This storm is bad, and I think it's only going to get worse.
Sophie's eyes dart around, disoriented. Each gasp rattles in her chest, wet and painful, twisting my heart into knots. I smooth her head, trying not to flinch at the heat and the sweat on her forehead.
"Hey, it's okay," I say, forcing calm into my voice, eyes still on the road. "You're okay, baby."
"Callum," Sophie rasps, her voice barely above a whisper. She's taking deep breaths through her mouth, and her voice has a slight nasal tinge to it, as if she's congested. "I'm sorry, that scared me."
"Don't worry," I promise her. "We're almost home."
Reluctantly, I return my hand to the wheel and sigh in frustration at the orange detour signs. The road to Sophie's apartment is closed. I signal and turn down a side street, calculating another way out of this storm. The other road adds five minutes to our drive. Every second out here feels like an hour.
My thoughts are a tangled blur of noise and panic. Everything happening all at once isn't allowing me to focus—the rainhammering the car, thunder rumbling in the sky, the dark storm clouds swallowing any daylight, and my desperation to get Sophie out of this storm and safe.
And I'm trying to ignore the guilt settling in my stomach like a lead weight.
I'm usually steady under pressure, able to think clearly and logically, but now? I feel unglued because it's different when the person you love most is the one in danger, and not feeling well.
Just get her home, then we can figure out the rest.
We reach an intersection, and I see that the traffic lights are out. Easing to a stop, I look both ways—multiple times—before carefully crossing. I'm not taking any chances, not with the precious girl in the passenger seat, sniffling and coughing, then smiling at me to cover it up—to make me feel better.
Just get home, get inside, and out of this storm.
Get Sophie to safety first, and then we can call her doctor when we get back home.
Just get home.
"God," Sophie breathes, staring through the relentless rain beating down on the windshield. "This storm's really bad."
The tremble in her voice makes me immediately need to soothe her, even though the same fear is clawing at my own chest. She doesn't need more fear right now; she needs comfort.
I force a smile and keep my tone soothing. "We'll be home soon," I say, glancing at her. Though her eyes are worried and glassy, there's trust on her face. She nods and turns back to the road.
On the dashboard, the clock reads 11:02 in the morning, but the sky is so dark it looks like night. Somehow, the rain seems to pick up even more, and I put my high beams on, squinting to see the road in front of me.
My heart leaps out of my chest when I see it in the middle of the road.
"Shit!" I exclaim, my foot slamming on the brakes. My left hand stays on the steering wheel, but my right arm shoots out on instinct, an iron bar across Sophie's chest. She gasps, right arm grabbing mine, but her left arm reaches out to me and shoots across my stomach, attempting to protect me, too.
Even as my heart slams against my ribs, panic and adrenaline coursing through my veins, warmth for her bleeds in as we skid to a stop. The only sound in the car is our heavy breathing as we gain our bearings, and I can finally see what's blocking the road a little more clearly now.
A massive tree branch sprawls across the road, so heavy that it's crushed an SUV parked along the curb.Damnit.There's no way through—the path is completely blocked, we'll have to turn back and go another way.
"Christ," I glance behind us and don't see any headlights, so I put the car in park and turn on my hazards. Turning to a pale, wide-eyed Sophie, my hands come up to cradle her face, and I flinch at the heat of her skin. "Baby, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did your port get—?"
"I'm okay, I promise," she says, reaching out to cup my own cheeks. "Areyouokay?"
For a second, the noise fades—the thunder, the rain, all of it—the only thing left is the pure adoration I have for her. The reciprocal care I receive from Sophie grounds and steadies me. I close my eyes and lean forward to kiss her warm forehead, breathing her in.
"I'm okay.We'reokay," I assure myself, and I hold her like that for a moment, trying to breathe and willing my heart rate to slow down. I know that we can't stay here too long. Someone could barrel into us without being able to see or just not paying attention. Releasing her, I move to turn the car around when my phone buzzes in the cup holder.
Mom.
"Are you almost home?" She asks, not even allowing me to say hello. Her tone is sharp and frantic, sounding more worried than I've ever heard her before. My mom usually is so composed and calm that it startles me.
"Yeah, we're about ten minutes out. There's a tree down on Patterson. We have to take another way."
"Okay. Just—just be safe, Callum," her voice softens and warms when she asks, "How's my dove?"
