Chapter 19
WOLF
The muted crash of a familiar rumble nudges me awake in the night.
I keep my eyes closed as I register my surroundings, and a relaxing comfort emanates through my body as the thunder fades out.
I fucking love thunderstorms. They’re exciting and powerful but relaxing and grounding at the same time.
It’s like mother nature is releasing some pent-up energy, and it comes with soothing white noise and a side of unpredictability.
A flash of lightning illuminates the room in pale blue for a heartbeat before leaving my eyes to adjust to the blackness again.
The heavy rain batters the roof, and I patiently wait for the next ominous crack of thunder.
When it comes, the boom sends a gratifying rumble rolling through the nearby mountains.
I settle in to enjoy the mild vibration it sends through my chest, but it’s cut off abruptly by a frenzied scream right next to me.
My sleepy mind processes the sound and kicks into gear, making me shoot straight up in bed and whip the covers off my legs.
After the recent issue with the fence, I immediately think intruder and go into fight mode, ready to tackle the threat.
But the next spark of lightning through the room reveals there’s no one else here.
Except for Molly, who’s sitting straight up in bed and gasping in the darkness, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly with her whimpering cries.
My next actions confuse me. My brain is still in protective mode, but now it’s switched to a level I’ve never played on before.
Yet somehow it figures everything out as I go along, reaching for Molly.
“Molly. Molly, baby…” I crawl over and grapple for both of her arms, holding them firmly.
“Molly, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re at home…
with me,” I tell her, like that last part should mean something.
A tiny entity deep inside has me hoping it does. “Bad dream?” I venture to ask.
She shakes her head vehemently, still trying desperately to draw in air. Her hands vibrate jerkily as if she’s trying to rid herself of something vile. “I’m scared! I’m scared of thunderstorms. I?—”
Another resounding crash outside cuts off her words.
Her body jolts, and my body reacts, yanking her into me and throwing my arms around her trembling body.
She cries out again, sounding borderline helpless, and I swear I feel a small crack in my normally stone-like heart.
I hold her fast, fixed on calming her down, ignoring our awkward position: her shoulder is wedged into my chest and one of my arms practically crushes her against my body while the other is curled around her head as if I’m shielding her from some viscous beast.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, relaxing my hold just enough to smooth a hand down her arm. A grown adult being afraid of thunderstorms is a new one to me, but I’m hardly in the position to judge another person’s quirks or discomforts.
Her hazel eyes glow a greyish-blue in the light of the lightning strike, but her cries grow quieter and turn to airy gasps. After a breath or two, she finally nods.
“I’ve got you baby,” I assure her, and she nods again. I haven’t counted in my head how far away the next boom will be, so I wait, just letting Molly’s breathing even out, and when it comes, I’m ready.
The next crash seems to split the sky in half, and Molly goes stiff, her shoulders coming up around her ears. Her hands fly up to hook around my arm, which is wrapped around her.
I grab onto one of her hands and say, “Squeeze my hand,” which she does. “Good girl,” I tell her as I squeeze back. Lightning flickers again, and she releases her grip along with a heavy breath. “How do you normally get through these?” I ask.
She licks her lips and swallows hard and tries to stammer out an answer. “I—I turn everything on….lights, TV… so it feels like it’s not happening,” she manages, her body still shaking.
Though that seems outlandish on the surface, my brain pieces together the logic.
Nodding my understanding, I unwind one arm from her body and reach over to flick her bedside lamp on.
The click of the switch is loud and almost mocking when it declines to produce light.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Power’s out,” I state the obvious as I look back at Molly.
Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and her breath is still trying and failing to follow a steady rhythm.
I know damn well there’s little to nothing I can do, but Molly’s distressed state has me unwilling to give up. With the same arm, I grab the flashlight from the bedside drawer and release her to climb out of the bed. “I’m going to go see if it’s the breaker?—”
“Wait!” Molly belts out before closing her eyes and breathing in deep. She’s trying so hard to be brave and control herself. “I’ll come with you” she says a bit quieter, gripping my arm.
“Okay.” I nod before taking her hand without even thinking about it.
The flashlight beam leads us down the hallway and through the kitchen, where the power outage is confirmed by the darkness over the oven.
Just as we get to the door that leads out to the garage, another crash resounds over our heads.
This time, Molly shrieks, turning and throwing her arms around my neck.
She’s up on her toes, almost like she’s trying to climb me, and instinctually, both my arms go around her.
Her body trembles against mine as the flashlight in my hand casts a spotlight down at our feet.
I haven’t held her like this since our wedding dance, and I wish my brain had more time to process how it feels.
But the one thing it’s trying to make sense of is how terrified she is.
Once this roll of thunder fades, we make quick work of padding into the garage, where I test the main breaker with no joy. “It’s going to be out for a while,” I tell Molly regretfully.
She nods, accepting the reality as we venture back inside.
“It’ll be okay. That last one was already getting further away,” I tell her, and she nods again as we journey back to the bedroom.
There’s no question… I’m definitely going to stay awake with her. We both get comfortable on the pillows facing each other. Molly holds out her hand, and I take it in mine, tucking the other one under the pillow.
I don’t get it. She’s normally such a tough little shit, not afraid of anything.
Why does something as natural as a thunderstorm have her so traumatized?
“Listen and don’t judge?” I prompt. It’s a leisurely game my brothers and I—mostly them—play during down time, and it comes to me now as a means of distracting her from the storm and the loss of her usual comforts.
“I feel like a child,” she responds, staring at the small space of comforter between us.
I’m not sure if she’s caught on to what I’m doing or if she’s simply lamenting. “You have a fear of thunderstorms. The rest of the time you’re more adult than anyone I know. And I’m not judging. Now come on, tell me something evil you did this week.”
“Four sentences in a row. Did you hurt yourself?”
“There’s my smartass.”
Something warm is coming over me, softening my insides that are normally so rock solid.
It’s oddly alleviating, like something inside of me is learning it’s okay to let go.
Normally I have to venture into the woods or walk by the river, allowing myself to be lulled by the sway of the trees and the sporadic bird song to achieve a feeling like this.
But here I am, coming by it while indoors, in bed with my…
my wife. That word still knocks me for a loop and makes me want to shake myself awake from a dream.
“I got a free soda refill at Beth’s when I wasn’t supposed to,” Molly confesses.
“Shit,” I scoff hard. “I’m not judging. But am I going to have to go out and get ingredients for a complicated chocolate torte tomorrow?”
“Shut up,” she grumbles along with the thunder that is becoming more distant. “Your turn.”
I let out a frazzled sigh as I rack my brain for something that might make her laugh.
“Yesterday, I asked River if he’d followed up on the rabid jackalope that had been squatting in the North Garnet deer blind.
The adorable idiot acted like he knew what I was talking about and spent the next three hours looking for paperwork and making phone calls.
” I feel my chest rumble, unable to keep from chuckling.
“Then he grabbed all the protective padding from our gear room and a tranq gun and sure enough headed out there.”
“I thought jackalopes weren’t real.”
“They’re not.”
Her lips part and her eyes narrow in the dark. “You’re so mean!” She tries to be serious, but her voice stutters over a laugh. “You’re mean, but I would take it,” she sighs.
“Take what?”
“The torture that comes with having a sibling so long as it meant I’d get to have one.”
I quietly consider that for a moment before a distant boom of thunder echoes from considerably farther away. I squeeze her hand. “I think the worst has passed.”
“Will you still keep talking to me?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks,” she whispers sweetly as the lightning flashes in a duller flicker than before.
I think long and hard for something to tell her and even debate making up something stupid.
But we’ve been trying to make this marriage real, trying to plant seeds that will hopefully bloom into feelings.
And so I decide to test the waters with a confession that actually goes beneath the surface.
“Every night when you’re sleeping…” I steel myself before continuing, then dare to look at her. “I move a little closer to you.”
Molly’s eyes widen and dart up to mine, like she’s searching for any trace of a lie. She’s quiet a moment, like she’s not sure of what she really just heard. “You do?”
I nod.
“Why?”
I think back to that first time, how I’d watched her breath, moving her body upward and then settling back down.
Beautiful and peaceful to my eyes and ears, and how I could feel her warmth without even touching her.
I could feel it so strong, and I could smell her scent that made me think of wildflowers beaming in the sun.
Releasing a breath, I tell her. “At first, it was just to see what it was like.” I shake my head slightly, thinking I must sound like a clueless idiot. “And I liked it. I haven’t crossed any boundaries, but being near you while we sleep… It’s nice.”
Molly’s eyes cast downward a moment as she thinks about my words. And then she swallows, looking back up at me. “Listen and don’t judge?”
I nod.
“Maybe I want to see what that’s like.”
“Being close?”
She nods again and then startles with another pound of thunder.
I squeeze her hand one more time, which seems to remind her to squeeze back.
“Come here.” I scooch closer and tug on her hand, pulling her nearer.
I move to my back, tucking her into my side.
Once she’s settled and facing me, I offer her my hand so she can keep squeezing it if she wants and then lay both across my stomach.
Her scent is stronger than ever, making those wildflowers in the sun even more visceral. And the warmth of her body engulfs me this time as she not only willingly gives it but seeks mine in return. I’m so calm, yet so excited to feel this. So full, yet so light.
Before Molly, I never shared a sleeping space with anyone.
I’ve always been my own rock to lean on, taking comfort in solitude.
But this new experience of someone needing me?
I never knew how centering it could be while also sending a small release of gentle endorphins through me.
And a niggling feeling deep inside tells me I couldn’t feel this with just anyone.
It’s because it’s Molly needing me in this medley of elements that has me feeling this way.
Not that I ever want to see her scared or troubled.
But the serenity that comes with holding her and being her shelter...
I think I can handle it the next time it comes.