12. CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 12
GRANT
When I walk into the kitchen, I’m hit by a barrage of conflicting feelings.
Unlike the first three mornings Scarlett’s been at my house, this time when I get out of the shower, she’s awake.
The other mornings, I’ve come inside to find her still snuggled in bed, sleeping much later than normal as her injured body tries to heal itself. She looked so cute, her hair spilling across the pillow in a tangled halo of gold, her lips pursed in a tiny pout, and the stuffed dog I got her in the hospital clutched to her chest.
I wouldn’t dream of waking her up, not after the terrible nightmares she struggles with every night. Nightmares that yank Scarlett from sleep, screaming. Or ones that she can’t escape from on her own, making these scared sounds that tear at my heart.
The idea of Scarlett sleeping in the guest room disappeared the first night she was here, despite my best intentions. Before, it was austere—just the basics, since I rarely have people visit. But for Scarlett, I wanted it to be a place she’d feel comfortable. So with some help from Ian and Rose, I had it all set up with new pillows and bedding and curtains all in soft shades of blue and gray. And Maya went over to Scarlett’s house and packed up her most comfortable clothes to bring over here.
But the first night I nearly had heart failure when I woke up to Scarlett’s screams. Racing from my room, I was urged on by an irrational fear that somehow her attacker had gotten to her.
Which in the light of day, I know isn’t possible. Eamon Swell—the piece of garbage who hurt her—is in jail. And my property is extremely secure, outfitted with more alarms and cameras and sensors than any civilian should reasonably own. But I’ve seen the worst of humanity in my years as a SEAL, and I’d rather be safe than sorry when it comes to my own sanctuary.
After that first nightmare, I soothed Scarlett back to sleep, but the nightmares came roaring back again an hour later. And then again, an hour after that.
Then Scarlett asked me in a tearful whisper if I’d stay with her, and I couldn’t have said yes any faster.
Once she was wrapped carefully in my arms, she finally settled. And when she’d whimper in her sleep, I could stroke her hair and murmur things like you’re safe and I’ve got you .
The next night, Scarlett didn’t bother with the pretense of going into the guest bedroom. She just came right out and asked if she could sleep with me.
As if I’d say no?
As if I’d want to ?
Even given the awful circumstances that brought Scarlett to my house, holding her as she sleeps feels better than anything I can remember.
Everything about holding her is perfect. The feel of her warm body and soft curves tucked against me. Her silky hair tickling my chin. The way she makes a tiny humming sound as she sleeps, and the feathering of her breath against my neck. How she curls into me, resting her injured arm on my chest like she trusts me to keep her from hurting it again.
And my heart… it feels like it’s too big for my body. Like everything I’m feeling for Scarlett is too much to contain.
I never imagined this when I showed up at Scarlett’s house all those months ago. But here I am. Half in love with her. Wanting to do anything to make her happy. Desperate to protect her.
It’s why I’m so conflicted.
I want Scarlett happy, and this looks the closest she’s been in days. She’s humming as she whisks the eggs, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips, and the lines of worry and fear are smoothed from her face.
On the other hand, there’s this rabid need to protect her. As I watch her standing there, I’m cataloging all her injuries and worrying that she’s making them worse by not resting.
Part of me wants to scoop her into my arms and deposit her back in bed, or on the couch, at least. Tuck her under her new favorite blanket, get Jasper to lie at her feet, cajole her into taking a pain pill and tell her I’ll take care of everything, like I’ve been doing the last few days .
But then again. She looks happy. And seeing Scarlett in my kitchen, making breakfast like she lives here and isn’t just visiting, with Jasper and Wilson both laying on the floor nearby, hoping for a stray crumb to drop…
It’s so perfect I don’t want to ruin it.
So I grit my teeth and shove down my protective instincts—at least for now—and say, “Good morning, beautiful.”
She jolts a little, her body tensing for a second. Then she blows out a slow breath and smiles at me. “Morning.” Gesturing at the coffeemaker, she adds, “I started the coffee. And I should have breakfast ready in less than ten minutes.”
I cross the kitchen and sidle up next to Scarlett at the butcher-block island, slipping my arm around her waist and kissing her uninjured cheek. “Thanks. But you didn’t need to make breakfast for me. I could have done it.”
“I know.” She turns to face me, and a flash of anger shoots through me like it does every time I get a fresh look at her black eye and swollen cheekbone. “But I wanted to, Grant. Breakfast in bed is wonderful, but I need to move around more.”
“You should still be resting. At least for a few more days.” Scarlett’s face falls, so I hurry to amend it. “I mean. I was just thinking I could help you. In case you get tired.”
“Tired from cooking eggs?” Her lips twitch. “It’s just a concussion. I think I can handle some scrambled eggs.”
I swallow back a comment about her injured shoulder. “Okay. You’re right.” With a smile, I add, “And your cooking is much better than mine. But.” I pin her with a stern gaze. “After breakfast, you should rest.”
“Grant—”
“We can all get comfortable on the couch. Spend a lazy morning together with the dogs. Put on that episode of The Ultimatum we missed. If we keep the volume down and take some breaks, it should be fine.”
She stares at me for a moment, tiny lines forming between her brows. “But Grant. Don’t you need to get to work?”
“No. I’m not working today. Why do you ask?”
“Well.” Scarlett sets the whisk down as she focuses on me. “You’ve already missed three days. And I know you have all those jobs to check on. Mrs. Plimpton’s shed. The Finlays’ garage. That new fence project in Tarrytown.”
“It’s fine. Wyatt is sending me updates. And I explained to my clients there would be a short delay. They all understand.”
Concern darkens her gaze. “But Grant. It’s your business. And I know how much your reputation means to you. If you’re not there—”
“Scarlett. It’s fine. Really. I want to be here.”
“I can go to B and A while you work,” she offers. “You know I can. I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to be here to watch me.”
“I don’t feel obligated. But—” My chest squeezes. “Do you want to go over there? If you’d prefer to be at Blade and Arrow, we can arrange that. ”
There’s a long pause; long enough for me to think, yes, she does want to leave. She’s changed her mind about staying with me.
“No, it’s not that,” she says slowly. Teeth worrying her lower lip, she explains, “I just… don’t want to put you out. I feel bad already. Making you stay home. Missing work. All the stuff you got for the guest room and then I practically demanded to stay in your bedroom.”
“Scarlett—”
“And the nightmares,” she adds, her chin now wobbling. “You’re not getting any sleep because of me. I feel guilty. And…” As she trails off, her eyes shine with tears. “We just started dating, and this is a lot. I don’t want to ruin things between us by pushing myself on you.”
“Scarlett,” I repeat, my voice gentle but firm. “You are not pushing yourself on me. There is nothing you should feel guilty about. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to. If you don't want to stay here, that’s one thing. But if you’re worried about ruining things between us… you’re not. You couldn’t.”
Before she can reply, I hurry to add, “And we might have just started dating, officially, but it doesn’t feel that way. Not to me. I’m here with you because I want to be. Because you’re the most important thing to me right now. Making sure you’re healing. Knowing you’re safe.”
After another long pause, she says quietly, “I don’t want to leave. Being here with you… I feel safe. But it’s not just that. When I’m with you, everything is just better. Brighter.” She swallows hard. “I’m just scared of ruining things. With the nightmares, and I’ve had some flashbacks, and I don’t want to be this weak woman you feel like you need to take care of.”
Shit. How could she think that? Scarlett is the furthest thing from weak.
“Come here.” With my arm still around Scarlett’s waist, I guide her out of the kitchen and towards the living room.
She glances back as we leave. “The eggs—”
“We can make new ones.” I settle her on the couch beside me. “This is more important.” Holding her gaze, I tell her, “You are not weak. At all. And I would never judge you for having nightmares and flashbacks. I wish I could take them away, but I would never consider you weak because of it. Ever .”
“I feel weak sometimes,” Scarlett whispers, her eyes downcast. “I should be stronger. I see all these other women—Maya, Ari, Rose—and they all went through these terrible things and are doing okay. While I’m still having nightmares about things that happened three years ago.”
I touch Scarlett’s chin, gently tipping it up so she has to look at me. “There’s not a timeline on healing, baby. It happens in its own time. You may never be completely free of the symptoms of PTSD. But that doesn’t make you weak.”
She takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Some of the nightmares are about the man at my house. But the others… they’re almost worse. Because it’s been years and I still can’t get rid of them. And that’s why I feel weak. Why I still feel guilty.”
My heart twists. “Baby…”
There’s so much I hate about this.
Scarlett’s told me the details about her terrifying experience three years ago—how Maya’s ex, Trevor, broke into Scarlett’s house and abducted her by knife-point, dragged her into the woods and used her as bait to force Maya into coming to meet them. I heard about those horrible moments when Scarlett thought she was going to die, and then the crippling fear and guilt when Maya took her place.
I wanted to go back in time and kill Trevor myself when I heard how close he came to killing Maya. And I wanted to hug Scarlett and tell her how brave she was for trying to defend her best friend, leaping at a man twice as big as her, knowing it would make her a target again.
It was in a choked whisper that Scarlett finally told me one night, “I didn’t know Maya had a knife. That she was holding it to Trevor’s neck. All I saw was him hurting her, and I wanted to distract him. Make him stop. I had no idea that attacking him…”
But it wasn’t Scarlett’s fault that Trevor died, or Maya’s. They were two women trying to defend themselves against a violent criminal, and in my opinion, he got exactly what he deserved.
So I hate that Scarlett still feels guilty about it. And while it doesn’t surprise me, I hate that she still has nightmares and flashbacks from that awful day.
And I really hate that it’s happened again. She was attacked in her own home, injured, terrified; yet somehow she considers herself weak for suffering the same things millions of people do after a traumatic event .
Lifting Scarlett onto my lap, I settle her against my chest. She leans her head on my shoulder and I stroke her hair as I say, “I still have nightmares. Flashbacks. And it’s been nearly four years. Do you think I’m weak?”
She tilts her head back to meet my gaze and replies fiercely, “Of course not. And you were in the military. A SEAL. The things you saw… Of course you’re not weak. You’re the strongest man I know.”
“But I don’t feel strong all the time. Not when I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, convinced I’m back there again.”
“Grant…”
I’ve shared some of this with Scarlett before, but I’ve held back the worst of it. But she’s been so open with me about her struggles, she deserves the same. Even if it feels like tearing open a still-healing wound.
“You know I lost my teammate. Zack.”
Scarlett nods; her big blue eyes regarding me solemnly.
“Zack was our explosives expert on the team.” My hand stills halfway down the length of her hair. “I can’t tell you the specifics because it’s classified. But we ended up trapped in a building rigged with explosives. Zack was certain he could get us out by disarming one of the bombs. We wanted to try another way. But he insisted he could do it.”
The weight of guilt and regret settles heavily on my chest. “He almost had it. Almost.” I can still remember Rhys yelling at Zack, commanding him to stand down, to get out of the blast zone before it was too late. “But it went off, and Zack didn’t get clear in time.”
“Oh, Grant.”
“I still have nightmares about it. Trying to keep him alive, even knowing how bad it was. Finding out my teammate—one of my best friends—was dead. Wishing I’d done anything to stop him.”
Scarlett strokes my face, her fingers cool and soft against my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
Baring everything to her, I continue, “I still feel guilty about it sometimes. And I have flashbacks. Not often, and they’re much better than when I first got out of the Navy. But they still can happen when I hear a certain kind of sound that reminds me of that day.”
“Grant.” Her voice is achingly soft. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that. Most of the time. But it’s still a struggle. When I call Zack’s mother to check on her, or Zack’s wife—everyone on the team takes turns calling and visiting to make sure they’re doing okay—I feel guilty again. I wonder if there was something I could have done differently.”
“There’s no way to know,” Scarlett replies after a silent moment. “But you all did your best. So did Zack. I’m so sorry you lost him, but it wasn’t your fault.”
I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing in the soft scent of her hair. “It wasn’t your fault, either. And nightmares and flashbacks are nothing to hide. They’re nothing to be ashamed of. I have them. A lot of the guys I know from the military do. None of them are weak, and neither are you.”
Tiny lines etch across her forehead, so I kiss them softly before adding, “I’m not staying home with you because I think you’re weak. Or out of some sense of obligation. I care about you. A lot. And it makes me feel better to be close to you. To see for myself that you’re okay.”
There’s another long pause as Scarlett’s big blue eyes hold mine. Then her expression goes soft and she says, “I get it. If you were hurt… I wouldn’t leave you, either.”
Oh. This feeling.
Her gaze sweeps across my face for another moment before she leans in to kiss me. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
A smile curves her lips. “Okay, we’ll have a lazy morning. You, me, and the dogs. Watch the episodes of The Ultimatum and Love on the Farm that we missed. We’ll have a nap together. And I’ll even rest on the couch while you make dinner.”
“Okay.” I cup her cheek and kiss her softly. “And you still want to stay here?”
“Yes. But—” Scarlett raises her eyebrows at me. “You promise you’ll go back to work next week? I don’t want you falling too far behind with your projects.”
“Yes.” Holding Scarlett, looking into her expressive eyes, seeing her concern for me written all over her face, I’d agree to just about anything. “I’ll go back to work next week. But in the meantime—” I give her a teasing smile. “I want to know if Calliope gets back with Edvard or if she decides to move forward with Kale.”
Scarlett grins. “She’d be crazy to stay with Edvard. Talk about red flags. Kale is a much better option. Except for being named after a vegetable, that is.”
Man. If my old teammates heard me talking about reality television relationships, they’d piss themselves laughing at me.
On the other hand. Maybe not.
If they knew how I feel about Scarlett, I think they’d get it.
After another quick kiss, I smile at Scarlett again. “Okay. Let’s make those eggs, get comfortable on the couch, and find out what happens on the most dramatic episode yet.”
Her face lights up. “That sounds perfect.”