood into its mouth.
My Ren. I’m going to get help for you if it’s the last thing I ever do.
Even though I know you’ll make it difficult.