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You eyed the storm clouds rolling over Manhattan, internally groaning and heading into the subway terminal. The weatherman had mentioned a chance of thunderstorms and you had spent the day praying to the universe that it would alter its path. Unfortunately, it seemed like the universe wasn’t on your side today.
For the last two hours you had watched the sky grow darker from your high-rise office window, finally deciding to head home early to beat the storm. This plan wouldn’t change anything, you knew that, but the idea of having a panic attack surrounded by nosy coworkers was the less appealing option of the two.
You could always call your husband, Frank, but you didn’t want to worry him. He was a busy man, and you were a big girl. You could handle a silly little storm until he got home.
You made your way out of the subway terminal closest to your apartment and tried not to look like you were sprinting towards your building. It was one of the nicer apartment buildings in Hell’s Kitchen and even came with a doorman, who you promptly interrupted as you rushed through the front doors.
“Good evening, Mrs. C-”
“Hi! Hello, Reginald! So sorry, can’t talk. Have a great evening. Bye!”
You had exhausted your air supply trying to speak as fast as possible, which left you gulping for oxygen as you made your way towards the elevator. A loud clap of thunder echoed around the lobby, rattling the pictures hung on the wall. You let out a stunned yelp and changed directions, heading towards the stairs instead. You would not get stuck inside of a tiny elevator during this storm.
By the time you made it to the sixth floor, you were a panting, sweaty mess. Another clap of thunder had you shakily trying to unlock your door, dropping the keys on the doormat before finally getting through the door and slamming it behind you.
You clicked the living room lamps on and breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived. Rain began pelting the windows like pellets from a BB Gun and thunder shook the building. You clapped your hands over your ears and watched as your apartment went dark, power blinking on and off for a few moments before completely failing.
“Oh god.” You mumbled, falling to your knees. You crawled towards the couch, crying out when lightning lit up the apartment for a split second. Your breath had become uneven, a trembling gasp leaving your mouth every 10 seconds. You felt around your pockets, fingers shaking as you tried to grasp your phone.
You dialed the number without looking. You’d memorized his phone number years ago and knowing it by heart had come in handy too many times to count.
“What’s wrong?” Frank’s voice was gruff, but not annoyed – never annoyed with you. He wasn’t expecting you to be home for another few hours, so your phone call probably set off alarm bells in his head.
You tried to speak, tried to figure out how to tell him that you felt like you might be dying, and you needed him here, helping you get through this, but your voice had long since left you.
“Sweetheart,” his voice was more alarmed now, “What’s wrong?”
“I-” You started, gulping, “Frank, I-”
Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. You hoped he could hear your desperation because you couldn’t get your mouth to work.
“Are you at home, sweetheart?”
Thunder clapped and you shrieked into the phone.
“Ah, shit,” Frank murmured, “I’m on my way, okay? Don’t go anywhere. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”
You could hear him gathering his things and shoving them into his bag. You had no idea who he was staking out, but from the rustling of Frank’s bag, it seemed like he had been sitting there for hours.
“No, it’s fine.” You whispered, squeezing your eyes tight as another bolt of lightning lit up the room around you.
“I think I’ll stay on the line anyways,” he responded.
Your heart sang with relief. Frank had gotten so good at reading your emotions since you’d met him that he could now do it over the phone.
“I ran into Red last night over on 42 nd . He told me to send his regards.”
“Oh yeah?” You mumbled, trying to focus on the sound of his voice.
“I told him to go to hell.” You could hear his grin through the phone. “I know your company recruits lawyers for your clients, but do you have to use Nelson & Murdock so often? He thinks we’re friends now.”
“He’s my friend, and he’s nice. And he’s a good lawyer.” You retort, smiling slightly. A thunderous boom rattles the walls, and you flinch, nearly dropping the phone.
“I’m almost home, sweet girl,” Frank coos into the phone, “Just hang on. Two more minutes.”
You nod, even though he can’t see you. You rest your head on the floor, legs curled up under you. If someone didn’t know any better, they’d probably say you looked like you were doing yoga.
You count to sixty twice, listening as Frank greets Reginald at the front door and heads up the stairs. When you reach fifty-five the second time around, the front door swings open. Frank rushes through the door, pushing it closed behind him with his foot.
When he sees you lying on the floor, he hangs up the phone and tosses it on the couch behind you. He’s soaking wet and breathing heavier than normal. He strips out of his clothes, running quickly into the bedroom to put on dry clothes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” He lets out a sympathetic sigh and sits next to you on the floor, pulling you into his lap.
The living room lights up, followed quickly by a loud clap of thunder. You squeeze your eyes shut, burying your face in Frank’s chest. Tears roll down your cheeks, soaking into Frank’s sweatshirt.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. I got you.” He whispers into your hair, running his hand up and down your back. His other hand reaches up to cradle your head, softly petting your hair.
You focus on the pattern of Frank’s hand on your back, up and down, up and down, up and down. The tears eventually stop, but you don’t lift your head from his chest. Once your heart rate lowers, Frank swiftly stands up, carrying you into your shared bedroom.
He sits you down on the bed and helps you remove your work clothes, swapping them out for one of his soft t-shirts and a pair of shorts. You drag his sweatshirt up and he quickly pulls it over his head, crawling into bed next to you.
“I think the worst of it has passed, baby.” He mumbles, pulling you into his chest. You nuzzle against him, eager to sink into his warmth. You could still hear the rain pounding against the windows, but Frank was right, as usual, the storm had moved past Hell’s Kitchen.
You let out a sigh of relief, relaxing into Frank’s hold.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your forehead.
“I am now.” You leave a light kiss on his chest. “You sounded busy when I called. Did I interrupt something important?”
“’m never too busy for you, sweetheart.” He brought his lips to yours, softly kissing you until you pulled away in a dreamy haze.
You felt yourself drifting off to sleep, listening to Frank’s strong heartbeat. He swears it beats for you and you alone, that nothing in this world could ever mean as much as you do to him. On nights like these, you were never more sure of anything.