Page 65 of The Wrong Heart

“It’s fine, Melody.”

The sound of my name on his tongue sends a blast of heat through me, settling deep. I’ve only heard him say my name twice, which makes it feel so…intimate. “Can I see?” My request is gentle, laced with sweetness and delicacy, as I slowly extend my arm towards him and brush my fingertips against his hand.

But the moment I make contact, the sirens go off.

Loud, shrieking tornado sirens.

Oh, no.

We glance at each other as my heart picks up speed, and I lower my arm, spinning back around and rushing to the window.

“Jesus, you’re not supposed to stand in front of a window,” Parker scolds me, and before I know it, he’s taking me by the wrist and dragging me away. “Basement?”

Sirens, wind, black skies, andhim.

I’m incapacitated by equal parts terror and thrill.

“Y-Yes… that’s the door,” I point, my finger trembling. “Hold on, let me grab my phone from the kitchen.”

I pull free from his grip and race to the kitchen island, quickly pulling up my Hangouts app.

Me:The tornado sirens are going off. Are you safe?

He answers right away, and I let out a relieved breath.

Zephyr:I’m safe. Are you?

Me:Yes.

Zephyr:Are you alone?

Me:No… I’m not alone.

Zephyr:Good. Check back in soon.

As I shoot off a group text to my parents, West, and Leah, letting them know I’m taking cover, I join Parker by the basement door just as he’s slipping his phone into his back pocket. When our eyes clinch, something passes between us, something akin to allegiance—like we’re heading into war together, not knowing if we’ll make it out alive.

Which is silly, honestly. We’ve had tornado scares before… it’s the Midwest. It will probably pass over us, and everything will be fine.

But maybe it’s not aboutifwe’ll make it out, but abouthowwe’ll make it out.

Somehow, I feel like everything is about to change.

Taking the lead, I pull open the door to the finished basement and head down the stairsteps with Parker on my heels. While the primary space has narrow windows along the far wall, there’s a little, windowless den we can hole up in until the threat passes. “Follow me,” I say over my shoulder. “We can hang out in here.”

Whistles and howls sound on the other side of the basement wall, making me tremble, and just as we reach the old wooden door to the den, the lights flicker out.

Shit.

Out of instinct, I reach for Parker, pulling him into the now pitch-black room and latching the door behind me. When I turn around, he’sright there—flush against me, my nose grazing the front of his chest, inhaling his earthy scent. I swear I feel him shudder as I let out an unsteady breath, clenching my fingers into fists at my sides in an attempt to keep them from reaching for him. From holding onto him for dear life. “We lost power. That can’t be good,” I state the obvious, murmuring against his t-shirt, all breathy and weak.

I hear him swallow as he stands there motionless, and the only soundtrack to our heavy breathing and rapidly beating hearts is the sirens sounding in the distance, mingling with the angry wind. Parker hesitates before he grits out, “You all right?”

God, his question does something to me. There’s a cyclone headed our way, but it’s my insides that are all twisted up and pinwheeling.

Feeling nearly dizzy from his proximity, I lean in closer, just an inch, until my forehead presses against the hard planes of his chest and my hands lift on their own accord, despite my resistance, despite my fear. They raise up and rest along his hips, dipping just beneath the hem of his t-shirt and grazing the leather belt that encircles his waist. One of my fingers slides through the beltloop as I let out another drawn-out breath and hold him to me. “I’m okay. Are you?”

Parker remains rigid, but I feel his breathing quicken. I hear his heartbeat pulsing in my ears, louder than the warning sirens.

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