5. Ozzy
Ozzy
I flinch as another mournful howl rips through the air, closer now—raw and desperate. My body’s already in motion before I realize I’m standing. Jackson grabs the paper sheet he’d been holding over his junk and tries to rise from the couch, but he’s stiff and favoring the injured leg.
“I’ll get them,” I repeat firmly, already turning toward the door.
“The fuck you will!” he snaps, swatting at my hand as I try to push past him. “Rocky and Bear are my boys, and I ain’t having you?—”
“Shut up!” I snap back. “You are not my owner. You’re not my husband, my boyfriend, or my boss. You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do.” His mouth tightens, and the storm in his eyes turns personal.
“They need help,” I continue, louder now, over the roar of wind outside.
“And you—” I point to his leg, where blood still pools despite the bandaging.
“You’re half-naked with a damn hole in your thigh and no business trying to be a hero right now.
” I yank open the door, the wind almost ripping the handle from my grip.
Rain barrels in sideways, stinging like needles, and I can barely see more than ten feet in front of me.
Thunder bellows overhead, shaking the ground beneath my feet.
Somewhere behind me, Jackson is yelling—probably at me, probably telling me not to go or for his mom or brothers to help. I ignore it as I hear one of the dogs crying out again and I take off running.
The rain is cold and painful as it slams into my body. “Fuck!” I cry out as what feels like hail hits my shoulder, but I don’t stop running.
“Rocky!” I scream out into the darkness. “Bear!” I stumble through puddles and mud, the storm howling in my ears like a furious god. The sky flashes, revealing the field for just a breath of a second—just enough to see movement. A familiar reddish-brown blur paces frantically up the hill.
“Bear!” I call again, already sprinting toward him.
He sees me, tail wagging but frantic, soaked and panicked. I reach him and drop to my knees in the mud, clutching his wet fur.
“Where’s your brother?” I ask him, my voice trembling. “Damn it!” I scream as a chunk of hail hits me in the forehead. The rain mixes with blood, keeping it out of my eyes. “Where is your brother?” I scan the area before discovering why there was so much crying.
“Fuck, Rocky!” I run to the frantic dog who’s caught in a tangled mess of chicken wire, his paw twisted and held at a painful angle. Lightning cracks again, and he lets out a gut-wrenching cry.
“Fuck. Fuck! ” I’m slipping and sliding through muck, cutting through thorny weeds until I reach him.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, kneeling beside him. “Shhh, baby, I’ve got you.” My hands are shaking as I reach for the wire, fingers slick and numb. I pull —but it’s too tight, the wetness making it impossible to grip. My fingers slip. The edge bites into my palm like a razor.
“Ah! Fuck!” I cry out, cradling my bleeding hand against my chest. Pain radiates up my arm, hot and pulsing. Bear lets out a sharp bark behind me, still pacing in circles as he tries very hard to remain loyal to me and his brother while obviously wanting to run to the house.
“ I know! I know, I know…” I whisper, breath hitching. Rocky’s trembling, but his eyes are locked on mine, his trust somehow still intact. His paw is completely tangled, and the hail is still pelting us, breaking apart my skin.
I can’t leave him. I won't . I’m not leaving him trapped, alone, and hurt. I rip my shirt off, leaving me in a clinging black cami, and wrap the damp fabric around my palm. I plant my ass on the ground and place my feet on the post.
“Okay… okay…” I grit through my teeth, adrenaline burning through me as I dig in. “Oz, you’ve felt far worse pain than this.” I brace myself while wrapping my hand around the wire and pulling with everything I have.
I scream as I wrench the wire loose, the post creaking but finally snapping, the fence giving way just enough.
Rocky’s paw is still entangled, but I’ve got the main length free.
I slide my arms under his soaked body and lift.
He’s heavier than I expected. But I don’t stop as I let out a whistle for Bear to follow.
Lightning flashes again—and Jackson comes running.
He’s shirtless, wet jeans clinging to his legs, his muscles flexing as he races toward me.
“Fuck, Ozzy! Rocky!” He reaches for the dog.
“Ah—Don’t!” I bite out in pain. “My hand is caught in the wire with his paw.” He nods and takes the lead, ushering Bear into the house while clearing a path for me through the wind and flying debris.
We burst through the door, all three of us soaked to the bone. Jackson doesn’t stop—he bellows toward the stairs.
“Mama! Get the cutters!”
It takes only a moment for Dorothy to come in on her cane. “Oh, my word!”
“Rocky first!” I gasp, staggering as my legs nearly buckle. “I can’t see—my hand—” A tree crashes in front of the porch with a terrifying boom. The floor trembles.
Dorothy’s whispering something about the cellar and the boys. I can’t make sense of it—I can barely breathe. Jackson’s already got the cutters and snips Rocky free with quick, practiced movements. Dorothy wraps his paw as I collapse onto the floor, cradling my bleeding hand.
“I told you not to move,” I murmur, my voice shaking as Jackson starts clipping and removing the wire from around my hand.
“You’re not my owner,” Jackson fires back, lips tight. But there’s something else in his eyes. It’s not anger…no, I know that look all too well.
It’s fear.
He unravels the ruined shirt around my hand, and I suck in a breath as the fabric peels away from the raw skin underneath.
“Shit, sorry, Tink,” he murmurs, suddenly gentle.
Dorothy reaches for me, her eyes glassy. “Oh, sweetheart... Let me clean you up.”
“I’m alright,” I lie, offering her a weak smile. “But maybe you could give Morris his medicine? It’s all laid out. Tell him I will be up as soon as I stitch up Jackson.”
Dorothy hesitates, then nods and limps away. Jackson reaches for my med bag, but I snatch it out of his hand.
“I’ll take care of myself.”
He raises a brow. “Catch a bug up that perky ass there, Tink?”
I flip him off with my good hand. “No one touches me.”
He holds up his hands like I just kicked a kitten. “Alright, alright.”
I bandage my hand quickly with Steri-Strips. The cut is clean and not too deep, so I choose not to give myself stitches.
“Alright, pants off,” I instruct without looking at him. “You’re still getting those stitches.”
He groans but limps back to the couch and collapses into place. Once I clean the wound, I thread the needle with my injured hand—slower than usual, but I’ve done worse in worse conditions.
Jackson takes the suturing well, barely a hiss or grunt, which is somewhat disappointing. I kind of wanted a reason to tease him.
“Thank you,” he grunts out as I begin the process of knotting the suture.
“You haven’t seen the line,” I quip, not looking up. “Don’t thank me yet.”
“No, no, I meant…” He clears his throat. “Thank you for everything. Leroy, the boys, and well, this.”
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, uncomfortable with his kindness. “You’re all done,” I say, cleaning him and the trash up. “I need to go check on–”
The power goes out, and I curse, stuffing the garbage into the bin before running up the stairs and into Morris’ room.
I look over the machines, seeing that the battery backups are fully charged and working. “Dorothy, you have a generator, right?”
“Ain’t using that on me,” Morris rasps. “And you don’t use them during storms unless you want to get barbecued.”
“Let me go change, and I’ll be right back,” I say as Morris scoffs.
“I ain’t no child. You don’t need to hold my hand during a storm. I’m just gonna go to sleep.”
“Grouch,” I mutter, teasing him before walking to my room and changing again.
I pull the black cropped tank top over my head, the ribbed fabric clinging to my still-damp skin.
My grey sweats are soft and worn in just the right places, hanging low on my hips.
A little too low for my liking, so I grab my black zip-up hoodie and tug it over my arms, zipping it halfway to shield the chill I can’t seem to shake and to hide the parts of my body that may lead to questions I’m not wanting to answer.
Everything feels a little too quiet now; the kind of silence that hums in your bones before something breaks. I try not to look, but my eyes betray me.
That window.
That goddamn floor-to-ceiling window across the sitting room, staring out into the open dark like an eye I can’t close.
It’s become a silent obsession, a taunt.
I keep it covered and ignore it as much as I’m able, but when I pass it, my heart always races; like I’m waiting for something to be on the other side.
I glance at it, peeking through the sheets. A bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, electrifying the trees beyond the field, bathing them in white light for just a second.
But in that second, something moves. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the wind. Maybe it’s nothing.
But I swear ? —
“No…” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat.
I press my shaking palms flat against the glass, my eyes darting across the tree line. My breath fogs up the pane, my heart thundering in my ears.
Another flash.
Nothing.
There’s nothing there. Just shadows and broken silhouettes of trees in the storm. I exhale shakily, pressing my forehead against the cold glass.
“You’re just seeing things. You’re just?—”
Knock knock.
I jump so hard I nearly scream. “Jesus Christ,” I breathe as the door opens without warning.
“Hey Ozzy, I—” Jensen’s voice cuts off, and when I turn around, he’s staring at the sheet I tacked up to split the bedroom from the sitting room.
He frowns. “What the fuck?” He gestures to the sheet as he walks further in, stopping when he sees the window. “Ozzy? Seriously…what the fuck?”
I tense, heart jumping into my throat. “Please,” I whisper quickly. “Don’t say anything.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He steps in slowly, shutting the door behind him. His eyes scan me like he’s searching for something. There’s no judgment in his face—just quiet understanding that cuts a little too deep.
“We need to get to the storm cellar,” he says gently. “Tornado warning just went out.” The words hang between us, ominous and heavy.
“W-what about Morris?” I ask, already knowing what the answer’s going to be.
He hesitates for a beat. “We offered. Carter and I tried. But he refused. Told us to take Mama and follow Jackson.”
I stop in the hallway, turning my gaze to Morris’ closed door. Lightning crashes outside again, rattling the window. “Go to the cellar,” I say, my voice steady, firm.
“Ozzy, no?—”
I slip inside Morris’ room and slam the door shut behind me, locking it before Jensen can get his hand on the knob. He pounds on it, yelling my name, but I ignore him. My heart’s pounding, but it’s not fear that’s driving me. It’s something else. I refuse to let this old man die alone.
“Oh, hell no,” Morris groans from the bed, blinking at me like I just woke him up from the dead.
I grin at him, both hands raised like I just pulled a rabbit from a hat.
“You thought you were getting out that easy?” I tease, padding across the room. “Not a chance, old man. If you’re headed to the Land of Oz, I’m hitching a ride. You wanna get high in the poppy fields with me?”
I open his sock drawer without asking and yank out a pair, tugging them onto my freezing feet.
“Stealing a dying man’s socks?” he grunts, watching me like I’m out of my mind.
I plop into the chair beside his bed and lean back, stretching my legs out. “You ain’t dying today. Give it up.”
He lets out a gravelly laugh—short, but real. “Rather the storm take me than this shit,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to his machines, the wires, the monitor softly beeping.
I glance at the window. Through the thick curtain of rain, the field is barely visible under the gunmetal sky streaked with black. The wind howls against the side of the house like it’s alive.
“I get that,” I say after a beat. “Wanting to go on your own terms.”
He looks at me sharply, eyes narrowing, like he didn’t expect that from me.
“You should go,” he insists, voice low. “Downstairs. You need to have a healthier fear of God’s power, girlie.”
I glance down at my sock-covered feet on the edge of his mattress, then back up at him with a half-hearted shrug. “I’ve seen the power of man,” I reply softly. “Trust me… God’s got nothing on that.”
The silence that follows is thick, full of things neither of us are willing to say.
“You, my dear, are deeply damaged.”
I wrinkle my nose, grinning despite the ache behind my ribs. “I like to think of it as ‘extra seasoning.’”
He snorts. But we both look up at the same moment when something massive slams against the roof. It sounds like the whole top of the house groans. I feel the tremor all the way through the floor.
“It’s about to be too late to get off this ride,” he mutters.
I glance at him, unblinking. “Then I guess I’m in it ‘til the end with you.”
He squints at me. “Why? You got a death wish or something?”
I drop my eyes to my hand—bandaged, still stinging from the wire. I think about Rocky, about the way Bear howled. I think about Jackson yelling at me not to run. I think about the way my hands shook when I got back, not from fear, but from the high of doing something that mattered. Something good.
I look back up. “Or something.”
He nods slowly, like he gets it. Like he doesn’t need an explanation.
Outside, the wind screams. Inside, we sit in silence. Two damaged souls, waiting to see if the house holds.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel alone in the storm.