Lila reaches out her good hand to stroke Max’s head. “Good boy,” she whispers. “Smart boy.”
The wind outside intensifies, a hollow moaning sound that makes my stomach clench. I’ve studied tornadoes my entirecareer, but being potentially in the path of one without means to escape feels entirely different. All that knowledge suddenly seems useless.
Then we hear it—that sound that haunts my dreams. Not just wind anymore, but a deep, otherworldly roar that seems to come from everywhere at once. The air pressure drops so suddenly my ears pop painfully.
“Get down!” I shout, diving into the tub with Lila. I grab Max by his collar, hauling him over the edge between us. He yelps but doesn’t resist as I position him in the small space.
I throw my body over both of them, one arm braced against the wall, the other wrapped around Lila’s good shoulder. The comforter bunches awkwardly beneath us. Max’s warm body trembles violently against my chest.
“It’s here,” Lila whispers, her voice barely audible over the roar that grows louder with each passing second.
The entire motel seems to shudder around us. Something crashes in the main room—the window giving way, maybe, or the lamp falling. I tighten my grip on them both, pressing my face into Lila’s hair, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo beneath the smell of my own fear and sweat.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, though I’m not sure she can hear me over the sound that fills every cubic inch of air around us. My heart is hammering so hard I wonder if she can feel it through my chest.
The bathroom door rattles violently in its frame. The roar becomes deafening—so loud I can feel it vibrating in my teeth, in my bones. I can’t even hear myself think as the pressure in my ears becomes almost unbearable.
Then something massive crashes against the outer wall of the bathroom—the sound of splintering wood and tearing metal fills the tiny space. Debris rains down outside our door, and theentire building shakes violently. Water pipes groan and screech somewhere above us as the structure twists.
“Hold on!” I shout, though my words are swallowed by the roar.
Lila’s fingers dig into my arm, her nails leaving half-moon impressions in my skin. Max is practically flattened between us, his golden body quivering. I press us deeper into the tub, using my body as a shield against whatever might come through that door.
The bathroom mirror shatters, sending glass shards tinkling across the floor. The door buckles inward like it’s breathing, the cheap wood flexing against the pressure differential. For a terrifying moment, I’m certain it’s going to tear off its hinges and expose us to the full fury of the storm. I realize with sudden clarity that we might actually die here. That the building might collapse around us, and we’ll be found broken in this bathtub, our bodies tangled together with Max between us. I think about Lila’s sister, receiving the call. About my colleagues at the university, wondering what happened to the professor who went chasing storms and never came back.
But mostly I think about Lila—about last night, about how her body felt against mine, about the soft sounds she made when I touched her. About how I’ve finally found someone who makes me feel alive in ways that science never could, and now we might never make it out of this bathroom.
My throat tightens, and for a moment, I can’t breathe past the ache in my chest.
“Lila,” I say her name into her hair, my voice cracking. “I need you to know?—”
The roar intensifies again, drowning out my words. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to formulate what will probably be my last confession, but I can’t find the right words. How do you compress everything you feel about someone into a finalsentence? How do you tell them they’ve changed you when you might not have another conversation, another touch?
Max whimpers against my chest, and I feel Lila’s good arm wrap around him, pressing him closer to her. Even now, hurt and terrified, she’s comforting him. That’s who she is. That’s why I fell for her in the first place. This woman who throws herself toward danger and still finds room in her chest for a dog that isn’t even hers. Who kissed me like she meant it. Who made me feel things I’d given up on years ago.
The building shudders again, and I press my mouth harder against her temple, breathing her in. My eyes are stinging and I don’t know if it’s dust or tears. It doesn’t matter. The roar keeps building, filling my skull, vibrating in my molars. I think about our first kiss in the field. About her grin when she told me I’d panicked afterward. About the donut sugar on her lips this morning. About how I never, not once, thought I’d end up like this—crammed into a motel bathtub, absolutely certain I’m about to lose everything I just found.
I never told her.
That’s what claws at me hardest. I never told her what she means. Not really. Not in words she can hold onto. I don’t even know if she can hear me, but I can’t die knowing I left it unsaid. Not now. Not like this.
“I love you,” I whisper against her hair, the words catching in my throat. “I know it’s fast and I know it’s probably ridiculous, but I do. I love you.”
The words hang in the air for a heartbeat, and then?—
The roar begins to fade.
At first, I think I’m imagining it. That the adrenaline or fear is playing tricks on my hearing. But the deafening freight-train sound is definitely receding, moving away from us rather than over us. The pressure in my ears equalizes gradually, making the world sound muffled, underwater.
“Is it—” Lila starts to ask, her voice small.
“Moving on,” I finish, not daring to hope yet. “I think it passed us by.”
And then, almost as suddenly as it began, the roaring begins to fade. The pressure in my ears eases slowly. The door stops its buckling. The building shakes, but less violently now. We’re in the outer circulation, the down slope or the outer edges. It’s moving past us.
“Are you okay?” I whisper against Lila’s hair, holding her tightly.
She nods against my chest, her breathing rapid but steady. “You?”
