Page 1 of Shot Through the Heart

Prologue

STELLA

“Did you hear that?”I murmur while straining to listen over the howling wind that beats against the tent. The arms around my waist tighten, tugging me impossibly closer.

“Hmm?” Greyson sleepily hums, burrowing his face at the nape of my neck before he sucks in a deep, contented breath. One of his hands slips underneath the hem of my shirt and it’s an effort to stay focused when his fingers trace mindlessly over my stomach. An involuntary shiver rattles through my body.

“Grey.” I sigh, almost forgetting the real reason I woke up as his fingertips dip beneath the waistband of my sweatpants. A muffled rumble in the distance puts my thoughts back on track. Reaching down, I halt his movements. “Did you hear that?”

“The only thing I’m trying to hear is more of those beautiful sounds you make,” he grumbles, attempting to slip his hand farther down, but I hold him in place.

“I’m serious. That sounded like thunder. I thought you said it wasn’t supposed to storm.” My heart thumps in my chest as I focus on every sound outside of our tent. Greyson’s hands retreat, sliding back up and around my waist to tug me tightly against his chest.

“It’s not supposed to. I even double-checked the forecast before we left,” he assures me while his thumb traces soothing patterns over my rib cage. I’m just about to let out a relieved breath when an unmistakable clash sounds even closer than the last few.

Greyson curses under his breath, rolling slightly away, but I cling to his other arm, refusing to let him go. While holding me tightly to his side, and with only one free hand, he searches for his phone. When he straightens out, the screen of his phone nearly blinds us both. He clicks into the weather app, the loading circle taunting us as it struggles to receive the updates via the one tiny bar of signal we have.

Normally, the lack of cell reception never bothers us. It’s one of the reasons we take the almost two-hour drive and sneak up the mountain to this specific spot. We’ve been coming ever since Greyson got his license last year after finishing his driver’s ed course. During the summer before our senior year, he planned a surprise weekend and brought me to this very campsite. Since then, we’ve made the trip up the mountain anytime he wasn’t at hockey practice or busy with whatever new event his mom was hosting.

While he comes from a very wealthy family, it’s sometimes easy to forget that he was raised in a whole different world than me. My family isn’t poor. There’s always food on the table and they ensure I have money to update clothes I’ve outgrown. Outside of his parents’ excessive amounts of money, the only difference between our parents is that mine just don’t pay attention. Their jobs as art consultants require them to leave at the drop of a dime, so ever since I was old enough to feed myself and be left alone, they would be gone for days on end without checking in. All while his parents require his attendance at every social event and have enforced mandatory family-only dinners four days a week unless he has hockey practice.

Greyson is the only person who knows how lonely I truly am. Which is why these camping trips mean so much to us. They’re always twenty-four hours of uninterruptedustime.

I was never one for camping before this. The idea of no electricity or running water was appalling. However, over the past year of running away to our spot, it’s slowly grown on me.

Unless there’s a storm.

Anytime there is even a small chance of a thunderstorm rolling through, I refuse to go. Tents against a little light sprinkle? No problem. The sound is even kind of soothing. But having only a piece of polyester between me and lightning? Hard freaking pass.

The weather app finally loads and there’s a beat of still silence between us before he turns to me with wide eyes.

“Shit, baby, I swear that storm wasn’t on the radar before we left.”

I nod numbly, trusting the fact that he has always been respectful of my one camping rule. Plus, Greyson doesn’t have a single mean bone in his body, and he definitely never does anything that would put me at risk. The first time I asked him to teach me to ice skate, he went out and bought me every single piece of padding he could find. By the time he was done bundling me up in everything, I could barely bend my elbows.

Greyson scrambles to sit up, pulling me along with him while staring down at his phone.

“If we leave now, we should make it back to my car before the storm fully hits us,” he suggests.

Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I hesitate for a moment. “Do you think driving down the mountain in the storm is smart?”

It’s not that I don’t trust him and his driving. It’s simply that I know how dangerous the curvy mountain roads can be at night, and they get even worse in the rain.

Grey sighs, reaching to grab his shirt, and starts pulling it over his head as he answers.

“No. Maybe we don’t leave, just stay where we’re parked and wait out the storm. We can bring the sleeping bag and pillows and then come back for the tent in the morning. I know sleeping in the car won’t be very comfortable, but it’s either we wait out the storm here or in the car.”

“The car it is,” I respond immediately, reaching for my hiking boots and tugging them on before helping him pack up the rest of our stuff. Less than five minutes later, he’s unzipping the tent door and motioning for me to go first just as a light sprinkle starts to fall.

Swallowing thickly, I step out before turning back to take one of the bags from him, but he shakes his head.

“I got them. You hold the flashlight and lead the way.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I do as he says. Luckily, the walk to the car is only ten minutes. Unfortunately, by the time we’ve made it, the rain has picked up to the point of a downpour, no doubt soaking the pillows and sleeping bags.

We both rush to get into the car. Greyson immediately shoves the key into the ignition and blasts the heat. Twisting in his seat, he digs through his duffle bag and hands me a pair of dry sweatpants and his favorite hockey team’s sweater. Despite the chill running through my body, I have to bite back a smile as I remove my wet thermal shirt and shimmy into the red sweater. With how often I’ve “borrowed” this particular article of clothing from him, there’s no doubt that he also knows it’s my favorite.

In my defense, it’s not my fault that men’s sweaters are more comfortable. Add in the fact that his scent is practically woven into the fabric and I really can’t be blamed for wanting to live in his hoodie.

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