Chapter 17 Scarlett
scarlett
Did I steal Miller’s keys and make a copy of Lucas’s a few weeks ago? Yes. Do I feel bad about it? Not in the slightest. Especially not now, when I can see his feet hanging out from behind his couch and the brown bottle of Don Julio on the floor. “Lucas,” I whisper as I step through the door.
He’s got nothing on, the man is naked as the day he was born, and good God almighty. I’m not complaining about the sight. I bend down, gently brushing the hair out of his face as I try again, “Lucas.” His brows pinch together in the middle, but he doesn't answer.
“Come on, Goldie. You need to shower.” I say, softly jostling his shoulder.
“No, Lettie doesn’t leave me in my dreams. She always stays, she’s the only one that stays.
” He mumbles, and it tears my heart right down the middle.
It’s been a couple of weeks since his mom’s funeral, and more often than not, when I don’t stay over, or he doesn’t stay with me, I find him like this.
“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” I say again, placing my hand over his heart.
His eyes flutter open with a groan, “Do I even want to know how you got in here?”
I laugh quietly, trying not to worsen the hangover I’m sure he has. “Probably not.”
He looks down the length of his body, then his eyes fly up to mine, widening in time with the crimson flush crawling up his neck. “You didn’t happen to take my clothes off, did you?”
“I did not.” I tilt my head to the side, rolling my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling. “Should I be concerned that you don’t know how your clothes got off?”
His hands cover his impressive package, “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.” His eyes screw shut as he sits up, leaning against the back of the couch.
Walking to the kitchen, I pull out some ibuprofen and a water bottle, pouring his crystallized lemon packet in it before padding back across the room. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
I watch in silence as he takes a sip before popping the medicine in his mouth, his neck flexing with his swallow. I don’t know why he does this to himself. He took bereavement from playing, but that ends next week.
“Have you talked to your therapist?” Leaning against the counter, I cross one ankle over the other.
He closes his eyes before resting his head on his knees. “Can we not have this conversation while my dick is out?”
“Not my fault you decided to strip in the middle of the night.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly invited over.” He snaps back.
I know I wasn’t, and I know I’m pushing a boundary right now. But unfortunately, Little Lettie, the one who doesn’t take no for an answer, is driving the ship when it comes to him at the moment. “I’m aware, but if you’re not going to take care of yourself, someone has to.”
“You’re not my mom, Scarlett.” He spits, and the silence that falls after is heavy. I watch as his shoulders rise and fall with the force of his breaths before he looks up at me, tears clinging to his lashes. “I’m sorry.” He chokes out, as one falls to the floor with a quiet splat.
Walking around the island, I find his clothes slung over one of the barstools.
I hand them to him and turn around, giving him some sense of privacy.
“It’s okay, I get it. But I hate seeing you self-destruct.
When you’re with me, you don’t drink, you’re happy, at least you seem to be.
So why do you push me away? Why do you want to be by yourself when you know this is the outcome? ”
His footsteps echo through the kitchen, and before I can blink, he’s in front of me, fully clothed.
He grabs me by the backs of the thighs and sets me on top of his island.
He doesn’t get any closer, which I’m thankful for because the smell of alcohol seeping from his pores makes me queasy.
“Because some days, I want to feel the pain. It reminds me I’m still alive, but in the same breath, I feel like I deserve it.
I deserve to hurt because I am happy with you.
And that feels like it should be wrong.”
Reaching out, I tuck a strand of golden hair behind his ear, letting my hand run across his jaw, softly scratching his beard. “You’ve been struggling in silence for so long, Lucas. Don’t you think you’ve hurt enough?”
A fresh stream of tears runs down his face, his eyes trained on the countertop behind me.
“How do you know when enough is enough? My life is made up of people leaving. I tell myself to keep my distance from you, but I can’t.
I can’t, Lettie, because I love you with every broken part of me.
I feel like the very sustenance I need to live is you, and my God, Scarlett.
I’m scared you’re going to leave me, too. ”
My legs straighten before they wrap around his hips, pulling him closer until his hands frame my hips on either side of the countertop.
“I’m not leaving,” My words are slow and intentional.
Wanting to make sure he understands what I mean.
Not now, not when he needs me, not when he tells me to leave. I’m here, and I’m in this, too.
Grief is a weird thing, and to be honest, I don’t think I was allowed the safe space to grieve when Nana died.
Any time I tried, my dad told me he didn’t want to hear her name.
When my mom would find me crying, she’d tell me it was “unbecoming” to let my emotions show.
It came out in other ways, though. I drew a lot.
Filled sketch book after sketchbook with pieces that reminded me of her and the ranch.
“I talked with Dr. Williams yesterday,” he says, his voice laced with the pain he’s carrying. “He said there’s no guide, no roadmap to get through this. But that I should lean on you and my friends instead of the bottle. And I want to, I want that. It’s just...”
His head falls forward, hanging in the vacant space between us. “It’s the easy way out.”
I laugh despite the mood, “I’ve never known you to take the easy way out, Lucas Monroe.”
“You’re right, that isn’t me. And I know that.” He says, still looking at the ground. “I’m just confused. Overwhelmed may be a better word. I’ve dealt with her not being around for two decades, but then you come back days before I thought the ranch was being signed over to me.”
He pauses, looking up at me, sincerity shining in his eyes. “And don’t misunderstand me, I’m happy you’re here. It’s just something else that felt like a loss. But in the same breath, I got you back. Maybe not in the way I hoped at first, but now?”
He lets out a heavy breath, swiping his tongue over his chapped lips.
“You’re everything, Lettie. And you deserve the best of me.
Total honesty, total transparency. It’s like everything happened at once.
And then there’s your dad. The white truck, the fence cutting.
Yet there’s been no escalation, no anything.
It’s like we’re in limbo. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. ”
I about choke on my tongue, eyes bulging as I stare at the man in front of me. When he lays it out like that, it’s a lot. More than anyone should have to deal with. And here I am, sitting on what could be monumental information, yet I continue to keep it to myself.
Normally, I’d have a handle on the situation, but right now I feel completely out of my element. I wrack my brain for ideas on how to deflect when an idea pops into my head, “Can I color in your tattoos?” Maybe the familiarity of me drawing on him will bring us both some peace.
He chuffs, returning my smile that sends a gust of warmth straight through my stomach. “I’ve got something better.” He says, pushing off the counter. “Come on.”
We walk up the stairs to a part of the house I’ve never been in.
And when we get to the loft at the far end, my eyes widen when I realize how it's decorated. The walls are lined with the pictures I drew for him when we were younger. He kept them all. There’s got to be hundreds of them here.
“Lucas, what?” I ask in awe as I slowly spin around the room.
“I’m going to take a shower. There are empty sketchbooks in the drawer over there.” He points to the right side of the room where a drawing desk sits. “If you still want to color me when I get back, I’m all yours. But I’d love it if you’d add some updated art to my collection.”
He kisses my forehead, then disappears down the hallway, leaving me with so many conflicting feelings. Running my hand over the numerous pictures on the wall, my heart constricts when I come across one of my favorites. The memory plays like it was yesterday.
“We are Lucas and Lettie, cute and strong. We love Nana, Miller, Stella, and John. When we grow up, we’re gonna sing this song.
Cause we are Lucas and Lettie, cute. And.
stroooooooong.” Our laughter cuts through the sunflower field as we make up yet another song to the tune of I’m a Little Teapot.
This time, we added Nana’s new sheepdog, John.
It fit, but honestly, I just like to hear him sing.
The way he can make up a song about anything at any time is one of my favorite things about him. When he’s upset or doesn’t know what to say, he just sings. Well, he used to anyway, now it’s a game for us. It rained earlier, and while we waited it out in the barn, he made up a song to Old McDonald.
He makes me laugh, my heart is so happy when he’s around, I swear it smiles. “Lettie,” he says. My head rolls to the side so I can look at him. “One day, I want to marry you. Right here in the sunflower field.”
“With Moolan as our officiant?!” I ask, sitting up so fast my head spins.
He laughs, rolling over on his side so he can look at me. “Whatever you want, pretty girl. Just don’t leave me hanging.”
I giggle, lying back down. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You and me forever, Goldie.”
“That’s one of my favorites.” His breath is close enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.