Page 78 of When the Storm Breaks
A hunch was better than nothing.
We made a dash for my truck, and drove down my winding drive, skirting around a fallen limb from an oak tree. When I got to the road, he instructed me to hang a right. Sheets of rain cascaded down my windshield, the wipers doing jack shit to help the situation, making visibility nearly impossible. I could only see as far as my headlights, a few feet in front of me. With our windows cracked, and the air vents blowing warm air to defog the windows, I drove as fast as the weather conditions allowed. Fucking sloth speed.
“That day we went to buy the guitar, we took a drive,” Ridge said, filling me in as I drove, my eyes searching the road for any signs of a broken-down Chevy pickup. “Just talking and shit. And we passed these big-ass limestone formations. I asked her to pull over. Nobody was around, and I said it looked like an amphitheater and she should give me a mini-concert.”
“And did she?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. I was hoping he’d say she didn’t do it.
Ridge chuckled. “Yeah. We got out of the truck and hiked over to the rocks... I brought the tacos, so we could have a little picnic.”
Jealousy reared its ugly head. He’d gotten the chance to be alone with her, having a ‘little picnic’ and listening to her sing just for him? She’d never sung just for me and while this was no time to get petty, I couldn’t help myself. It felt like a sucker punch in the stomach. Just like earlier when she’d refused to give me an honest answer. This was what happened when you let someone get too close.
When you let someone in, you gave them the power to fuck with your head.
“What did she sing?”
“’The Ghost of You.’”
I side-eyed him. “She sang it for you.”
“Yeah, she did.” My grip tightened on the wheel. I was too old for this shit. Shouldn’t be jealous of my own brother spending time with the girl who was never meant to be anything more than a casual hookup. She’d made that clear earlier when she refused to tell me why she was really here. Ridge was still talking, and I was straining my eyes to see through the river of rain while I listened to him.
“She’s the real fucking deal. Her voice, you know... it just ... gives me chills.” He cleared his throat and turned his head, embarrassed by the admission. Her voice did the same thing to me, but she’d never given me a private concert or sang just for me. And I really fucking needed to stop dwelling on that.
“I thought it might be cool to be a roadie,” he confided. He was obviously feeling talkative tonight, a rare occurrence for him. “Learn how to do the lighting or sound or some shit like that.”
I was all set to shoot him down but then I remembered how Shiloh told me when he shared his dreams with me, I shouldn’t immediately dismiss them as stupid. And hadn’t I been the one to tell him that everyone needed a dream? So I kept my mouth shut. What good would it do to mock him for having that dream or tell him to dream bigger the way Patrick used to tell us when we were growing up?
My dreams had been my own and I’d never won those belt buckles for Patrick or because he pushed me to keep doing better, insisted that none of us settle for anything less than being number fucking one. Everything I’d done, every medal and trophy and cash prize I’d won, I’d done for myself. I had wanted to be world champion, and I had been. Twice. Where did you go from there? The higher you climb, the harder the fall. When you stopped being number one, it was harder than you’d think to pick yourself up, brush yourself off and walk away.
And maybe that was what this was all about. I wanted to be number fucking one in Shiloh’s life, but there wasn’t a chance in hell of that ever happening. Why settle for runner-up to music and world tours and platinum albums, and all the other shit that would always take precedence?
“There’s the truck!” Ridge pointed up ahead and then in the next breath, “Holy shit.”
Holy shit was right. My headlights illuminated the wrecked vehicle in the field. A small figure was on the shoulder of the road, and it looked like she was down on her knees, praying, her face tipped up to the sky while the rain poured down on her.
What the hell are you doing, woman?
I pulled over, left my truck running, and shoved open my door, my arms reaching for her as soon as I was close enough to hold her. I pulled her to her feet and into my arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Sobs wracked her body, and I stroked her wet hair, holding her close against me as she clung to me, my eyes on the deer lying alongside the road.
“You found me. You came for me when I called...”
“I told you I would. I told you I’d come for you.” Had she expected me to leave her out here in the middle of a thunderstorm? What kind of jackass would do something like that?
“But after the way I left you… you still came.”
Yeah, well, I was a dumbass. Couldn’t stop myself from caring about her even if I tried.
“The deer came out of nowhere. I didn’t see her until she was right in front of my headlights and I tried to swerve but it was too late.” She took a shuddering breath. “I killed her.”
“It was an accident.”
“She had a baby. I killed the baby’s mother.”
“Shh.” I pulled her closer and kept stroking her wet hair, the rain beating down on us and the thunder rumbling in the distance. “It’s okay. You couldn’t help it. It happens. It was an accident.”
Standing outside in the middle of a violent thunderstorm wasn’t going to bring the deer back or do Shiloh any good. She was soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. Lifting her into my arms, I carried her to my truck. Ridge shoved open the passenger door and climbed into the back. I set Shiloh in the seat and put two fingers under her chin, turning her face toward mine. Then I used both hands to gently push the wet hair off her face, so I could see it better in the light from the cab. Blood trickled down her forehead from a gash just below her hairline. She must have rammed it into the steering wheel. “Ridge. Give me your flannel shirt.”
