Chapter 20
MOLLY
There are so many things to take note of when my eyes flutter open. So many beautifully pleasant things that I deliberately stay still, keeping my cheek pressed against the pillow.
The bed covers next to me are cast in a light blue, signifying the predawn hours of the morning but also the absence of storm clouds and heavy rain. Which leads to the next beautiful realization: I don’t remember the storm passing.
Because I slept.
That’s never happened before.
The gentle red numbers flash on the alarm clock by the bed, which means the power’s back on.
I should get out of bed, but I’m incredibly comfortable.
Beautifully cozy wrapped in the linens, like I’ve been tucked in.
I almost don’t dare move out of fear that I’ll pop this bubble of comfort and calm.
But the last thing I become aware of is that I’m alone.
Wolf is no longer next to me, and I almost ache to have him back next to me again.
As if my yearning was carried to him on a cloud, I hear the living room slider open and shut downstairs.
Wolf’s footsteps resound one at a time up the stairs, and when he appears at the top, my eyes get to pick up on more grounding details, like the fact he’s still in his pajama pants and no shirt.
And his cheeks look flushed, maybe from the chilly morning air.
The coffee mug in one hand has me immediately craving caffeine, but the item in his other hand grabs my attention as he comes closer.
Wolf casually takes a seat next to me on the bed, sending a silent rush pluming through my upper body that feels familiar and domestic yet new and exciting. He holds a tiny blue flower I can barely make out between his thumb and forefinger and passes it to me.
“This was peeking at me from your grandmother’s garden,” he explains with no other lead in.
I feel a breath leave my lips when I realize it’s one of the blue flax she was able to pollinate and plant some time ago. “Thank you,” I manage, my voice scratchy from sleep. This is the first bloom of the season.
“You’re okay?” he asks as I twirl the dainty stem in my fingers.
I think for a moment about how I’m so much better than okay. I’ve never been this okay so soon after a storm. “Yeah.” I nod, deciding to keep it simple. “Thank you for getting me through it.”
“When you said you were afraid of thunderstorms, I thought maybe they just bothered you a little. I didn’t realize how serious you were.” Wolf looks down at his coffee mug a moment, like he’s wrestling a big decision with his mind before he asks quietly, “What happened?”
I know what he means. What happened to make a grown woman terrified of thunderstorms?
The truth is… “I don’t know. I had… I guess I had kind of a rough start to my childhood,” I say calmly.
“My mother wasn’t a good mother. She had me really young and expected to still get to go out and do young things.
She was barely stable enough to take responsibility for herself but was hell bent against admitting that kind of failure.
” I stop a moment to breathe because revisiting this information is always so uncomfortable.
Mild nausea roils in my stomach, enough to feel ill at ease.
“So, I went back and forth between living here and with her. I wasn’t even four when my grandparents put their foot down, and I came to live with them for good.
Fortunately, I hardly remember much of what happened before that.
But on the flipside, it also means I don’t remember what caused this outlandish phobia.
” I wobble my head and roll my eyes, trying to keep the subject light.
“Nothing at all?”
I shake my head. “When I was just a couple years older, I thought I overheard my grandparents talking about something horrible happening to me.” The words rattle out on a low quake.
“I heard the words ‘hurt her during a thunderstorm’, and it just, I don’t know…
” I start to fidget. I didn’t mean to go this far into it, but now I feel trapped in the moment and the only way out is to spit the rest out.
“I didn’t even know for sure what they were talking about but I think deep down I knew it was about me and I felt some kind of cold…
sick terror.” I let out a harried breath.
I look down to where Wolf’s hand sits in his lap as it curls into a fist, like he’s warding off some inner demon in his own mind.
This is getting too heavy, I decide, and I clear my throat and straighten my back.
“Anyway, I couldn’t hear anymore and ran to my room.
I never found out more. I just know that I’ve never slept while a storm was still in progress.
” I gesture a hand around the bed. “So thank you.”
Wolf releases a breath out his nose as he blinks slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I possibly did to make that happen.”
I look up and address him solemnly. “It’s simple. You made me feel safe. And, somehow I didn’t have any nightmares. It’s why I don’t normally sleep through the storms—I get terrorized by dreams.”
“What happens in the dreams?”
I shrug and shake my head, looking back down at the flower again.
“I can’t see anything, so much as feel this big dark, overpowering presence…
like a beast of some sort. And I can’t move and I can’t scream.
” My lips pinch together as I try to recall more.
“Years ago, if a storm was in the forecast, my grandad would send me to bed with Mima and he’d take my bed, knowing that’s how it would end up anyway. ”
We sit in silence a moment, and when I chance a look at him, he’s shifted on the bed to rest on his elbow and is staring into his mug again.
“Wow,” I decide to break the ice, “that got really dark.” I chuckle uncomfortably and look from his mug to him.
“Think I could use some of that,” I announce as I pull the covers off my bare legs and scooch out of the bed.
I think I see his arm reach for me in my peripheral, but when I turn my head to fully look at him, it’s just resting on his own hip.
After standing, I thoughtfully set the little flower down on my nightstand and turn for the top of the stairs.
“Moll,” he says.
The shortened version of my name induces another rush of those giddy endorphins that light me up inside. I glance up at him. He’s now sitting up fully on the bed and looking at me. I raise my eyebrows in question.
Pink tinges his cheeks. “Thanks for telling me that.”
I try to read what’s going on behind his forest green eyes when he says this. But when I’m left with no answer, I simply smile back at him softly before making my way downstairs.
Grabbing a mug out of the cabinet, I pour myself a cup of the coffee Wolf brewed and add my creamer to it.
I leaning against the counter and take my first sip, noticing his two-way radio is charging and set up on a docking station on the far end of the counter.
Both green and red lights glow near the antenna, and a barely audible droning noise hums from the base.
“What’s this?” I tip my chin at the setup as he pads down the stairs.
“I’m on call this weekend,” he explains.
I nod slowly. That must not happen often, as this is the first time since we’ve been married I’ve heard of it.
“So you’ll need to report for any emergencies?”
“Right.” He helps himself to more coffee.
“Well, I was thinking it would be a good day to release Finn,” I mention.
“Maybe we should do it sooner than later then.” The bobcat has been chomping at the bit.
His pain has been pretty much nonexistent as far as I can tell, and though I can barely get a good look at his wound, it seems the inflammation is gone.
He’s been eating and drinking well, and it’s not a good idea for him to get accustomed to being hand fed.
Wolf nods thoughtfully. “I’ll get showered,” he announces, heading back for the stairs.
I try to reconcile myself to the idea that last night was a fleeting occurrence.
He said he likes to sleep close to me sometimes, but maybe our efforts to get intimate—emotionally and physically—will ebb and flow and take some time.
My impatience has me fidgeting, and I start to braid a few strands of my hair and gaze out the window.
When Wolf ventures back down the stairs in jeans and a T-shirt, he’s still barefoot and has wet hair, and a certain warmth flushes through my body.
I find myself seeking distraction for a whole other reason now, and I’m irritated because he seems to have no clue.
He’s carrying his belt and his coffee mug, and he sets the latter down on the counter across from me to loop the other onto his jeans, oblivious to how his appearance is making liquid heat swirl in my abdomen while last night’s events occupy my mind. Fucker.
He looks up from his task to find me transfixed, my mug on the counter in front of me barely touched and a haphazard braid woven into my otherwise rat’s nest of hair. “Shower’s yours,” he offers.
My only response is to hustle up the stairs to the still humid bathroom filled with the scent of his leathery bodywash. Keeping my shower short and a little on the cold side helps—moderately.
My muscles are tired and straining by the time Wolf and I set the jostling, hissing crate on the edge of the property line.
We still have no idea who set up the heinous trap, but Wolf and his brothers have made sure there are no others.
They also gathered some fur that had fallen from Finn and scattered it in the direction we want him to go.
The day is picturesque for this kind of occasion—the sunshine shimmers off the leaves of the trees, and the tall grass sways to a song in the breeze.
“Do the honors?” Wolf hands me the looped end of the twine affixed to the clasp on the front of the crate door.