But I know that voice. It’s not the demon that haunts my nightmares, but the ghost of my past.
“Jett?”
His boots pound against the floorboards, the sound growing louder the closer he gets.
“Where are you?”
I clutch my chest, inhaling deeply. Of course, it’s Jett. Bursting in without a care in the world. As if he has a right to my space.
“In here,” I shout back, sitting up higher in the bathtub.
The bathroom door whips open, and his six-foot-four frame takes up the tiny doorway. His dirty-blond hair is plastered to his forehead, his shirt drenched, clinging to every valley of his sculpted chest. I press the back of my hand to my mouth to keep from screaming at him…or gaping at the way he looks all hot and flustered. The jury's still out on which reaction will come out of my mouth.
“Jesus, Wren,” he breathes, relief pouring out of him as he steps closer. “You scared the hell out of me.”
The bathroom feels too small with both of us in here. All the air disappears, suffocating me.
“I scared the hell out of you?” My eyes widen at his audacity. “You’re the one who stormed into my house in the middle of a goddamn tornado.”
Water drips down his temple as his jaw clenches. I have the sudden urge to lick each drop off his skin.Stupid smutty romance novel.
His eyes sweep over me in the tub, wrapped in a blanket, Kindle in my lap.
“Exactly. A tornado. I couldn’t sit around, knowing you were here…alone. Not when the storm has shifted and is heading in this direction.”
Emotions swirl around me as if I’m being sucked up into the tornado. Anger, frustration, and something else I can’t quite name. It’s softer, almost an appreciation of him coming for me. But it’s too little too late, and I have to keep that reminder at the forefront of my mind.
“I don’t need saving, Riggsby. You don’t need to be some hero.”
His nostrils flare, like it has each time I’ve referred to him by his last name. I can’t call him Jett, as stupid as that sounds. His name brings back too many memories. Riggsby feels less personal, like I’m one of the hundreds of others who call him by his last name.
“I’m not saving you,” he grits out. “That’s not—”
“I’m not your problem anymore. I stopped being your concern when you left me.”
I choke the words out, just as thunder cracks outside, shaking the cottage walls.
His fist curls at his side. “It wasn’t a choice.”
“Right,” I muse, rolling my eyes. “Leaving without a goodbye wasn’t a choice. Okay, Riggsby.”
“Stop calling me that!” He finally breaks, but I sit taller, knowing I’m getting to him. That finally he’s starting to feel a semblance of what I’ve felt for the past decade.
Jett drags a hand through his damp hair, collapsing on the closed toilet seat. His legs widen, elbows resting on his knees as he hangs his head in defeat. I feel like an idiot for still sitting in this bathtub, but there’s no place else for me to go. There’s no way I’m stepping out of this room when Hell has released its fury on Silo Bay.
“It’s not my fault I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“Don’t.” I cut my hand through the air. “You weren’t just my boyfriend, you were more than that. You were mybest friend.”
His face morphs, and I run my hands down my face. Pulling my hands away, I notice the moisture on my palms from tears I didn’t know were escaping.
“I sat on the steps of my porch that day waiting for you. Everything was packed and loaded as I watched the time get closer to when you were supposed to be there. Then five minutes went by. Ten, then twenty minutes, and a sinking feeling landed deep inside me. You weren’t coming, and I had no idea why. The plan was to start our lives together, and where the hell were you? Gone, without a trace. Without a goodbye, without telling me it was over, nothing.”
“Wren—”
“No.” Tears fall steadily with the more I say. “You don’t get to explain yourself or offer any excuses. It’s ten years too late.”
We stare at each other as the storm shrieks, candlelight flickering, offering us the only light. His eyes have darkened, as if begging me to see the truth. There’s pain behind his gaze, but I can’t give in. Not now.
