Page 44 of Recklessly Yours

“Are you afraid of storms?”

“No.” She squared her shoulders.

My only response was a raised eyebrow.

When the wind picked up, whistling through the trees, she pinched her eyes closed. “Okay, fine.” Her shoulders sagged. “I hate thunderstorms.”

It was ironic that she was afraid of thunderstorms, given that she always smelled like mountain air after a rainstorm.

“Why?”

Eyes narrowed, she huffed. “It’s stupid. If I tell you, you’ll probably laugh at me.”

I laid my hand on her knee. “I promise I won’t.”

She stared at me for so long I was sure she wouldn’t tell me, but when the wind howled again, she flinched, then cleared her throat.

“When I was fifteen, I got caught in a storm while I was walking home from a friend’s house.” She sighed. “It got bad really quickly. Ridiculously strong straight-line winds and hail. Then lightning struck a tree only twenty or thirty feet in front of me, bringing the whole thing down. I’d never run so fast in my life, and I was freaking out the whole time.”

“I remember thinking you all seemed unreasonably shocked by the amount of damage that storm had done.”

“What?” Her brows pulled together.

“I grew up on the coast, in Wilmington. I dealt with hurricanes and severe storms and flooding a lot, so for me, it was just another day.”

I’d just moved to Half Moon Lake when that storm hit. I’d been relieved that my parents hadn’t been hit, since it didn’t come up the coast. The damage was mostly centralized in the mountains.

Guilt wormed its way through me at the thought of my parents. It had been too long since I’d been home to visit. I’d left for the police academy at eighteen and had moved here right after graduation, so I didn’t see my parents as often as I would like. But I tried to call Mom and Dad at least once a week.

Thunder shook the house, and she let out a whimper, pulling her knees up to her chest and pressing her head to them.

I put the bowl of popcorn on the table and scooted closer, placing my hand on her back. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. I just have to ride it out,” she mumbled without lifting her head.

Was this how she reacted to every thunderstorm? If so, it had to be miserable. I rubbed my hand up and down her back, feeling her jump each time the thunder shook the house. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and pulled her flush against my side.

A loud popping sound outside echoed through the house, and then we were sitting in total darkness.

“Dylan,” she whispered, voice shaky.

“It’s okay?—”

She burrowed further into my side, and her scent enveloped me, short-circuiting my brain.

I cleared my throat. “I think a transformer blew. The generator should kick on in a second.”

Thankfully, after Hattie took another shaky breath in, it turned on, and the living room lit up once again.

I smirked down at her. “See? All good.”

Rather than relief, her face was a mask of uncertainty. Thunder and wind continued to rattle the windows. Every time, she’d whimper.

Fuck, her terror gutted me. “Stop thinking about it. Focus on something else.” I wanted to tell her to focus on me, my voice, my touch. But I couldn’t go there.

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” I ran my hand up her bare arm.

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