Page 68 of When We Are Complete

“The storms are coming in faster than expected. They’ll hit by tomorrow and get worse over the next couple of days.”

“You’re kidding.” I draw my knees up to my chest.

“I wish I was.” There’s a rustle on the line. “I’m going to be out with the Valiant Hearts, helping to secure homes, make sure everyone’s safe. But I just wanted to let you know. I’ll call you in the morning. Listen...” He hesitates. “I miss you. And I want you to promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I miss you too. And I will. Stay safe, I mean.”

“Good.” He exhales, and I picture those dark brown eyes of his, steady and resolute. “I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.” His tone changes, and I can practically hear him smiling. “And hopefully tomorrow I can make you come myself.”

“God, I hope so.” A brief smile lifts the corners of my lips.

“Love you, beautiful.”

“Love you, too.”

We say goodbye and the line goes dead, and I’m left staring at the screen, the glow a poor substitute for his presence. Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows, and the smile disappears from my face.

I slip back under the covers, wrapping them around me, but the cold still seeps through, and no amount of layers can ease the tension twisting inside me.

The pleasure from earlier is gone. There’s just my mind spinning once again—thoughts of the festival, of the storm, of everything we’ve built so far being derailed. I close my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but it takes hours for my mind to settle, each anxious thought twisting into another until finally exhaustion pulls me under.

What seems like only moments later, I’m jolted awake by the sharp crack of tree branches striking against the window, the sound echoing, brittle bones snapping. A gust of wind howls past, rattling the glass and sending a barrage of twigs and leaves against the side of the apartment building. I’m cold even through the blankets, and shiver, curling deeper under the covers.

But I can’t stay here forever, and I force myself to throw the covers back and climb out of bed, grabbing my robe before pulling back the curtains. Frost clings to everything outside, a sheet of ice that’s almost a pale blue under the heavy, gray clouds hovering ominously above. It’s beautiful, in a way—but there’s no mistaking what it means: the storm is heading right for us.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath, counting slowly—one, two—my fingers tapping against my thigh in time. One, two. I tell myself it will be fine. It has to be fine. My mind clings to the thought, looping it obsessively, trying to make it real.

My gaze darts to the edges of the window frame, the faint draft slipping through a barely-there crack, and I have the irrational urge to check every single window in the house. To make sure they’re closed, sealed, locked. I take a step back, heart pounding.

I’m stronger than this. But the words feel flimsy, fragile, dissolving under the steady drumbeat ofwhat if, what if, what if.

A buzz breaks through my thoughts, and I glance at my phone to see a message from the mayor’s office. “Severe storm warning. Stay off roads and shelter in place or go to the high school, where an emergency shelter is being set up, by 3 p.m. Schools closed. More updates to follow.”

A shuddering breath rolls through the tightening cage of my ribs. I’ve been telling myself it’s going to be okay, but now I’m actually facing the storm, I’m coming undone from the inside out. Panic replaces my anxiety, consuming it and spilling over until my mind is racing, cataloging every single thing that could go wrong.

The festival site—those carefully built installations sitting out in the open, unprotected. Weeks of work, vulnerable to a few days of relentless wind and snow. The schedule I’d clung to, every deadline I’d fought to keep on track—it could all be wiped out, like none of it ever mattered.

This was my time to make Mom’s memory proud.

I press a hand to my face, the weight of it all pressing down, as if each thought has its own gravity, pulling me deeper into a spiral. It’s all on me. My choices. My plan. My failure.

My fingers clutch the edge of the window, knuckles whitening as I stare out at the sky. The first flakes are already beginning to fall, dusting the town, a silent warning. They seem so harmless at first, but I know what’s coming. This is just the beginning.

A familiar voice stirs somewhere in my mind, Mom’s steady, calm reassurance: You’re stronger than this.Don’t give up.But even as I try to hold on to her words, a part of me wavers, faltering under the weight of it all.

Is this what finally breaks me?

Chapter 38

Jake

The sharp pingof my phone jolts me from sleep, and I blink awake. Dim light filters through the curtain over my bedroom window, and I rub my eyes before reading a message from the mayor about the storms.

A follow-up from Patrick comes almost instantly, his name lighting up my screen. I swipe to answer.

“Morning,” he says, his tone low but urgent. “The Valiant Hearts are all meeting in twenty. We’ve got to start helping folks who want to evacuate to the shelter at the school, especially the elderly and anyone vulnerable.”

“I’ll be there.”

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