Page 23 of Derecho

“What are you doing here?!” The question ripped from my chest as I looked her over. She was soaking wet, her feet covered in mud as she made her way toward me. It was dangerous and reckless to be out in the storm! There was a part of my brain that couldn’t comprehend her driving that tiny, piece of shit car of hers all this way. My yard was flooding…parts of the driveway looked like it was already under water, and I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the roads had been that way, too. I looked back at her feet…her bare feet.

Jesus Christ.

“I needed somewhere safe to go…”

Her quiet admission made my heart ache. But before I could tell her to get her ass inside my house, Lainey gasped. Her face crumpled as her hand flew to support her belly.

My cane was tossed against the house as I reached out to catch her.

“What? What is it?” I asked, panic flooding my veins. Maybe she was hurt. Maybe I just couldn’t see it. If Greg hurt her and the baby⁠—

“Mm,” she whimpered. “It’s…”

From the way she was panting, I knew what it was. The baby. Something was wrong with the baby.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No.” The pain etched across her face was freaking me out, but the last thing I wanted to do was make any demands. And then I realized why her face looked distorted. Under the hair plastered to her skin, Lainey’s cheek was red and swollen.

He hit her. He fucking hit her.

Greg Loury was a dead man walking.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside, at least. You’re soaked through.”

“No!” She pulled her arm free from my hold.

“No? What did you come all the way out here for, if it wasn’t to come inside?”

“I meant…I can’t come inside like this.” Her face pulled tight into a grimace again. “Can I use a towel? I don’t want to get water everywhere.”

“I don’t care that you’re going to get water all over the place. I’m worried something is wrong with you and the baby. Get your ass inside so I can figure out what the hell we’re going to do to make sure you’re okay!”

So much for remembering to be nice and calm. Fuck it. This was who I was when someone I cared about was in trouble.

No. Not someone I cared about…Oh, Christ⁠—

“I’m sorry. Jesus, I was so worried about you. Please just come inside.”

There was a faint smile on her face as she took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Please. Can I just use a towel before I come in? I’m all dirty.”

I looked down at her legs, my eyes now adjusted to the light on the porch. I’d somehow missed it on my first assessment of her—there was blood, about halfway down on her shin.

“You’re bleeding!” No more room for arguing. I placed my hand on the small of her back, pissed that I knew I wasn’t strong enough to carry her into the house myself. I reached over, grabbing my cane before pushing her with a little more urgency toward the front door. “We need to see how bad that cut is. Inside, right now.”

“I didn’t even feel it…”

“Christ, Trouble. You’ve taken about twenty years off my goddamn life today,” I groaned as I walked her into the house. I needed to get her into warm, dry clothes. She needed to dry off so I could assess the cut on her leg, and I needed to get her into a bath, or at least the shower.

No. Not the shower. If she had another pain like the one that had doubled her over on the porch, she could slip and fall, and I’d lose my mind with worry if I wasn’t in there with her. And I couldn’t be in there with her.

“Just living up to my nickname. And we all know an old guy like you doesn’t really have twenty years to spare.” The twinkle in her eye and the slight curve of her lips loosened some of the worry that had been dimming the edges of my vision.

“Six years. I’m only six years older than you. That’s not a lot.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she teased.

I shook my head. “Come on. Just keep walking ‘til you hit the hallway. First door on the left.”