Whoa. Hell! Don’t fall.
This current is stronger than I imagined. My muscles fight against the more powerful force of nature beneath me. I’m soaked through. My skin freezes and burns all at once. The rubber soles of my shoes provide a decent grip, but I’m careful not to slip. One wrong move, and this could carry me away.
In the minutes it takes to wade closer to her house, the water rises, splashing against my stomach. Something gives way beneath my feet. Before I can stop it, I submerge to my neck. The water carries me several yards downstream before I snag the pole of a stop sign. Gritty saltwater splashes into my mouth and the metal digs into my arm, opening a gash.
Drawing first blood, Franklin? I see how it is. He’s literally pouring salt into my wounds.
Asshole.
My feet slip again.
Christ! I can’t do this. She’s probably fine! What am I doing out here? Trying to die? They’re going to engrave my headstone with my supreme foolishness.
He died in a hurricane because he was stupid.
After righting myself, I take stock of my surroundings. Down the street, I get a glimpse of her house—the one with the tree lying on top of it. Panic claws through my system, lighting it on fire. She could be trapped in there. Drowning.
I could be too late.
A surge of adrenaline helps me battle my way to the house. The door is wide-open. I could swim into her living room.
“Jocelyn!” I yell.
No answer.
I knock aside floating furniture and head toward her bedroom where the tree fell. She’s not here. The relief is tiny, but it does exist. Means I haven’t lost hope, I suppose. Yay for optimism.
“Jocelyn, are you here?”
Maybe she evacuated when the flood started. Something cold wraps around my bones as I consider that. She evacuated and didn’t come to me? Didn’t even tell me?
I wade toward the garage to check if her car’s still here, pushing through the hall and living room to reach the kitchen. The garage door is already open. Her Benz is flooded to the windows.
“Jocelyn?” I call again.
A weak voice behind me answers. “Asher?”
Yes.Yes. She’s here. She’s alive. Coiled fear loosens and I choke out a breath. I spin toward her voice. My gaze darts around and lands on the hunched body curled on the far edge of the bar top. She’s on her side, shivering, blinking at me.
“Fuck. Jocelyn!” I flounder through the water to reach her, splashing wildly. She tries to sit up, but her shaking arms buckle and she falls back to the laminate.
Stupid, stupid woman!
My hands clamp onto her clammy fingers, and I pull her toward me. “Are you okay?”
Shallow scratches mar her fair skin. Tear tracks paint her face. But she appears otherwise unharmed. Miraclesdohappen. Her entire body trembles as I draw her closer to me. Her blank expression doesn’t change. “Am I dead?”
“What? No.” I try to haul her off the counter, but she’simmobile, legs dangling. “Come on, Joss. We have to get out of here.”
“You’re here.” She touches my cheek, head tilting dreamily. “Heaven must be real.”
Is she in some sub-space of terror? Dilated eyes gaze deep into mine. Her quivering body lists toward me. I grip her chin hard and sharpen my voice. “Jocelyn. Listen to me. We have to get out of here.”
She blinks once, twice, and her spine straightens. “Asher?”
“Yes, it’s me, but we have to go.”
One moment, she’s lethargic and hallucinating. The next, she’s clawing at my neck, gripping so hard that pain shoots through my muscles. She cuts off my windpipe.
