Page 133

GOLDIE

By the time I figure Sumner should be over the Gulf, my house has been completely overrun.

At some point after Sumner left, my living room turned into one of our usual girls’ nights, only with a lot more Weather Channel and tragically less tequila. Andie has claimed one end of the couch, Scout’s already in pajamas since she came prepared to spend the night, Tatum’s in my kitchen making queso because the woman understands priorities, and Ellie has cocooned herself in a blanket in the armchair.

There are overnight bags dumped by the front door, enough snacks spread across my kitchen island to survive an apocalypse, and a couple of my throw pillows are piled on the floor.

So, yeah. Nobody’s going anywhere.

I didn’t ask them to stay because I didn’t have to. Colston dropped one message in the group chat, my girls descended on my house, and that was that.

Which is great.

Really fucking great.

As long as I don’t think too hard about how they all dropped everything because they knew I was scared. Then my stupid hormones start threatening to make me extra emotional, and nobody needs that right now.

I’m wedged into the corner of the couch with my pregnancy pillow shoved behind my back, but everything still hurts. One hand is tucked under my belly to take some of the weight while the baby presses up into my organs enough that I’m a little short of breath.

The Weather Channel has been on since Sumner left, and at this point Ruth has completely taken over. One minute there’s a meteorologist in the studio breaking down the newest satellite images, the next they’re cutting to some poor reporter getting blasted by wind somewhere in Louisiana, then it’s evacuation traffic, storm surge, or another update from the air.

I keep trying to pay attention to whatever my friends are talking about, but my eyes keep drifting back to the TV.

Right now they’re back in the studio with a satellite image of Ruth stretched across the screen. She takes up a ridiculous amount of the Gulf, this massive white spiral wrapped tight around an eye that’s almost perfectly clear in the middle.

The graphic beside it has her officially listed as a Category Five now.

Well. Shit.

I knew she was headed there before Sumner left. So did he, judging by how excited he got when Colston was texting him. Seeing that five beside Ruth’s name while Sumner’s already on the way to her is a whole different thing.

My hand tightens a little under my stomach as I look at the forecast track again. It still points northwest toward Louisiana, nowhere near St. Pete, but the knot in my stomach only gets tighter.

My problem is that the man I love is heading straight into the thing everyone on TV keeps warning people to get the hell away from.

Scout holds the popcorn bowl up from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor.

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.” She keeps holding the bowl out until I give her a look. “Scout.”

She moves the bowl closer, and then she wiggles it to try and entice me.

I give her a look, but she just stares back until I finally sigh and grab a handful. “Happy?”

“Getting there.”

I eat a piece, then another, and catch the tiny satisfied smile she tries to hide behind the bowl.

“You’re annoying.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

Andie glances over from the other end of the couch. “You know she’s just going to keep plying you with food until they’re back on land, right?”

“I don’t know if I have the room.” I shift the pregnancy pillow behind me and rub a hand over the side of my stomach. “The baby’s so big now all my organs feel compacted.”

From the kitchen, Tatum calls, “Do you want queso?”

I yell back, “Is Sumner hot?”