Chapter 26
FAYE
The drive back from Osage Beach is silent.
Not uncomfortable, just… heavy. Ryder taps his thumb on the steering wheel, jaw tense like it’s been for the past hour since the tornado alert blinked on our phones.
While we were sheltered inside the restaurant, the building creaked, and the wind screamed outside.
We heard crashes—metal on metal, distant but violent.
The storm raged for thirty, maybe forty minutes before the gale lost its voice and the world went still again.
The restaurant came through untouched, with just debris scattered across the patio and its sign maimed.
The neon lobster that was glowing when we arrived swung, darkened, from one bolt when we left.
We must’ve been far enough from the funnel of the tornado for it not to do any actual damage in the area.
I hope the same is true for Blue Crescent Harbor.
I want to talk to Ryder, but I don’t think that’s what he needs now.
He needs to see Rhys, know that his son is okay, even if Mae already confirmed by phone that they’re fine.
Ryder wouldn’t appreciate me telling him that all is well.
I have no idea what it must feel like to know your son is in danger and not be able to get to him.
So I keep quiet.
The sky outside is lighter than when we drove in.
The dark gray has given way to a strange yellow hue.
Everything is so calm after the storm. The street is littered with fallen tree branches.
Patches of road are flooded, water pooling in low spots and streaming toward the drains.
A dumpster has been flipped on its side, but everywhere we pass, barns and other buildings are still standing.
As we turn onto the county road that leads to Hollow Creek, the scenario is the same: the fences are torn in places, lots of branches, but overall, everything seems okay.
Then the farmhouse comes into view. Warm lights glow in the windows. The porch is intact. The barn behind it looks untouched.
Ryder exhales loudly as if he’s been holding his breath since we left the restaurant.
He kills the engine and turns to me. “I hate that I can’t invite you in, but we’re not telling Rhys we’re dating, and I have no way to explain why you’re with me.”
“I understand,” I blurt. “Go hug your son. Also for me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “This is a terrible first date.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Dinner and a natural disaster? You’re setting an impossible standard for second dates.”
He laughs, strained. But at least I got a smile out of him. “I’ll send Rebecca out to give you a lift home if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t drive you first, but I have to see Rhys.”
“Ryder.” I reach over and squeeze his hand. “I get it. Don’t worry about me. Getting home ten minutes later doesn’t change anything for me. Go to your son.”
We hug across the seats before he gives me a quick peck on the lips, his thumb lingering on my cheek for a moment.
“Thank you for understanding,” he says.
Then he’s out of the truck and jogging toward the house.
I watch him disappear inside, then settle back to wait.
It’s only a few minutes before Rebecca steps out, her younger brother trailing close behind, both of them scanning the sky like they still don’t trust the storm to be over.
She comes straight to the truck and pulls the door open.
We don’t bother with words. She leans in, I meet her halfway, and we fold into a tight hug.
Sharing an unspoken gratitude that everyone is safe and everything still standing.
“How is everyone?” I ask.
“We’re fine. No damage here,” she says. “But the storm hit harder where the cottages are. Remy is coming to see if any immediate repairs are needed.”
“Heya.” The younger brother flashes me a smile and a single wave. “I’m grabbing the tarp and toolbox, no way to know what we’ll find when we get there.”
My stomach drops. “Was anyone staying at the cottages?” They don’t have basements. I wouldn’t have known where to hide if I’d been home when the tornado hit.
“No. It’s Sunday, the weekenders and seasonal renters had left already with the bad weather.” Rebecca gives me a reassuring smile. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Remy tosses the tools into the bed of the truck, then climbs behind the wheel without another word.
Rebecca slides into the back, and I take the passenger seat, my pulse ticking faster as we pull onto the main road.
The number of tree branches on the ground increases the closer we get to the cottage.
Up here, a few smaller trees have been uprooted.
More debris and bramble clutter the roads.
Lawn furniture and trash bins are scattered down the street.
Remy has to slalom around it. “Things don’t look good,” he mutters.
When we get to my cottage, it becomes clear this is where the tornado hit.
Parts of the roof are jagged and uneven, shingles torn away in patches. Strips of siding hang loose or are missing, exposing raw sheathing beneath. Two windows are blown out, glass scattered across the floor and lawn. The curtains flop in ribbons between frames bent inward from the force.
We get out of the car and go check the interior.
Inside, the damage isn’t as bad as it seemed from the outside. Papers and lightweight furnishings are scattered everywhere, but most things are intact except for a minor ceiling leak in the kitchen.
Remy tries a light switch, but the power is out.
I check my belongings. My laptop is fine. My clothes, my books. “It’s not awful,” I say.
Rebecca and Remy look grimly at each other.
“Sure,” Rebecca says, but her voice is hollow.
I sense she’s holding back something.
“You can’t sleep here tonight,” Remy says, already moving toward the door.
Rebecca pulls out her phone and calls Ryder. I hear his voice on the other end, muffled but concerned.
“Yeah, there’s damage,” Rebecca says. “Roof, windows, siding. The power’s out… No, she’s good, everything’s fine… Okay, I’ll tell her… Will do.”
She lowers the phone. “Ryder says you’re welcome to stay at the farmhouse.”
“Yeah, thank you…” I blush. “Won’t it be a problem with Rhys sleeping over?”
“Not now that you have a reason.” Rebecca smirks and squeezes me into a side-hug. “Happy you’re joining the family, by the way. I couldn’t have hoped for anyone better for Ryder.”
My cheeks heat up. “I—well, it’s early days…”
Rebecca nods. “Got it, I’ll wait a few months before I pick my maid of honor dress.” She gives me a light spank. “Go pack an overnight bag; I’ll go take pictures of the damage for Ryder.”
Rebecca is already lifting her phone, snapping photos of the torn roof and broken windows. The bleak expression back on her face.
“I’ll cover the hole in the roof with the tarp,” Remy says.
I nod and head to the bedroom to pack, unable to shake the feeling that Remy and Rebecca are trying not to panic in front of me.
That unease settles deeper when, twenty minutes later, we’re sandwiched again in Ryder’s truck, the atmosphere wound tighter than on the return from Osage Beach.
I glance in the rearview mirror at Rebecca in the back seat. Her face is illuminated by her phone screen as she scrolls through the photos she took. Even in the dim light, the tension in her jaw is clear, worry creasing her forehead.
“The insurance will handle everything, right?” I ask.
Remy’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t answer.
Rebecca looks up from her phone. “Of course.” She sounds unconvinced. “We’ll figure it out.”
The pit of dread in my stomach deepens. This isn’t the reaction of people who feel confident about their coverage.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, looking between them.
Remy sighs. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Rebecca leans forward between the seats. “We’re just… stretched thin right now. The renovations cost more than we budgeted. The mortgage payments are tight. If we can’t rent out the cottages for the rest of the summer while we make repairs…” She trails off, but I can fill in the blanks.
“But the bank will give you an extension until the insurance kicks in, no?” I press.
“Either way, we’ll manage,” Remy says in a tone that suggests the discussion is over. “We always do.”
But the worry doesn’t leave Rebecca’s face as she sits back.
I stare out the window at the passing trees, their branches bent and broken from the storm. The Evanses are good people. They work hard for everything they have. And now their livelihood might be in jeopardy because of tornado damage they can’t afford. They don’t deserve this.
The unfairness of it makes my stomach turn over like the inside of a rock tumbler.
When we pull up to the farmhouse, it looks even more like shelter.
A solid place to be safe, untouched by the chaos that tore through the cottages less than a mile away.
I know it’s an illusion. That a tornado’s path is random.
But seeing my home half destroyed has left me shaken.
If nothing else, I’m glad only material things got damaged. Those can be rebuilt.
Remy parks and kills the engine. “I’ll get your bag.”
“I can carry it,” I protest, but Remy is already out and opening my door.
I let him have the bag and get out.
Rebecca links her arm through mine as we walk up to the porch. “Mom has the guest room ready for you. She loves having people stay over.”
The front door flies open before we reach it. Rhys barrels out, a blur of pajamas and bed-head, and launches himself at me.
“Miss Rose!”
I catch him, scooping him up and holding him tight. I hadn’t realized how much I also needed to hug him. Rhys wraps his arms and legs around me, clinging like a koala.
I have to breathe in hard not to cry.