Chapter 13
scarlett
It’s Halloween, and for once, I’m actually excited for it. Hannah called and asked if they could set up a little fall festival here for the Wilder Foundation kids. I wouldn’t have said no, but then she said it was Lucas’s idea, and I’ll take any chance to be in his orbit, so I chomped at the bit.
My steps falter as I take in the sad little girl sitting away from the rest of the group. The very one I left hanging last time she was here. Taking a deep breath, I move toward her, drawn by a quiet ache that seems to mirror my own.
“Hey, Lily.” She lifts her head to me, her sad eyes are bloodshot and swimming with unshed tears. I breathe in, holding it for a few seconds before sinking down at her side. “Are you okay?”
“Why do you care?” She bites back.
I can’t help but chuckle, which only makes her scowl deepen, “You know Miller told me that you’re a lot like me when I was your age. He was right.”
She scrunches her nose, “Does that mean I’m going to be old, lonely, and miserable when I’m your age, too?
” A laugh rises in my throat, bright and unapologetic, until tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
Partly because of what she just said, partly because it sounds a hell of a lot like something I would have said.
The sun beats down on us, making my hair cling to the outside of my arm. Shifting, I angle myself until our shoulders almost touch. My smile feels warm. I hope she sees it that way, too. “You know, I hope not.” I chuckle. “But I also hope I'm not old, lonely, and miserable when I grow up.”
I clear my throat, calling on Little Scarlett, the piece of me who knows how to hold space for someone else, who can soothe instead of destroy. “I had a really tough childhood. I wasn’t really allowed to be a kid. Except when I was here.”
She looks up at me with big blue eyes, tears welling up behind her eyelids again as she sniffles, “I did too, my dad died when I was seven.”
Huh, maybe that’s why she and Lucas are so close. “My brother, Cade, protects me, but sometimes he’s not around, and kids are mean. They call me little orphan.”
My fingers dig into the ground, the voice of our own bully rings to life in my ears the second she said “little orphan.”
“If it isn’t beauty and the reject.” Grant, one of the ranch cook’s sons, says as Lucas and I head back to the house from the river.
I step in front of Lucas, the corner of my lip pulls up at this kid who I can’t stand. I’ve seen my dad do this very face hundreds of times. It terrifies me every time, so I hope it’ll work here. “Don’t talk to him like that,” I growl.
“I’ll talk to him however I want. What are you going to do about it?” He throws back.
I don’t even think before my fist connects with his throat. “I said, don’t talk to him like that, you waste of space.”
He stands up a bit straighter, taking a step toward me, and I mirror him. “Kiss your mother with that mouth, Scarlett?”
I narrow my eyes as a villainous smile grows across my face, “I don’t kiss my mama at all, but you…” I poke him in the chest with my finger, pushing back against him slightly. “Can kiss my ass.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until little hands wipe them from my face. “Are you okay, Ms. Scarlett?”
I smile and nod. I am, for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel totally scared to be that little girl.
Maybe it's because of the tough cookie sitting next to me. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of hurting everyone around me, myself included.
Instead of retreating like I want to, I sit with it.
Lean into it even. “I am. Can I tell you a story?”
She looks at me and smiles, then, in typical child fashion, climbs into my lap without invitation and waits in anticipation for me to start talking. “Do you believe in fairy tales?” I ask, her eyes widen, and she quickly nods.
“I asked your Uncle Lucas that question when I was your age,” I boop her on the nose, and her mouth falls open.
“Are you his special friend?! He tells me stories about you all the time. You guys are the prank king and queen! He told me about the one time you put fire ants in someone’s sleeping bag because they called Moolan ugly.
” My head falls back behind me as I let out yet another laugh. I completely forgot about that.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say on a softer laugh. “I don’t think you should do that, though. We got in a lot of trouble for it.”
She smiles and curls herself into my chest, and I find myself wrapping my arms around her shoulders. “Rapunzel was always my favorite. She was so cool. Her entire life had been taken from her. She had no control over it. Until she decided to take control of it herself.” I say softly.
She tips her head back, “I like Rapunzel, but I think Cinderella is my favorite. Only because the animals talk.”
Hmm, yeah, I always wished that was my superpower as a kid. Wouldn’t it be cool if they actually talked back? Although I’m sure they’d have some brutally honest things to say, kinda like kids do.
I hum, “Yeah, I wish animals could talk in real life too.” She just nods against me, and I take that as my cue to continue.
“My life has kind of been like Rapunzel’s.
My parents really like to control what I do, so I wasn’t allowed to do a lot of normal things kids do.
Except for when I was here. And Lucas, well, he was kind of my prince.
He showed me a different side of life, one where I could just be me without trying to be what other people wanted me to be.
But then, when my Nana died, I was taken away from him.
Locked in the tower with my parents, you could say. ”
She puts her hand on my forearm, “Sounds like your parents suck.” That they do, little cutie.
“Yeah, but now I’m free. And I’m happy here.” I whisper.
She looks up at me, those innocent kid eyes, always seeing way too much, “And Uncle Lucas is your Flynn Ryder?”
I sit with that for a second. I don’t need any man to save me. I can save myself, but if I had to pick someone, it’d be him every time. “I don’t know, maybe.”
She giggles, “I think he’s in love with you.” She says with complete confidence.
I scoff as I twirl her ponytail around my finger. “I don’t know about all that, little muchkin.”
She tilts her head back and smiles, “You looooveeee my Uncle Lucas.” And then she laughs like a child with a sugar rush, almost villainous.
When she’s done, she puts her hands on my face, her eyes begging me for something I already know I’ll give her.
“Can you come to family night? It’s at the ice rink, my mom isn’t going, but Uncle Lucas will be there.
So will the rest of the guys, but I want you to come with me. ”
I should ask Lucas first, but I haven’t seen him since they left for their games.
That little fact doesn’t sit well with me, but I can’t deny this little one again.
“Sure, I’ll ask Ms. Hannah for the details.
” She claps rapidly before hopping off my lap and running toward the group of kids that are currently petting Nutter and Butter.
I’m not alone long when Abby sits next to me, “I’m surprised you talked to her.” She says.
I bristle. “You don’t know me.” I cringe internally. I really need to stop treating everyone like the enemy.
She huffs, “No, but he does. Which is why I’m surprised you're here, not with him.”
Turning my head slowly in her direction, I narrow my eyes, “Why isn’t he here? This was his idea, no?”
A flush works up her neck, coloring her cheeks in a shade that would be perfect for blush. “You have no idea, do you?”
“Gonna need you to be more specific.”
When she doesn’t respond, my skin starts to itch. I pat the ground, pushing to my feet, “Well, thanks for that riveting conversation.” I start to walk down the hill toward the group of kids when her voice stops me in my tracks.
“You know, I’ll never know how someone like him fell in love with someone with the personality of a peacock. All show, no depth.” She’s standing now, her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow hiked in challenge.
“Like I said, you don’t know me.” I mirror her stance, unwilling to let her get to me. His best friend be damned, I was his best friend first.
“I know you’re here, acting like you didn’t destroy him when you left and never reached back out.
” Her head tilts to the side. “And I know you’re here while he’s locked himself in his house, drowning in grief because he found his mom face down on the floor earlier this week.
And you either don’t know that, or you don’t give a shit.
And if that’s the case–” I tune out the rest of what she says, I don’t care. His mom died, and he didn’t tell me?
Does Miller know? Was I the last one? I mean, I’d deserve it.
But it’s me, and he’s him. My mind races as I run through the open field, memories I’ve tried to forget assault my senses as tears spring to my eyes.
The time he told me he wished his mom would join his dad because it’d hurt less to not see her anymore.
Or the summer he begged me to stay because he couldn’t handle someone else he loved leaving.
Then the promise I made him the last summer I was here, the one where I said it was us against the world.
That he’d never have to worry about me leaving, because I’d pick him every time in every life.
Each pound of my foot against the ground feels like I’m running a never-ending race, the distance between the two of us too insurmountable to close at this point.
Yet every huff of breath releases pieces that no longer serve me.
Like every breath is one step closer to the woman I always wanted to be.
But still, a nagging voice in the back of my head tells me it may be too late.
My closed fist rapidly knocks against his door. “Go away,” he croaks from inside.
“Goldie, let me in, please.” It’s quiet for a second before the door swings open. He looks awful, his hair matted, the stench of alcohol wafts off of him in waves. But it’s the dimness in his eyes that has tears gathering in my own
“What do you want, Ms. Arias?” He slurs.
“Please don’t call me that.” I can handle Scar. I can handle Ms. Arias from anyone else, but not from him. I can’t handle the formality, the space he’s putting between us. “Can I come in? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
He scoffs, “You think because you don’t have a dick you can tell me what to do?”
I sigh, the weight of the distance I’ve put between us makes my head fall forward, “I deserve that and a heck of a lot more, but Lucas, let me in.”
His eyes water, “I want nothing more than to let you in, Lettie. But what happens when you leave? I’ll go through this all over again. I can’t do it. I can’t have you just to lose you again. So just stay away.” The pain in his voice splits me down the middle when he tacks on, “please.”
He starts to close the door, and I stick my boot between it and the frame. “No, I can’t do that,” I say, pushing my way into his house.
He swats at the air, “Yes, you can. You’ve done it over and over again.
” Stumbling backward, he catches himself on the entryway table.
“You chose not to reach out to me when you knew I was here, drowning alone. You let me drown, Lettie. And you’ll do it again, because that’s who you are now, right? ” His voice pitches as he sways a bit.
Swiping the tequila bottle off the coffee table, he takes a big gulp. I close the distance between us, reaching for him, but he throws a hand up, stopping me in my tracks. “Big city girl. Handles her shit, doesn’t need anyone. Sound familiar?”
“Lucas.”
His head snaps so fast in my direction that he tilts over the back of the couch just enough to make the liquid spill onto his hand.
“No, I pulled myself out of the pit you left me in.” He bellows as he smacks his chest with his open palm.
“I did it without you. Just like you don’t need me, I don’t need you. ”
But he’s wrong, I do need him. I think I’ve always needed him and have just been too big a coward to admit it.
He raises the bottle in the air, “Maybe I’ll know how it feels to be loved in the next life, huh, big man?” He whines before tilting his head back, drinking half the bottle in one go.
A knife lodges itself in my chest as I take in the man before me.
The one who’s been passed up time and time again.
The man who has never wanted anything other than to be loved and accepted for who he is.
He’s right, though, I did leave him. I did know he was suffering, and while I was suffering differently, I wasn’t alone.
I broke a promise that clearly did more damage than I could ever imagine.
But this is my line in the sand. The Scarlett my father built dies right here.
The pride I carry so close to my chest has no place on the ranch.
No place with him. Because at the end of the day, there is nothing I’m more sure of than the fact that my heart and I are safest when in the hands of the man unraveling in front of me.
“Come on, Goldie. Lay down.” I guide his shoulders until he’s lying back on the couch.
Grabbing a blanket from the basket by the fireplace, I throw it over him before settling his head in my lap.
His hair is greasy and tangled, but I know I won’t be able to get him up to shower right now.
So instead, I just run my fingers through it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unsure if he can even hear me.
After a while, my breathing matches the steady rise and fall of his chest. I let myself look at him, and I mean really look at him. His arms, tattooed with a lion on one forearm and tribal print from shoulder to wrist on the other, beg me to trace the ink with my finger.
In the silence, I let myself do what my younger self would have done, and draw over his skin.
The familiarity strips away every excuse I have left.
Maybe it’s the masochist in me. The one that says if I don’t feel anything but pain, no one can tell me I’m too loud, too emotional, too much.
If I’m just a stone wall with no feelings, I can’t get hurt.
But I’m hurting all the same, aren’t I? And him?
He’s the wrecking ball that knocked it all down.
Here, with my finger swirling around black ink, there’s a cataclysmic shift. There’s no going back to how we were before. It’s him and I. Just like it always should have been.