Page 46 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

"Damn it," I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. The knot in my chest pulls tighter, makes it hard to breathe.

Ivy's out there, and I can't shake the image of her hurt. A branch snapping, the four-wheeler tipping...it's enough to make my gut churn. Holt's no fool, but the storm's a trickster. It doesn't play fair, doesn't care for charm or muscle. It’s snowing so damn hard he’ll be lucky if he can see more than three feet in front of them.

"Shouldn't have let them go," I say to the empty room. No answer comes, just the echo of my own voice. It's me here, alone, waiting and worrying while the storm screams its fury.

"Be okay," I whisper to no one. It's a plea tossed into the wind. I clench my fists, feeling helpless and hating it. Holt knows the danger. He wouldn't risk her, not deliberately. But the storm...

The storm doesn't give a damn about our tangled affections. It just rages on.

"Sit down, Hank," Wyatt urges, his large frame blocking the window as if he can shield me from the chaos outside. "You're wearing a damn hole in the floor."

I shake my head. I can't stop moving. "Can't." That's all I manage before my boots carry me across the room again. It's not right, Ivy out there, tiny against the fury of nature.

"Hey." Wyatt grabs my shoulder, forces me to face him. "They'll make it back."

"Shouldn't have gone out," I grind out between clenched teeth, yanking away.

"Trust Holt," he says, but his eyes dart to the window, betraying his own worry.

Then, there’s a sound, different from the wind's roar. My head snaps up. An engine. It's them. I'm at the door before I know it, flinging it open to a world smothered in white. I don’t even bother grabbing my jacket.

The four-wheeler bursts through the trees.

Relief floods me, sweet and warm, but it's snatched away just as quickly when I see them. Holt's arms are tight around Ivy, her body limp against him.

"Shit," Wyatt breathes out behind me.

"Ivy!" Her name rips from my throat as I charge forward, the storm be damned.

Ivy is slumped against Holt’s chest, too still, too quiet. Every beat of my heart like a drum in my ears.

What the fuck happened?

"Hey!" Holt’s voice is muffled by the storm, but I don’t stop. I’m already at her side, hands sliding beneath her, lifting her against me.

"Is she—" Wyatt starts, but I push past him, Ivy cradled in my arms. Her breath is shallow, frosting in the freezing air, and tremors shake her frame.

“She got tossed.” Holt’s voice is tight, laced with guilt.

"Inside," I grunt, the word a growl torn from my throat. The cabin door slams behind us, cutting off the howling wind. I carry her straight to the fire, to the warmth.

"Safe," I whisper, more to myself than to her. She's here. She's alive. That's all that matters now.

I lower her onto the couch pulling a blanket over her. She’s shaking so hard her teeth chatter, and her fingers are curled into tight fists.

"Ivy." I press a hand to her cheek. Cold—too cold. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused.

"'M fine," she mumbles, but the way she sways when she tries to sit up says otherwise.

"Stay put." My hands are firm but careful as I check her over, running them down her arms, her sides, pressing gently where I know she must hurt.

Behind me, Holt is pacing, practically pulling his hair out, his breath coming fast and sharp. Every few steps, he stops, scrubs a hand over his face, then starts again. Guilt is eating him alive, but I don’t have time to deal with that right now.

Relief hits when I see her injuries aren’t serious, but the sight of the cut on her head makes my stomach clench. Blood streaks her temple, a thin line of red against pale skin.

A head injury. It doesn’t matter how small—it’s enough. She’s staying with me tonight. I tell her as much.

Ivy shifts beneath my hands, her fingers reaching blindly until they find Holt. He freezes, his breath hitching as she latches onto his wrist, tugging weakly.

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