Beautiful Collide (Saints Of Redville #3)

Chapter 7

7

Molly

It feels like an eternity has passed since we started driving. Occasionally, Hudson will shift in his seat or mess with the vents, breaking the monotony of the road. Other than that, it’s been completely silent for three hours. Two more to go.

Already, I’ve run out of ways to silently hate Hudson, so I’ve started focusing on the hum of the tires against the pavement and counting mile markers to pass the time. We couldn’t agree on a radio station or playlist, so music is not even playing.

The rain pounds on my windshield.

I glance at the clock on the dashboard, debating whether it’s worth stopping for coffee. Before I can decide, the shrill wail of a siren cuts through the car like a knife.

“What the hell—” I startle, gripping the wheel tighter.

Hudson sits up straighter, his head tilting as he listens. “Tornado sirens.”

My stomach twists into a knot. Freaking tornado sirens. My foot eases off the gas as dread pools in my chest.

Dane. My thoughts fly to him immediately. Did their plane land safely? Are they already at the hotel? What if—

No. Stop. They flew. They’re fine.

The flight from Redville isn’t too long, and since the team left before us, they’re definitely already there. So there’s nothing to worry about.

I exhale sharply, gripping the wheel harder to ground myself, my knuckles white.

Okay, it’s fine. It’s all fine.

But then the realization slams into me . . . I’m not fine.

Tornado sirens mean one thing—there’s a tornado nearby. And I’m driving straight into it.

Panic bubbles up, clawing at my throat. My breaths come faster, and the edges of my vision start to blur.

“Relax,” Hudson says, his voice maddeningly calm.

I glare at him, incredulous. “Relax? Are you serious? There’s a tornado out there, Hudson.”

“I’m aware,” he informs me, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

He doesn’t even look worried. He’s so infuriatingly composed that I want to scream.

My cell phone starts blaring with a warning, adding to the chaos.

My heart pounds faster. “What should we do?”

Hudson shrugs, his brow furrowing. “Depends on where it’s on the ground.”

I shoot him a quick look, frustration bubbling up. “Can you check where it’s on the ground?”

“Will do.”

Another alert blares from my phone.

He’s taking too long to search.

“What are you doing?” I snap, my hands tightening on the wheel.

Hudson’s fingers fly across his screen. “Looking up the nearest safe spot.”

“How are you so calm?” I demand, my voice trembling.

He shrugs, glancing out the window. “Panicking won’t make the tornado go away. Plus, it’s not my first time dealing with one of these.”

“Great,” I mutter, my heart pounding. “Glad you’re an expert.”

He ignores my sarcasm. “Take the next exit.”

“What?”

“Take the exit,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “There’s an old gas station about five miles off the freeway. It’s got a decent structure. We’ll be safer there than on the road.”

I hesitate, my instincts screaming to keep going. To outrun whatever storm is coming. But the logical part of me knows he’s right. You can’t outrun a tornado.

“Fine,” I finally relent, gripping the wheel and steering toward the exit.

I hate to admit it, but I’m glad he came with me on the drive. I would’ve freaked out had I been alone and maybe even kept driving through the tornado.

He continues scrolling on his phone. “We’re not too far out.”

I keep my eyes on the road, but out of the corner of my eye, I’m glued to Hudson’s movements.

The sirens wail louder in the distance. The sky around us is dark and ominous, like a scene out of a bad horror movie. The storm grows louder with each passing second, its presence heavy and oppressive.

My hands grip the steering wheel tighter until my knuckles ache, and I veer off the highway. I don’t need to know where the storm is hitting to know I don’t want to be driving seventy miles per hour when it does.

Because it’s not a question of if —it’s a question of when.

The sky has already darkened to an unsettling shade. Lightning cracks in the distance, a stark contrast against the blackened clouds. The wind hammers against the car, shoving it in bursts that feel like we’re being tugged by invisible hands.

Other than the storm and the sirens, the road to the gas station is eerily quiet, the sky growing darker with each passing minute. The sirens blare in the distance, a constant reminder of how precarious this situation is.

Hudson is still infuriatingly calm, guiding me with quiet directions as we approach the station. His steady tone chips away at the panic clawing at my chest.

“There,” he says, pointing at a run-down building up ahead.

The gas station looks like it’s been abandoned for years. The paint on the building is faded and cracked, and some od the windows are boarded up.

Hudson shoves his phone into his pocket, the picture of relaxed. “This looks promising.”

“Seriously? Are we looking at the same place?”

“Got any better options?”

“I mean, no. But this place looks like it belongs in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. ”

“The only other choice is starring in Twister, and not in an epic Glen Powell sort of way.”

“I feel like you’re more Bill Paxton.”

“While I loved that man, I’d end up being the random guy nobody remembers—the one who gets sucked into a tornado before anyone learns his name. So come on. Let’s go.”

I park as close to the entrance as possible and hesitate. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

Hudson is already out of the car before I can unbuckle my seat belt. “It’s safer than out here.” He tosses open my door and holds out a hand, motioning for me to hurry up. “Come on.”

“I’m fine,” I snap, brushing past him as I climb out.

“Sure you are,” he mutters, following close.

The moment I step outside, I’m drenched. The wind batters me so hard I stagger.

Without asking, Hudson snatches my hand and drags me toward the building. “Let’s go.”

He sprints toward the door, and I follow, struggling to keep up.

Luckily, the door is glass, which should be easy to break into. Hudson seems to think the same thing as he grabs something from the ground and bashes the glass above the knob.

I watch as he pulls his sleeve over his hand, then reaches in to turn the deadbolt. A second later, the door creaks open, and we dash inside.

The air in the gas station is stale and musty, thick with neglect.

I wrinkle my nose. “This place is disgusting.”

“It’s not the Ritz.” Hudson walks farther into the building, using his phone’s flashlight to guide him. “But it’ll do.”

The stench of oil clings to the surface and tickles my nose. This is bad.

Stop that thought.

Just because it smells doesn’t mean we’re in danger. We’re safe, for now—or at least safe from the rain and wind.

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter as he checks the back rooms. My pulse is still racing, but I can feel it starting to slow. His calm demeanor infuriates me, though I can’t deny that it’s also grounding.

He reappears a moment later, brushing cobwebs off his jacket. “No basement, but the walls are solid. We’ll be fine here.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

“You good?” His gaze softens just enough to make me uncomfortable.

“Yeah.” I look away. “I’m fine.”

I don’t believe my own words.

I stare at the tiles instead, willing the storm to go away.

A scraping noise catches my attention. I glance over to find Hudson dragging furniture toward the door, forming a makeshift barricade.

As if that’ll stop a tornado.

The space is small, and there’s nowhere to hide—or at least, I don’t think there is. Hudson already confirmed there’s no basement.

The lights are off, and the interior feels suffocating and eerie. Wrapping my arms around myself, I try to stop trembling, but the blaring sirens in the distance make it impossible.

I start to pace back and forth. Nervous energy winning over.

“Will you stop that?” Hudson grunts, nodding toward me. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

“Sorry, Hudson, I didn’t realize my existential crisis bothered you.” I whip my soaked hair off my shoulders. Beads of water spray my face.

“There she is.” He turns to look at me. “The real you. Aren’t you tired of pretending to be perfect all the time?”

“Perfect? You don’t even like me, so why would you care what I am?”

“True,” he admits with a shrug. “But your brother would kill me if I let you spiral into whatever this is.” His gaze softens, just barely. “So maybe . . . don’t?”

The wind chooses that moment to howl louder, shaking the windows. My chest feels tight. Like the pressure building inside me mimics the pressure of the storm raging outside.

Each breath comes faster. Shallower.

I can’t pull in enough air.

I can’t breathe.

I’m dying.

“Stop it.”

Hudson’s smirk fades. “Molly?”

My knees buckle slightly, and I reach for a shelf for support.

“I can’t—I can’t breathe,” I choke out. “What if it’s not enough? What if—”

He shakes his head. “Stop that thought right there. It will be.”

I can barely hear him over the sound of my own pulse.

“We’re okay. I’ve got you.”

My breath hitches as I look up at him.

My body trembles harder, the fear overwhelming me. “I think I’m dying—”

Hudson crosses the room in two long strides, grabbing me by my shoulders.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His voice is low, steady, more commanding than comforting. “You’re not dying. You’re panicking. Big difference.”

My eyes lock on his. “You don’t get it—”

“Then make me get it.” He tilts his head. “What do you need?”

“Distraction,” I say too quickly. “Just . . . something. Anything.”

Hudson hesitates for a second, his brow furrowing. “Anything, huh?”

Before I can react, he pulls me into his arms.

I want to push away, to protest, but with my head against his chest, I can hear his heartbeat. Its steady rhythm calms me.

He doesn’t wait for me to respond. Hudson dips his head, and his lips brush against mine with just enough pressure to make it obvious he’s waiting to see how I’ll react. On instinct, I freeze for a beat.

“What are you doing?” I whisper against his mouth.

“Distracting you.” His voice sounds rough. His lips hover over mine, so close that I can feel the heat radiating from him. “Unless you want me to stop?”

My breath hitches in my chest, and adrenaline surges through my veins.

“You’re an idiot,” I mutter, but I’m crazy enough that I don’t pull away.

“Probably,” he agrees. Then he kisses me again, harder this time, like he’s claiming something.

His hands slide up to cup my face, rough palms anchoring me to the here and now.

Not letting me get lost in the storm raging outside.

I clutch the front of his damp shirt. Despite some wet spots the soft cotton is still warm under my touch.

The kiss grounds me.

His lips are firm yet gentle, a perfect balance that steadies me.

Everything fades away.

I forget the storm. Forget where I am. Forget myself.

The world stops on its axis.

It narrows to this singular moment…

His mouth on mine, the taste of rain lingering on his lips, the way his hand cups the back of my neck like he’s afraid I might disappear.

I lean into him.

I need this.

Need him.

I don’t want to think about the storm, the mistakes, the fears. Not right now.

But then, just as quickly as the moment takes over, a flicker of doubt creeps in.

What happens when this ends? When the storm passes? The thought makes my stomach twist, but I shove it aside.

Not now. Not yet.

For now, I let myself sink deeper into the kiss, clinging to him like he’s the calm in the middle of my storm.

For now, I let myself feel. For now, I let myself forget.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.

I stare at him. “That was—”

“Effective?” he answers for me, his lips quirking into a cocky grin.

I push him back. “A mistake.”

My cheeks feel flushed, and I’m happy for the darkness.

He chuckles. Smug bastard.

“Sure, Molly. Keep telling yourself that.”