At 5 AM, Dawson and I did another joint segment. This one went less smoothly. I misread the teleprompter, stumbling over evacuation route numbers. He had to correct me on air, which was mortifying.
"I'm sorry," I said as soon as we cut away. "I'm so tired I can barely see straight."
"It's fine. I got it."
"It's not. I made us both look unprofessional."
"Parker." He turned to face me. "We've been at this for hours and everyone's exhausted. You corrected the mistake so let it go."
He was right, but I felt awful. It was my job to be the steady presence and the reliable face viewers trusted. And I'd stumbled over basic information.
"Hey." Dawson's voice was more encouraging. "You're doing great. One small mistake doesn't change that."
"Thanks."
By 6 AM, the sky outside was starting to lighten. The storm was still hours away, but we could see the ominous clouds building on the horizon through the studio windows.
Isla appeared in the doorway. "Okay, everyone who's been here all night go home. Shower and eat something that isn't brown and a carb. Be back by 8:30 for the next push."
I wanted to argue that we should stay, but my body needed a break though we'd only get a little more than an hour.
The parking lot was nearly empty. Dawn was breaking but the air felt heavy and oppressive. It was literally the calm before the storm. I walked toward my car next to Dawson. We'd both parked in the same section without realizing it.
"You should sleep," he said. "Not just shower and come back."
"Says the man who looks like he hasn't slept in three days."
"I'm used to running on no sleep."
"That's not the flex you think it is." I unlocked my car and faced him. He looked exhausted but still dedicated to keeping people safe.
I didn't want to leave him. We were both adults who desperately needed showers and at least an hour of sleep. But standing here in the pre-dawn light, after hours of working side by side, the thought of driving away was wrong somehow.
"See you in a couple hours," I said finally.
"Yeah. Drive safe."
I watched him walk away. Exhaustion had softened his usual rigid posture into something more vulnerable. He climbed in his truck which was an older model that suited him being practical and no-nonsense. He sat there for a moment before starting the engine, and I wondered if he felt it too, this strange reluctance to separate.
But he pulled out of the parking lot, and I was alone with the approaching storm and the ache in my chest that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
I could survive two hours away from Dawson. I just wasn't sure I wanted to.
FIVE
DAWSON
The shower had helped but the hour of sleep hadn't.
I was back at the station by 8:15, fifteen minutes early, with fresh clothes and too much nervous energy. The storm had continued to intensify while I'd been gone, and the latest models showed landfall in less than six hours.
Parker arrived ten minutes after me, his hair still damp, looking marginally more human than he had at dawn. He'd shaved and I missed the scruff. He caught my eye across the newsroom and smiled and my wolf perked up.
I looked away before I could do something silly like smile back.
I had to figure out what to do about this instinct that told me he was my mate. Rejecting it wasn't an option. Well no, I could but I'd be in pain for the rest of my life.
"Okay, people." Isla's voice cut through the chaos of the newsroom. "We're looking at sustained winds of 145 miles per hour at landfall. The storm surge could reach fifteen feet in coastal areas."
