She pushed through the park grass, which had already turned to a slick carpet of puddles. Each flash of lightning illuminated the trees around her, stark and skeletal against the sky. Thunder cracked seconds later, so loud it rattled in her bones.
“Please,” she whispered, blinking against the rain, “just come out…”
But only the storm answered back.
Then the world split open. A blinding flash of lightning struck across the lake, and with it came the sharp, splintering crack of a tree giving way. Zoe froze, eyes wide, as a massive branch split from its trunk and came crashing down, slamming into the earth with a force that made the ground beneath her shake.
Her instincts screamed—Move!
Zoe lunged up the bank, boots slipping against the sucking mud. Her foot skidded sideways, and before she could catchherself, her ankle twisted. Pain shot up her leg, stealing her breath. She collapsed hard onto her knees, the shock of it rattling through her bones.
“No…not again…” Her voice broke.
She planted a trembling palm in the mud, dragging herself forward an inch at a time. Each movement set fire through her ankle, but she refused to stop. She clawed her way up the slick slope, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
She made it over to the bench, and gingerly turned her ankle from side to side. Worst timing ever, she thought.
She thought about giving up. Thought about just collapsing onto the bench, praying the storm would pass and her ankle would miraculously fix itself, but headlights cut through the rain, blinding and bright.
A familiar shape. Jackson’s farm truck.
The truck skidded to a halt. Jackson was out in seconds, rain sheeting off his shoulders as he sprinted toward her.
Zoe blinked against the glare, half sob, half laugh breaking from her chest. She raised a hand weakly. “I’ve hurt my ankle again—and I can’t find Whiskers!” she yelled.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, scooping her into his arms before she could protest.
For once, she didn’t try. She let herself fold into him, clinging to the safety of his hold, knowing she was useless in her current state.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she managed through clenched teeth.
“You said that before,” Jackson muttered, tightening his grip as he carried her toward the truck.
Back inside, they were both soaked, jeans and coats sticking to them like second skin. The heater roared, but Zoe still shivered so violently her teeth clattered. She couldn’t tell if it wasfrom the pain or the panic clawing at her chest. Tears slipped, hot and stinging.
“I’m a horrible pet parent,” she whispered.
Jackson reached over and took her hand, his palm steady and warm against hers. “You’re not a bad pet parent. If anything, Whiskers is a bad cat for running off. Don’t beat yourself up. She’s smart. She’ll be fine.”
The rain had eased by the time they pulled up to her building, but the streets were rivers, gutters spilling over. Jackson rounded the truck, lifted her again with effortless strength, and carried her across the puddled sidewalk. Up the stairs. Through the door of the flower shop.
And all she could do was pray she’d find Whiskers there.
FORTY-SIX
JACKSON
Sunday, April 6th
Jackson could’ve killed the cat.
Not really, of course, but he was sure Whiskers had scared ten years off his life. Zoe had gone out in the middle of a storm, twisted her ankle, nearly gotten herself flattened by a falling branch… and for what? For a cat who’d been safe inside the whole damn time.
Now, there she was. Tail flicking, eyes bright, she strolled out from behind the counter, meowing as though nothing had happened at all.
She let out a curious meow, like she was asking, “What happened to you two?”
“Whiskers,” Zoe said, her voice a mixture of disbelief and relief. “Naughty kitty. Where were you? I called for you everywhere.”
