I’m sure.
Sitting in my truck in the parking lot of the hospital, I glare at my phone. This is getting tiresome. Jocelyn hates these storms. Is Operation Avoid Asher really more important than that? She’d rather be alone and terrified than be subjected to my company?
You’re staying at your house then?
Yeah. We aren’t even in the cone.
Did you buy water and food?
I spent a large portion of Sunday performing hurricane chores—purchasing water and non-perishables, filling gas cans, topping off the propane tank, pulling all my loose outdoor furniture inside. Jocelyn isn’t a planner. Did she even remember to buy bottled water?
I’ll be fine.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” I scream at my phone and throw it to the passenger seat.
Irritating woman.
For someone so concerned about me drifting away from her, she’s certainly doing her best to run full tilt in the opposite direction. Guess she didn’t like that little admission I pulled from her.
Whoops.
Sorry not sorry.
Still don’t know what to make of it, though. She’s jealous at the idea of me with other women, yes, but whatever other emotions she’s harboring in there make her feel like she’s drowning. The dichotomy is somehow promising and also exceedingly bleak. Jealousy isn’t enough to build a relationship on. It’s a disease that spawns on itself. A cancer that makes people behave in strange, pathologic ways.
But hey. At least it’s proof she cares a little.
A small airborne branch smacks against the windshield, startling me. All right, then. Time to get home. All outpatient offices closed at 1:00 p.m. Talia’s enthusiasm for a day off had dimmed substantially in the face of the reality heading toward us. Franklin is slowing and strengthening, and even if he doesn’t hit us, there will be damage. But unlike Talia, who has a type-A husband, Jocelyn has no one to look out for her. Her decision to remain alone in a house that hasn’t been updated since the 1960s during a Category 2 hurricane could hurt her.
The very male portion of me has a strong inclination to kidnap her. She can kick and scream all she wants, but she’ll be safe doing it. Can’t freak her out, though. Just barely have her speaking to me again.
And there my mind goes, right back to Saturday.
I went there, but I didn’t sleep with him.
That’s just... fan-fucking-tastic, even if I don’t know why she couldn’t go through with it.
You know why.
Wish I did. God, I really want to know why. This hope is hazardous to my health. Potentially lethal. Can’t believeI let it blossom amidst the scorched earth she left behind. Fully aware this makes me weak. Keep committing the same mistakes, like an insane person. Can’t seem to stop myself, though. The optimist in me is hard to kill.
I’m certain if I push my luck now, she’ll flee again.
But she’s being stupid AF.
I’ll be fine.
How does she know?
I drive home through congested roads strewn with debris. The wind whips the palm trees lining the streets, their fronds dragging the trunks sideways. Lines of cars clog the gas stations, most of which are now empty of fuel. With the truck housed safely in my garage, I enter the house and settle in. By evening, the storm tracker on my app is far more optimistic than the doomsday weathermen on the local news. The cone has shifted south a bit, but the storm is still Category 2.
To distract myself, I start a match on Fortnite. If the storm turns out as bad as they say, I’ll lose internet at some point. May as well enjoy it while I have it. Before the match begins, I make one last pass at Jocelyn.
Storm is getting closer.
I don’t care what’s going on between us. I’ll always be here if you need me.
It’s gonna be okay
