Whenever Caiden and I were together, there was a storm. At this point, I was not sure if it was the universe bringing us together or if it was a bad omen.
The rain smeared the world gray, the landscape dissolving into washed-out streaks that matched the hollow ache in my chest. I pressed my hands together, feeling the bones of my knuckles grind, as if I could squeeze out the pain.
My mother’s face flickered behind my eyelids: the slur in her smile, the way she’d clutch my wrist and whisper apologies for being who she was.
When I looked sideways, Caiden’s jaw was set, scar on his eyebrow catching the watery light. His hands were steady on the wheel, but there was a tightness to his shoulders I hadn’t seen since high school, when he’d grind his teeth during detention, refusing to let anyone see him unravel.
His hair was slightly longer now, boyishly tousled and carelessly cut, but his profile was the same: the narrow nose, brow furrowed under the weight of his own ghosts.
He caught me watching. “You okay?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the streaming road.
“Fine,” I lied, pulling the word tight. “Just tired.”
He nodded, but his hand hovered near the console, as if unsure whether to turn up the heat or the music, or to touch me. There were things we’d never said, and things we could never take back.
The wind buffeted the car, and he leaned into it, knuckles whitening. “You hungry? There’s a rest stop coming up.”
“Not really.” My stomach was a knot of hunger and dread.
“You seem nervous.”
“About the storm?” I didn’t move, watching the water chase itself down the pane. “Or about seeing my mother’s face in a casket?”
He didn’t answer. He let the silence roll back in, dense as the clouds outside.
It was always like this with us. An invisible cord, taut and humming, threatening to snap or strangle.
I could sense him watching me, not with the scrutiny of a lover, but the wary attention of someone who’s handled wild animals before and knows better than to let their guard down. I should have hated him for that.
“I had a dream last night,” I blurted. “My mom was alive. She was asking me to make her pancakes.” The edge of my voice surprised me.
He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Did you?”
I nodded. “Yes. I made her pancakes, but something was wrong. When I set the plate down, her face became distorted and grim. She threw the plate aside and lunged for me in a terrifying way. I screamed, then woke up.”
He nodded slowly, taking in my words.
Instead of responding, he let my confession float in the air, knowing that it was best to not force me to talk more in depth about it.
Another couple of hours passed, and it began raining harder.
Thunder roared throughout the air.
“Caiden!” I shouted as the car hit a deep puddle, hydroplaning.
He gripped the steering wheel; muscles tense as he fought to regain control. “Hold on!”
The tires squealed, the car skidding sideways before he managed to steer it back on course. Heart racing, I braced myself against the door, a whirlwind of panic and frustration swirling within me.
“Damn it!” he growled, his voice laced with frustration. “This is not happening.”
And then it did. A loud pop echoed, followed by a violent jerk as the car veered off the road, finally coming to a stop against a muddy embankment.
The headlights died as a tree branch scraped against the roof.
Panic clawed at my flesh.
“Are you okay?” Caiden asked, his voice suddenly urgent as he turned to me, concern replacing the anger that had briefly flared.
