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“She needs something tonight, kid,” he said, then he disappeared out the door.

Dom swallowed around the lump in his throat and looked back down at his daughter. His life had changed forever in the span of a couple of hours, and he still had no idea what he was doing. But as he held Lucky against his heart and listened to the fading sound of Evan’s truck pulling away, one thing felt certain: he wasn’t going to do it alone.

He settled deeper into the sofa and watched CJ scroll through one of his many streaming services. Then he pressed his lips to the top of Lucia’s head and whispered, “I told you your uncles would know what to do.”

3

GAVIN

The first thing Gavin Carter learned about living in San Diego was that people seemed genuinely optimistic, convinced life would sort itself out. People smiled at strangers, ate lunch on restaurant patios, and apologized for “cold weather” when the temperature dipped below sixty-five. It wasn’t that they didn’t have problems. Everyone did. It was just that nobody seemed to carry the weight of waiting for the next bad thing. The future wasn’t something to brace for because everything would work out eventually.

Gavin couldn’t remember the last time he’d believed that.

The second thing he learned was that people became deeply unreasonable when bad weather was predicted. By noon, his phone had rung thirty-one times. By three o’clock, a woman in La Jolla had offered him five hundred dollars to “storm-proof” her koi pond. By five, someone in Mission Hills had asked if plywood came in aesthetic colors.

Southern California was weird.

Gavin stood on the roof over the porch of a pale yellow Craftsman bungalow in North Park, one hand braced against the frame of a second-story window while he drilled plywood into place. The late afternoon sun baked the back of his neck, warm even in February. Somewhere down the street, somebody was playing Fleetwood Mac loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

“Storm of the century,” Mrs. Campbell called nervously from the driveway below, clutching her phone to her chest. She reminded him a little of his mother. Petite and probably in her early sixties, she wore her silver hair in a long, neat braid tucked through the back of a Barracudas cap. She had the permanent golden tan of someone who preferred being outdoors, and the lean, capable build of someone who hiked on weekends and did yoga a few mornings a week. “That’s what they said on the news.”

Gavin looked down. “The news also said avocados are good for you and then bad for you and then good again.”

Mrs. Campbell blinked at him, and he stifled a laugh as he turned back to the window.

“That means you’re smart to prepare anyway, even if the news isn’t always right,” he said over his shoulder.

“Right.” She clutched a tiny white dog to her chest and scanned the sky. “Do you think flooding could really get this far inland?”

He glanced at the sky, currently cloudless and the deep blue of late afternoon. He didn’t know. It was hard to imagine a storm was barreling their way. That was the thing about disasters though. Nobody ever thought they’d be in the path of one until they were.

“I think,” he said carefully. “That boarding your windows and charging your phones is smarter than pretending nothing will happen.”

The woman nodded in agreement. “You’re probably right.”

Gavin secured the final screw and climbed down the ladder with practiced ease. His jeans were streaked with sawdust and paint, and his black T-shirt was damp between his shoulder blades. The forecast had been impossible to ignore for almost a week, and fourteen-hour days had become the norm. The threat of the “storm of the century” meant everyone suddenly remembered their houses had windows. People got twitchy when storms were predicted to be as large as the one approaching the coast. Not because of the weather, but because they were reminded of how little control they actually had.

Gavin understood that too well.

“Gavin?” The homeowner had made her way to the tailgate of his truck and was looking nervously between him and the house. “Do you think we should board the other two windows?”

He glanced at the side windows, then collapsed his ladder and carried it to his truck, sliding it carefully onto the ladder rack and securing it tightly. “No.”

“But what if the wind changes?”

“It could.”

She brightened. “So we should then?”

“No.”

Her face fell, and he moved to stand next to her. He was still relatively new to San Diego, trying to build a business where no one had ever heard of him, and most of that business came through word of mouth. Pissing off a customer wasn’t a smart move, so Gavin gentled his tone when he spoke again.

“The wind would have to come from this direction,” he explained, gesturing toward the neighboring property. “If that happens, you’ve got bigger problems than broken windows.”

“Oh.” She followed his hand and stared at her neighbor. He could almost see the wheels turning as she tried to gauge how sturdy the house was.

“Besides,” Gavin said. “Based on what the weather reports are saying, your front windows will get the brunt of any heavy wind and rain. You’ll be fine.”