Page 116 of Hate You, Maybe
He’s still trying to keep things light, but my eyes well up for real. “I’m just so tired, Dex.”
“I know you are,” he murmurs, gathering me in his arms. I nestle into his chest, wiping my tears on his sweatshirt. He smooths a hand over the top of my head. “But I’ve got you now. I’m here.”
I raise my chin, blinking up at him, and I know he’s waiting for my permission. Again. He’s always so patient with me. When I nod, his mouth dips toward mine and we bothdraw in great gulps of air, like we’re storing up oxygen for the barrage of kissing that’s going to steal our breath.
“You can let go now,” he whispers, and the deep rumble of his voice is a promise I can believe. With those few calm words, he erases the messy whiteboard in my brain with one big swipe.
In his arms, I finally feel like I might be able to rewrite my own history.
I used to think the riskiest thing I could do would be to want—or worse, to need—other people. But now I want Dex Michaels more than anything. And I need him even harder.
While I give him all of my breath and all my hopes in tiny sips, Dex drinks me in like he won’t ever get enough. We’re lost in each other for a while, and it’s the best kind of losing. That is until a siren-like blare suddenly sounds from our two phones simultaneously.
We both startle, then the siren sounds again.
A Wireless Emergency Alert.
Dex detaches from me, fumbling for his phone. With a sigh, I reluctantly check my phone too. The warning is for thunderstorms in our area. Sometime in the next half hour. I know Dex is quick to catastrophize—and with good reason—so I want to counteract his worst-case scenario brain.
“At least we’re not looking at a hurricane or tornado watch,” I say. “A thunderstorm’s not too bad, right?”
Dex grunts. “Not too good, either.”
I duck my head, waiting for him to make eye contact. “I’ve lived in earthquake zones. There’s zero warning for those. And wildfires can spread so fast, you have to evacuate on the spot. At least we’ve got a heads-up here, thanks to the WEA.”
His expression is grim. “Your underwhelm is showing, Kroft.”
“I’m just saying we aren’t going to be dragged out to sea bya riptide or blown to Oz in a funnel cloud.” I reach for his shoulder. Give it a squeeze. “We have time, Dex. We’ll be fine.”
“Fine. Right.” His jaw ticks.
I wince at the poor choice of words.Finedoesn’t exactly bring up memories of calm for him. “I’m sorry. I meant we’ll be okay.”
“Sure.” He huffs. “Except for possible hail. And the straight-line winds and potential microbursts and downbursts.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what those things are.” I wrinkle my nose. “Well, besides hail. I have heard of that.”
“They aren’t great,” he says. “We get hundred-mile-an-hour winds with our thunderstorms around here.”
“So let’s make a plan and make it smart.”
He lets out another grunt, but the wheels are spinning behind his eyes. I get the feeling he’s not thinking straight. So I take the lead.
“First, we should do a quick sweep around campus and the parking lots to be sure there aren’t any students or parents around,” I suggest. “If we find anyone, we can decide then whether it’s safer for them to shelter somewhere here or send them home. Depending on how bad the rain’s gotten.”
“Not rain,” he says. “Thunderstorms. Andwearen’t going to do any of those things.Iwill.”
“What are you suggesting I do, then? Stand around and show everyone how pretty I look in my yoga pants?”
A vein at his temple pulses. “I don’t want you here, Sayla.”
“So you think I should drive home?”
“Not alone.” He grits his teeth. “Not in your little car.”
“So you don't want me here and you don’t want me driving home. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of options.”
“I just want you safe.”
