32. Scarlet
THIRTY-TWO
SCARLET
The sound of thunder wakes me right before lightning cracks, illuminating the sky. I reach for Ellis, only to be met with an empty bed and cool sheets.
“Ellis?” I glance toward the bathroom, but the door is open and the lights are off. “Where in the heck is he?”
The wind whips outside as I throw off the covers, leaving the warmth and comfort of the bed to go in search of him.
I call his name again, but a boom of thunder drowns out my voice. The whimper that follows it, however, echoes like a gunshot through the house.
“Ellis!” I shout his name as I race out of the bedroom.
The sight I’m met with in the living room nearly brings me to my knees.
My big, strong, selfless man is on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hunched forward with his head between his knees. “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.” He murmurs the words over and over and over again, almost as if he’s in a trance.
“Ellis.” I keep my voice calm as I approach him. “Talk to me.”
“Scarlet?” He looks up at me, blinking rapidly, as if coming out of a daze.
“I’m here,” I say as yet another boom of thunder shakes the house. He flinches and shoves his head back between his legs just in time for another flash lightning to light up the sky. “I’ve got you.”
I position myself between his legs, noting the way his whole-body tremors as I run my fingers though his hair, trying to calm him. “How can I help you?”
“Just...” He wraps his arms around my legs, burying his face in my thighs. “Just hold me. Please.” His voice is raw in a way I’ve never heard before—not small but definitely broken.
“For as long as you need,” I promise him. “But maybe let’s do this in a way we’re both comfy and secure?”
“Yeah, yes. Sorry.” He sucks in a shuddering breath as the storm continues raging outside, forcing himself to sit up straight.
I waste no time, climbing into his lap side saddle style, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Talk to me, Ellis. What’s going on?”
“Don’t like storms.” He mumbles the words against the top of my head.
“I gathered that.” I draw mindless patterns on the back of his neck.
A low rumble of thunder, the kinds that seems to go on forever, gives way to driving rain, causing Ellis to clench around me, his entire body strung tight like a bow.
“I’ve got you,” I reassure him. “You’re inside, safe, with me.”
“My dad,” he starts, voice shaking with effort. “He, uh, he...”
“Take your time, Sunshine.” I drag my nails across his scalp, and he pushes into my touch like a needy kitten.
“I didn’t know it was going to storm.” He changes the topic, seemingly out of nowhere. “I-I usually know ahead of time and prepare.”
“Prepare how?”
He shrugs. “Weather radio, flashlight, all the curtains shut, a weighted blanket.”
“I can shut the curtains if you want.”
He shakes his head. “I’d rather you be my weighted blanket.”
“I can do that.” I tug the throw blanket he had around his shoulders, pulling it from behind him and draping it over the both of us. “For as long as you need.”
“What if I said forever?”
“Then I’d say forever and a day.”
“I love you, Scarlet.” He clings to me like I’m his lifeline, and while I hate seeing him so scared, I love being able to be strong for him.
He’s been relentless in his pursuit of my safety, so if I can offer even a sliver of the comfort he’s given me, then I’ll do it.
“I love you, too. So much.” I kiss his neck, holding him close. “Do you... do you want to finish what you were saying about your dad? No pressure, though.”
He doesn’t answer right away, leaving only the sound of our breathing and the storm outside to keep us company.
“It was my fault that my dad died.” His shoulders shake as he silently cries. “He died because of me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” I wish I could reassure him with my words alone, but I can’t. So, I settle in, determined to sit here with him for as long as it takes for him to feel safe, secure, and loved.
It’s still raining, but the wind, thunder, and lightning have all slacked off tremendously.
“I-I was seven. It had been a week of non-stop rain, and we finally had a patch of sun. I begged to go outside, and my parents were tired of me bouncing off the walls and being underfoot, so they agreed.” He sucks in another ragged breath, and I swear my heart breaks for this man.
He’s so strong for everyone else. Who’s strong for him?
“I was out there for hours.” He huffs out a laugh, but it holds no humor.
“Staged a whole battle in the mud with my Army men and Sauce—my stuffed rhino. Stayed outside until Mom called me in for dinner. I remember we had meatloaf—my favorite—so I ran inside when she called me. Forgot all about my Army men and Sauce. Until the storm rolled in. I begged Dad to get Sauce. Screamed and cried. He eventually agreed, threw on his raincoat and ran out to get him, but...”
“Take your time.” I snuggle in deeper to him, resting my head on his shoulder as he struggled to compose himself. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”
“He got struck by lightning. Went to cardiac arrest. Didn’t make it. We didn’t know until afterward that he had an enlarged heart and arrythmia. It was basically—fucking hell—it was a perfect storm.”
My heart absolutely breaks for my sweet man. It shatters into a million pieces as I imagine him as kid, with dirt smeared on his cheek and knobby knees, thinking it’s his fault his dad’s dead. For him carrying that guilt all these years.
“Ellis, baby,” I start, sitting up so I can really look at him. “You know it’s not really your fault, right?”
“Logically?” He shrugs and then tenses as a low roll of thunder rumbles outside, long and low, like a jet plane idling overhead. Thankfully, no lightening follows. “Sure. Every therapist I’ve ever had has said as much. Beck—my current—really likes to hammer down this point. But...”
“But logic doesn’t always win when it comes to things like grief.”
“Exactly.” He leans back against the couch, dragging me with him so I’m splayed across his chest.
We both fall quiet as the storm winds down, until finally, Ellis says, “I still have him, you know.”
“Have who?” Maybe he means his dad’s ashes?
“Sauce.” It’s barely a whisper, but it hits me with the force of a sledgehammer. He blames himself for his dad’s death but still has the stuffy he died retrieving. My heart simultaneously melts and breaks for him.
“It’s not quite the same but I still have my childhood stuffy, too. A pink flamingo—Flamingy Lou—that my dad bought me for my first birthday.”
“So, you’ve always been bad at naming things?” he asks, laughing against the top of my head.
“Excuse you?”
“Fefe Fluffington. Flamingy-Lou.” He’s definitely laughing at me, but I’m so relieved to hear something other than fear or pain in his voice, that I don’t care.
“Okay, Sauce.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.
“No, listen.” He shifts us so he can kick his feet up onto the coffee table. “He’s a rhinoceros, but I couldn’t actually say rhinoceros at four-years-old. So, Sauce.”
“Okay, stop.” I cup his scruffy jaw and pull his face down to mine. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Play your cards right, and maybe I’ll show him to you one day.” He speaks the words directly against my lips.
“I’d really like that. Maybe I’ll introduce you to Flamingy.”
“Kiss on it,” he murmurs, and I stretch up to seal the deal.