Page 30 of Beautiful Collide

“How are you so calm?” I demand, my voice trembling.

He shrugs, glancing out the window. “Panicking won’t make the tornado go away. Plus, it’s not my first time dealing with one of these.”

“Great,” I mutter, my heart pounding. “Glad you’re an expert.”

He ignores my sarcasm. “Take the next exit.”

“What?”

“Take the exit,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “There’s an old gas station about five miles off the freeway. It’s got a decent structure. We’ll be safer there than on the road.”

I hesitate, my instincts screaming to keep going. To outrun whatever storm is coming. But the logical part of me knows he’s right. You can’t outrun a tornado.

“Fine,” I finally relent, gripping the wheel and steering toward the exit.

I hate to admit it, but I’m glad he came with me on the drive. I would’ve freaked out had I been alone and maybe even kept driving through the tornado.

He continues scrolling on his phone. “We’re not too far out.”

I keep my eyes on the road, but out of the corner of my eye, I’m glued to Hudson’s movements.

The sirens wail louder in the distance. The sky around us is dark and ominous, like a scene out of a bad horror movie. The storm grows louder with each passing second, its presence heavy and oppressive.

My hands grip the steering wheel tighter until my knuckles ache, and I veer off the highway. I don’t need to know where the storm is hitting to know I don’t want to be driving seventy miles per hour when it does.

Because it’s not a question ofif—it’s a question ofwhen.

The sky has already darkened to an unsettling shade. Lightning cracks in the distance, a stark contrast against the blackened clouds. The wind hammers against the car, shoving it in bursts that feel like we’re being tugged by invisible hands.

Other than the storm and the sirens, the road to the gas station is eerily quiet, the sky growing darker with each passing minute. The sirens blare in the distance, a constant reminder of how precarious this situation is.

Hudson is still infuriatingly calm, guiding me with quiet directions as we approach the station. His steady tone chips away at the panic clawing at my chest.

“There,” he says, pointing at a run-down building up ahead.

The gas station looks like it’s been abandoned for years. The paint on the building is faded and cracked, and some od the windows are boarded up.

Hudson shoves his phone into his pocket, the picture of relaxed. “This looks promising.”

“Seriously? Are we looking at the same place?”

“Got any better options?”

“I mean, no. But this place looks like it belongs inThe Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

“The only other choice is starring inTwister,and not in an epic Glen Powell sort of way.”

“I feel like you’re more Bill Paxton.”

“While I loved that man, I’d end up being the random guy nobody remembers—the one who gets sucked into a tornado before anyone learns his name. So come on. Let’s go.”

I park as close to the entrance as possible and hesitate. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

Hudson is already out of the car before I can unbuckle my seat belt. “It’s safer than out here.” He tosses open my door and holds out a hand, motioning for me to hurry up. “Come on.”

“I’m fine,” I snap, brushing past him as I climb out.

“Sure you are,” he mutters, following close.

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