Chapter 3
ALESSANDRA
The fierce wind rattles the apartment windows, the gnarly, haunting howl filling my ears and sending a shiver down my spine.
I need to leave for Nana’s now.
If anyone had known what Hurricane Analise was going to do overnight, I would already be there, but she strengthened and altered course, throwing off the best-laid plans. What we expected late this afternoon or early evening has already hit us, dropping buckets of rain and violent, dangerous gusts. And it’s only the front edge of the storm.
Things are only going to get worse.
Another of the annoying Braxton Hicks contractions that have plagued my entire third trimester hits me, and I curse and try to breathe through it, wishing like hell Dr. Brennan had given me a way to stop these suckers other than the one thing I cannot do—relax.
When it finally passes, I glance down at the group text message with the rest of the family.
Jude:
Ang and I just got done double-checking the alarm at The Grind and resecuring the sensors. We’re heading to Nana’s. Allie, are you on your way? Do you need us to come get you?
For a brief moment, I consider saying yes, but they’d have to go in the opposite direction to get me from the apartment, and there’s no reason to make them spend any more time on the streets in this if they don’t have to. Not when I’m perfectly capable of driving myself, even in this mess.
Allie:
No. I’m good. Leaving now.
Scanning the apartment, I mentally go through everything I’ll need for the next few days and ensure it’s all in my bag. Even if I forgot something, I shouldn’t waste any time looking for it.
I slide the strap over my shoulder, tucking my phone into the side pocket, and trudge toward the front door, already formulating a plan for how I’m going to handle the next few days locked down with the entire family when I can barely handle a few hours here and there as it is now.
Once I’m at Nana’s, I can lock myself in one of the bedrooms and pretend I’m exhausted and sleeping or that these damn contractions won’t stop until I rest and take it easy—alone.
Hopefully to avoid a repeat of Sunday.
That conversation with Pope nearly broke me, but knowing he’s at the hospital with Aunt Nora for the duration of the storm means I can get a temporary reprieve—at least from him. No doubt someone else will step into his place with the questions I don’t have good answers to right now.
I rub the top of my belly, where the kiddo has been pressing a tiny foot for the last few days. “Time to go, peanut.”
Releasing a heavy breath, I flip off the lights and slip out into the hallway, closing and locking the door behind me. It feels strange not to be leaving with Angelina—our first hurricane since she moved in with Jude. But I’m happy for her, for them, and soon, I won’t be alone in this place.
This baby will be my new roommate if I stay.
Despite everything weighing me down, I smile at that thought and turn toward the elevator and stairwell and freeze, all the momentarily pleasant thoughts evaporating in a split second.
Oh, God…
He stands at the top of the stairs, somehow looking just as handsome as ever, even soaked to the bone by the torrential rain. But he isn’t wearing the slow, easy grin he used to always give me—and any other girl interested him. The one that got me into his bed and him into my pants far too easily.
His lips press into a hard line.
His normally bright, playful amber eyes flash dark as the storm clouds outside.
His hands fist at his sides.
Now I can see exactly who and what he is, even though I was blind to it for so long.
“I’m glad I caught you, Allie.” His smooth voice dips low, his anger barely restrained—and so much worse than I thought it would be when we finally faced each other. “It’s been so difficult getting ahold of you recently.”
His gaze dips to my belly, and I rest my hand over it, as if it’s going to do anything to protect me or this baby from what’s coming.
I swallow through the fear clogging my throat. “I am on my way out…”
Please let me go.
Please…
I take a couple of tentative steps toward the elevator and the stairwell, my only ways to get out of here, but it means moving closer to him, too.
He holds out a hand, blocking the width of the hallway easily, stopping my advance toward freedom. “You really think I’m about to let you and my baby walk out without us having a fucking conversation?”
My heart pounds wildly against my rib cage. “This isn’t the time. I promise, once the storm is over, I’ll meet with you. We’ll talk. I swear. But I have to go now before it gets too dangerous out there.”
He releases a hollow laugh that echoes down the empty hallway. “You shouldn’t be worried about the storm, Al.”
Ice replaces the blood in my veins, instantly chilling any hope I was hanging on to that things might not be as bad as I was anticipating with him. That there might be any way this all works out.
I shift my keys between my fingers to leave them poking up between each knuckle, exactly as Saint and Bishop taught me, giving me the only weapon I’ll ever have standing out here.
“Please…” Blood rushes in my ears as I try to think of a way—any way—to get myself out of this. “I give you my word. I promise.”
Another sharp pain bands my abdomen, and I grit my teeth, trying to hide it from the man so intent on keeping me here.
A muscle in his jaw tics as he searches my face. “No, you’re coming with me. We’ll ride out the storm together. It’ll give us plenty of time to talk.”
This was his plan all along—to catch me and bring me somewhere I couldn’t escape from.
I shake my head as tears well in my eyes, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “If I don’t show up at my grandmother’s house, the family is going to come looking for me.” Holding his gaze with more bravado than I’m actually feeling, I lay down a warning. “You don’t want that.”
Of anyone, he should know what the Hawkes are capable of, how protective the entire family is of anyone under our wings. If they knew what he was doing right now, it would be the end of him, regardless of who he is and what other predicament it would drag us into.
He sneers, something menacing in the tilt of the lips I used to kiss. “You think they’re going to find you?” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe for one minute that you’ve told anybody I’m the father of this baby, which means they’d have no reason to come looking for you with me.”
Shit.
He’s right.
My brilliant plan has backfired.
By keeping his identity from everyone, all I’ve done is make it impossible for them to find me should he manage to get me the fuck out of here against my will.
He grabs my upper arm, and though I’m tempted to take a swing at him with my weapon in hand, with the door locked, he’s far too big and too fast and would catch me before I could get back into the apartment. And certainly before I could get down the stairs into my car when I’m waddling around like this.
I have to bide my time.
Wait for the right moment and opportunity.
Which definitely isn’t now since another pang wraps around my belly.
I inhale sharply, trying not to show any outward signs of my pain. These damn Braxton-Hicks contractions are only getting worse with the stress of the storm and this man deciding now is the appropriate time to have this conversation.
While I try to figure out how to get away from this asshole and the contraction ebbs, he leads me to the stairs and marches me down them slowly, keeping his eye on me almost protectively despite his rough grip.
Ironic, considering he’s the only threat right now.
We reach the bottom, and a clap of thunder close enough to rattle the whole building makes me jump. He tightens his hold on my arm, pushing open the exterior door, and leads me out into the driving rain and blowing wind that almost topples me over. Only his firm grasp keeps me upright as he marches me toward the parking lot at the side of the building.
You can do this, Al.
It would be much easier without this torrent, though. I can barely see the few cars left in the lot through the deluge, but a big, black SUV sits three spots down from my red Porsche Cayenne.
Close enough for me to make this attempt.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but he’s focused on his vehicle and keeping his hand around my arm, forcing me to keep walking through the puddles already forming and starting to flood the parking lot.
He reaches into his pocket for his keys.
That’s my opening.
I swing up with my right hand and jab the keys sharply into his side closest to me.
With a howl of pain, he buckles inward, his grip on me loosening. “Fuck!”
Jerking free of him, I drop my bag and run, racing as fast as my legs will carry me across the slick pavement toward my car. I hit the remote start and unlock buttons and jump in, throwing it into drive as he regains his feet.
Fury burns in his gaze as it meets mine through the violent tempest outside. This single pane of glass in my window isn’t going to stop him. And if he gets his hands on me again, I won’t fare well.
But I have no intention of letting him ever touch me again.
I pull forward out of the spot, and he lunges toward the car. The tires slip on the wet asphalt, and I hydroplane, almost doing a three-sixty before I finally regain control of the car and direct it toward the street.
He runs after me for a few steps, then seems to think better of it and moves toward his SUV.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
I definitely didn’t think this through.
All he has to do is try to follow me straight to Nana’s and attempt to intercept me along the way to continue the “conversation” he seems so desperate for.
Between the storm raging around me and the tears pooling in my eyes, I can barely make him out anymore in the rearview. My only hope now is to put some distance between him and me—fast.
I pull out onto the street and hammer the gas pedal.
The wind buffets my car, making the whole thing rock slightly as my back end spins out, unable to find purchase on the slippery road. But all those defensive driving lessons Bishop insisted I take with her kick in, and I regain control before I completely lose it.
You can do this, Al.
There isn’t any other option.
I turn at the first intersection before he can even get out of the parking lot, then make four more quick turns through slowly flooding streets, trying to prevent him from following my route.
Another sharp pain bands around my stomach.
“Shit…”
Gritting my teeth, I breathe through it, one hand white-knuckling the wheel, the other pressed to my side.
I need to slow my heart rate, calm myself down, if I want these to stop.
Deep breaths.
Over and over.
My body relaxes slightly, and I release the death grip on the wheel, taking the final turn to bring me back to the main road I need to take to get to Nana’s—that happens to go right past The Hawkeye Club.
It stands only a few hundred yards ahead of me on the left side of the road—sign dark, windows boarded up in preparation for this bitch of a storm.
Lightning shoots down from the sky and slams into a tree along the side of the street. Half of it falls onto the power lines, dragging them down onto the grass, and the other massive portion topples onto the road right in front of the building where I’ve spent so much time.
I stomp on the brakes, hydroplaning as the massive half of the tree falls toward the road, colliding with the wet asphalt.
And I just keep sliding toward it.
* * *
POPE
Chaos has already infectedthe ER before the worst of the storm has even hit us.
It’s a madhouse.
Beds at capacity.
Waiting room full.
People angry about wait times, demanding to be seen by a doctor immediately.
Though most of the people only have minor injuries sustained trying to ready their homes or attempting to evacuate.
Some broken bones. Contusions. Lacerations that will require stitches. The easy stuff—an appetizer to the entrée of major injuries sure to come.
It’s the same every time one of these things strikes New Orleans, and as the largest hospital and only level-one trauma center in the city, we end up accepting the most cases—and the most-dire ones.
Thankfully, no life-threatening injuries have come through the sliding doors—the only glass not boarded up in preparation for the storm per our emergency plan—but the way the storm is ramping up, we all know what’s coming.
Utter bedlam.
Almost as if on cue, Nora rushes over, out of breath and looking a little frazzled instead of her normal cool, calm, and collected. Strands of blond hair fall around her face, having escaped from the ponytail she wears it in while on duty when it gets like this. “How are you doing, Dr. Clarke?” Her gaze darts to my patient. “All good?”
I finish the last stitch and glance at her. “All good. We should be able to discharge a few people soon and open up some beds.”
She nods, already backing away to touch base with the rest of the staff in the ER. Of all the departments, the ER gets hit the worst in times like this, and Nora oversees her domain with absolute precision. “All right, let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
An incredible doctor and a great boss.
It isn’t a combination many people in her position possess. So many great doctors have no idea how to manage others or play nice, but Nora takes it all in stride, making it look easy. Always checking in on everyone, making sure we’re okay and that we have everything we need because, on a day like this, anything is possible.
“You’re all done, Mr. Knight.” I place the bandage over the wound on his arm. “Try not to fall off any more ladders, okay?”
He chuckles low, examining his injury, and nods, his gray hair falling over his forehead. “I will do my best.”
“We’ll get you discharged soon.” I glance toward the main ER doors near the waiting area, out at the thick black clouds and flashing lightning. “It’s pretty rough out there already. You may be stuck here for a bit even after we discharge you.”
He follows my line of sight, his old eyes crinkling around the corners. “I have lived through worse, kid.”
I smirk at him and squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sure you have, but still, be careful.”
There’s nothing I can do to keep him here once he’s discharged, even if it would be in his best interest. That’s the problem with living here—so many people think they’re invincible because they’re survived other storms in the past, but this city learned the hard way with Katrina that the unthinkable can happen.
Everything is fine.
Until it isn’t.
That thought immediately brings the fear in Allie’s eyes on Sunday flashing through my head, and a familiar unease creeps along my spine. Some would argue it’s merely the charge in the air, the power and electricity of the storm I’m feeling, but deep down, I know it’s something else.
That sixth sense I’ve always had when she needed something.
When she was upset or frightened.
When she needed me.
It’s been years since I’ve let myself acknowledge it. A decade of forcing it down and pretending I don’t feel it so I can justify what I did that pushed her so far out of my reach.
But I can’t fight it today.
Not after that conversation.
Not with this storm raging.
I head to the nurses’ station to get Mr. Knight discharged and pull out my cell, scrolling back through the messages in the Hawke family group chat I typically avoid like the plague, to the ones that started this morning.
Mostly everyone confirming they were on their way to Nana’s or had arrived.
Allie:
No. I’m good. Leaving now.
Sent almost two hours ago.
A little of the tension in my shoulders releases, and I keep moving through the newer messages. That momentary relief disappears in a millisecond as a new one comes through.
Dad:
Pope, have you heard from Allie?
She should have arrived at Nana’s by now.
Even with the storm already causing issues, the worst of it hasn’t hit, and the news reports said flooding is minimal. The roads should have been fine…wet but passable when she left.
Nora approaches with her phone in hand. “Are you seeing this?”
I nod. “You haven’t heard anything from her, have you?”
She shakes her head, “No. You?”
“Of course not. I’m the last person she’d call if there were a problem. I’m calling my dad.” I connect the call and put it on speakerphone so Nora can hear it, too. “I need to figure out what’s going on.”
He answers on the second ring, his deep voice wavering slightly through the line. “We can’t find Allie.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I rub at my temple, willing myself to keep my cool and assess the situation the way I would any medical crisis that comes through those ER doors. “I saw the message.”
“Everyone is here except her—”
But it isn’t possible to be rational when it comes to Allie.
I slam my fist on the counter, making Nora flinch slightly. “Why the hell didn’t one of you go pick her up?”
“Pope…” The reproach in the way he says my name makes me stiffen, bringing me back to being a small child when all he had to do was utter that one syllable to stop me in my tracks. “This isn’t the time, son.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t understand why she was by herself.”
Dad releases a sigh filled with his shared worry and regret. “She was with Angelina and Jude last night helping them, but she wanted to sleep in her own bed. I can’t say I blame her for that. Probably most comfortable for her right now. Ang was going to pick her up this morning, but an alarm went off at The Grind, so they had to go check it. Allie said she would drive herself while they dealt with it, and no one expected it to get this bad this fast. In hindsight…”
Yeah, no shit.
So many things look so different when they’re in the rearview.
If I had known what would happen to Alessandra, the path she would take in her life and the resentment she would harbor toward me for the entirety of it, I might have made a different choice that night. I might have listened to my heart instead of my head and never hurt her.
I release a heavy breath, trying to tamp down the panic I haven’t ever felt in these hospital walls—even dealing with the worst of traumas—but that is somehow a crushing weight on me now over one small woman. “She was at her place?”
“Yes.”
Opening my eyes, I glance at Nora. “Then, I’m the closest. You guys are all out at Nana’s, and with the storm picking up, the roads are going to deteriorate. It could take you hours to get to her apartment.”
Dad issues a low growl. “Yeah, we all fucking know that, kid. But you and Nora need to stay at the hospital, which means I’m going to take Bishop, Gabe, Atlas, and Coen and go find her.”
Nora presses her lips together, staring at my phone on the counter. “No.” Her eyes dart to meet mine. “Go, Pope. We’re closer. She could be in trouble…”
I scan the ER, which hasn’t calmed any since I first discovered the worrying text. “Are you going to be okay here without me?”
Technically, I’m required to be here, and leaving during a natural disaster like this could be grounds for dismissal from my residency.
Nora huffs. “I don’t care if you’re supposed to be here. We’ll cover for you, and if the administration has a problem with that, they’ll have to answer to me. You go find Allie.”
I grab my phone and take it off speaker, already on the move toward the staff locker rooms. “Dad, do you know what route she normally takes to get to Nana’s?”
“Yeah, I’ve ridden with her a few times. I’ll text it to you. We’re still going to try to get there.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
I end the call and slide my phone back into my pocket, ducking into the locker room to grab my keys. Given the thousands of possible horrific scenarios racing through my head, I don’t bother to change out of my scrubs and into the extra clothes I keep here. I toss my lab coat into a pile and slam it closed.
Thunder shakes the building again, and I rush through the hallways toward the staff parking lot at the back of the hospital, checking the message from Dad for the route Allie typically takes to Nana’s.
I push the door open, and the gale-force winds catch it, wrenching it from my hand and slamming it back against the brick wall. Rain pummels me, coming in almost horizontally, and I raise my arm to block it as I grab the door and fight against the gusts to get it closed.
As soon as it clicks back into place, I refocus on getting through this squall to my car.
Each step feels like fighting Mother Nature herself. Shielding my eyes from the pelting drops, I navigate through an inch of accumulating water on the pavement to my car, beeping it unlocked so I can slide in and start it up immediately.
It roars to life, the seat under me rumbling and giving me a surge of confidence that I can find her.
She can’t have gone far.
Not three weeks short of delivering that baby.
Not in this storm.
Dad and the others will check the stretch from the hospital to Nana’s, which leaves me to cover the portion to her place. If she’s still there, I’ll get to her. And if she had car trouble or got stuck in flooding, she knows to stay where it’s safe and to call for help. She’ll be along the route Dad texted me.
Theoretically…
I peel out of the parking lot on wet asphalt and head that way, my heart in my throat, regret sitting heavily on my shoulders.
This shouldn’t have happened.
Someone should have been with her.
I should have been.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I slam my hand against my steering wheel. “Where are you, Al?”
The roads are mostly deserted, as most of this zone has evacuated already, but the few out creep by the flooding intersections. Rain comes down so hard that I can barely see a few feet in front of me. I brake and pull out my phone to check for any text updates from anyone.
No service.
Shit.
Lightning splits the sky, and thunder booms so close that it shakes my car, a warning of how imminent the worst of the storm is. Wind powers through the trees, threatening to topple them right onto the road in front of me. I weave around debris blocking the lane, squinting through the windshield, straining to see what’s in front of me.
I need to find her—quickly.
If I didn’t know this road so well, I wouldn’t even know The Hawkeye Club stands a handful of yards ahead. I move slowly through the partially flooded street, scanning for any sign of her or her vehicle.
She had to come this way—no way she would have risked going any other route in this weather.
Come on, Al. Where are you?
Something comes into view ahead.
An obstruction on the road blocking my path.
I inch closer, unable to make it out through the deluge, until I’m almost on it—a massive tree blocking all lanes of traffic.
Shit.
I slam on the brakes, the car sliding and coming to a stop before colliding with what appears to be a shattered oak. Leaning forward, struggling to see past the windshield wipers that are doing their best to deal with the water—and failing miserably—I can just barely make out something red on the other side of it…
Fucking hell.
Allie’s car.