“Fine.” It’s a lie. My heart is racing, my muscles locked with tension. But we’re alive, and that’s what matters.
The wind continues to howl outside, but the terrible roaring has diminished to something almost ordinary—just a bad thunderstorm now, not the monster that nearly swallowed us whole. Water drips somewhere in the bathroom, a steady plink-plink that sounds absurdly normal after what we just experienced.
Max whimpers softly between us, and I loosen my grip enough to let him breathe more easily. He immediately licks my face, then Lila’s, as if checking that we’re both intact.
“Good boy,” I murmur, running my hand down his trembling back. “You saved us.”
Lila shifts beneath me, wincing as she moves her injured shoulder. “I think we can get up now.”
I reluctantly disentangle myself, suddenly aware of how tightly I’ve been holding her. In the dim light from my phone screen, I can see her face. Her hair is wild, eyes wide and alert despite the medication. There’s a small cut on her forehead I hadn’t noticed before, a thin line of blood trailing down hertemple. Without thinking, I reach out, gently wiping it away with my thumb.
“You’re bleeding.”
She doesn’t pull away from my touch. Instead, her eyes lock with mine, something shifting in her expression. The adrenaline is coursing through both of us, makes everything sharper, more immediate.
“Jonah,” she whispers, and something in the way she says my name breaks whatever restraint I’ve been clinging to.
I kiss her. Not gently, not carefully—not like before. This is desperation and relief and fear all tangled together. My hands frame her face, fingers sliding into her hair as she responds immediately, her good arm wrapping around my neck to pull me closer.
The angle is awkward in the cramped bathtub with Max between us, but I don’t care. All I can think about is the softness of her lips, the small sound she makes in the back of her throat when I deepen the kiss. Her fingers dig into my shoulder, holding on like I’m the only solid thing in a world that just tried to tear itself apart.
I pull back just enough to catch my breath, but she follows, capturing my mouth again with an intensity that makes my head spin. Her teeth graze my bottom lip, and I hear myself make a sound that I barely recognize. A primal sound that would embarrass me in any other context, but here, now, with her, it feels like the only honest response.
Max lets out a soft whine, nudging his way between us like he’s reminding us he exists. The intrusion breaks the moment, and Lila pulls back, her breathing ragged. In the dim glow of my phone screen, her eyes are wide, pupils dilated.
“We should...” she starts, but doesn’t finish the thought. Her hand is on my shoulder, fingers curled into the fabric of my t-shirt.
“Get out of here?” I supply, though that’s not what I want to say at all. What I want is to pull her back to me, to lose myself in her until the memory of the storm fades.
“Let me clear some of this glass away. I shift from the tub, away from her warmth, and grab a towel from the floor, using it to sweep away as much of the glass from the broken mirror as I can.
“Watch your step. I help her out of the bathtub, keeping a steady hand on her elbow. Her legs wobble. Max leaps out behind her, approaching the bathroom door cautiously, sniffing at the crack beneath it.
“Ready?” I ask, hand on the doorknob.
Lila takes a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
I open the door slowly, bracing for the worst.
The room beyond is a disaster zone. The window has been blown in, shards of glass covering every surface. The bed is a jumble of twisted sheets and the mattress pushed against the far wall. Rain pours in through the gaping hole where the window used to be, already soaking the carpet. Most of the ceiling tiles have collapsed, revealing exposed wiring and insulation above us.
“Holy...” Lila breathes beside me.
We pick our way carefully across the debris-strewn floor. Max stays close to Lila’s legs, whimpering softly as his paws crunch over broken glass and plaster.
“We need to check if anyone needs help,” Lila insists, already moving toward the wreckage.
“Not without shoes.”
I scan what’s left of our room. The tornado has torn through it, turning our temporary space into chaos. Dresser drawers are emptied, their contents scattered everywhere. The nightstand is upside down, the alarm clock dangling by its cord like somedeep-sea creature. In the rush to get to safety, I grabbed our bags. Not our shoes. We’re both paying for that now.
“Stay there,” I tell her, spotting the heel of one of my boots wedged between the overturned desk and the wall. I pick my way through the debris and pull it free. The other one is a few feet away—soaked, but intact. I shove them on, the insoles squishing unpleasantly. “I’ve got mine.” I glance around again. Hers are nowhere in sight. “I can’t find yours.”
“I’ve got another pair in the truck,” she replies, then hesitates. “If there still is a truck.”
The thought hadn’t even occurred to me until now. Her dad’s truck. The last solid piece of him she has left.
“If it’s gone—” I begin, but I can’t finish the thought. The possibility is too crushing to say aloud. I know what that truck means to her.
