Rhys is standing there, rain glittering in his hair, eyes narrowing when he sees my face. “Finally.”
“Out of my way.” I shoulder past him and rush to thestairwell.
“Fallon! What the hell?” he calls out, jogging to keep up.
“The garden!” My voice cracks. “The tarp I put down this afternoon. I heard a crash. Nothing will hold in this wind!”
“Fallon! Stop—” He lunges for my arm, but I jerk back, the contact a shock. He freezes, hands lifted, giving me space.
“Do not touch me!” I turn and pound down the stairs.
Rhys is right behind me, long strides eating the distance to catch up. “Fallon, talk to me. What are you doing?”
“This traitorous wind will destroy my hard work,” I pant. “I can’t lose them!”
“Stay here. Let me fix it for you.”
“No. You don’t know how!” I scream, and his face falls.
I don’t have time to worry about an assassin with a bruised ego. I push out the front door, and the storm slams into me the moment I step out into the cold.
Outside, the air tastes like electricity while a distant boom rumbles in the midnight sky. Needles of rain sting my skin, plastering my hair instantly to my face. The wind practically lifts my body as I sprint around the corner toward the locked gate of the Neverland Community Garden.
It’s after hours. The lock is engaged. “Oh, no. I forgot my key.”
“You forgot more than that.” Rhys catches up just as I fumble with the latch. “You’re not wearing any pants!”
I look down, shocked to see so much skin peeking from my cotton nightgown. “Please help me. Help them!”
“Of course, I’ll help you.” He grips the fence and scales it. Next, he’s over the top and dropping in front of me. “All I ask for is a little communication.”
Drenched in rain, he goes to the shed and comes back with a bolt cutter.
“Hurry!” I cry out.
“Stand back, love.” He clips the lock, but it doesn’t break. “Fuck!” He draws his boot into his chest and kicks until the lock shatters.
I push through the gate and run to my plot. Sure enough, my tarp is gone. The limp sheet of plastic is twisted around a distant pole. All my soil has churned to mud while the Chrysanthemum blooms and holly leaves are whipping around, their stems ready to snap.
“Chris and Holly aren’t going to make it. I’m sorry, girls.” I drop to my knees in the mud.
“We quickly fix what we can, and then you’re out of here.” Rhys sinks down next to me, ruining nice pants. “You just got over being sick.”
I nod, teeth chattering. There’s no point to any of this if I spend the next month battling on again and off again fevers.
Together, we wrestle the tarp from the pole and cover everyone. Rhys secures the edges with bricks. My fingers are numb from pressing the roots back into the frigid soil. My lungs burn, and my legs are numb from the drastic drop in temperature. But when it’s done, a weak laugh bubbles out of me.
“They’ll be okay,” I say, nodding. “We did it.”
Rhys glares, soaked to the bone, jaw tight. “Youdid it. And you can come back and check it alltomorrow.”
“Yes, dear,” I snort in a low voice.
Rhys turns his head to me, long hair plastered to his face. “Mock me again, and I will take you over my knee.”
I blink, and there is that warm feeling between my legs again. “That sounds like fun.”
“With you, it will be.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Shoot, you’re ice cold.”
