Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
SAVVY
This is not how this was supposed to go.
I’d wanted to confront him at his office, but when I got there, his bitchy public relations lady told me he was working from home.
So my contingency plan was to drive up here, tell him to unblock me because we do have to coexist now that our best friends are married, and get home before the storm got too bad.
Freaking Mother Nature hates me.
With a sigh, I lift myself off the floor, strip out of my shirt and panties, then use Grey’s body wash to scrub my skin free of the mud that’s caked itself beneath my fingernails, up the crack of my ass, and even in my flipping ears.
It’s like a mudslide rolled down the side of a mountain and deposited it all in front of his house.
Defeated doesn’t begin to cover what I was feeling when he hefted me from my muddy grave. It had been raining so hard I couldn’t see his house, so I had no idea how far I’d gone or how far I had left. The trees lining his ridiculously long driveway gave nothing away either.
I had only planned to rest in the rain and mud for a few moments, but then emotions crawled up from hell and dragged me under in a way I never allow.
Grey and I have never been friends, but I’m grieving the loss of him like a death.
Which doesn’t make any sense. How can it hurt so much to be cut off by the one person who feels more like an enemy than my actual enemies?
The thunder overhead is so loud it shakes the walls of the house, and then the lights flicker, so I hurry through washing. It doesn’t matter if I’m still dirty. It’ll only get worse when Grey tosses me out of here anyway.
I’m under no illusion that he’ll offer me safe harbor during the storm.
“Get out of the shower,” he growls from the doorway. I don’t bother covering myself up. It wasn’t that long ago that he had his mouth on every inch of my body, so it’s not anything he hasn’t seen, and truthfully, the task of getting home is daunting.
My life has spiraled out of control, and I fear that this storm is only the prequel of what’s to come for me. I’m already exhausted by life at thirty years old. That doesn’t bode well for my future.
“A tree behind the house was struck by lightning.” He’s staring at me in the mirror, and somehow, the redirection makes his heated glare sting even more.
“I have no idea if it’s true about not showering in a lightning storm, but I’d rather you didn’t die in my home. You haunt my life enough as it is.”
He spins and strides back out the open door.
But I do shut off the water because he’s right.
Typically, I would toss him the middle finger for bossing me around, but he’s also right in his feelings. I did this to whatever fledgling situationship we once had.
It’s my own fault he hates me, so it’s up to me to help us move past this before my life completely and irrevocably implodes.
A large white towel flies into the room, and I frown.
“I was doing laundry,” he barks. “Try not to soak my floors.”
Okay, he’s moved from asshole to dickhead. At least it’s movement, but it’s anyone’s guess if it’s progress or not.
He has the softest towels I’ve ever used, and I bring it to my face with a sigh.
It smells like him, and my stomach clenches with nerves.
I’m not this girl, and the fact that he can make me want to be is even more reason to justify what I’ve done—it was the right thing for the both of us.
He’ll never see it that way, but I know it’s true.
The towel soaks up the excess water from my hair, then I run it all over my skin before dropping it in his hamper and slipping into the clothes he left me. Of course even his lounge wear is designer—this outfit he so casually tossed my way probably cost more than my car payment.
Thank you, childhood insecurities—some remnants of being the poor girl never fade, like how I still notice every piece of clothing I could never afford.
For someone who hates me, he sure goes out of his way to care for me, even now.
When I exit his bathroom, he’s a tight wall of muscle standing in the hallway.
“What do you want?” His left hand balls into a fist while he weaves his lucky coin through the fingers of his right hand.
“First.” My hand falls to my hip, while the pointer on my free hand wags in his direction. He makes me so damn angry. “The weather app said I had four hours before this—”
Lightning lights up the sky, casting shadows through the windows and doors. But it’s the thunder that rivals a rickety old wooden roller coaster that causes me to gasp.
Freaking hell.
Before I can open my mouth, a deafening crash has me clutching the walls.
Greyson appears to fly down the stairs, his feet touching down on every third step, propelling him faster, until he lands at the bottom with a thud.
I follow at a more reasonable pace, but I know we’re in trouble when I see him running from window to window, cursing loudly and muttering what sounds like threats under his breath.
I’m still two steps from the bottom when he rushes me, takes me by the hand, and drags me deeper into his home.
He swings open a closet door under a staircase. “In,” he grunts.
“What?”
He doesn’t wait another moment, choosing instead to two-hand shove me inside, and then I’m surrounded in darkness when the door slams shut.
Sensory deprivation is my Achilles heel. My breathing turns ragged as I feel along the walls for a light switch.
Come on, Grey. Don’t do this to me. Not this.
Stars flash in the darkness of my mind, and I’m forced to crouch low, drop my head between my legs, and attempt to breathe.
He isn’t holding me captive in a confined space. He’s not Riley. Find the door, Savannah. Find the—
The door opens, then closes just as quickly. The flash of light is enough to see Grey for a moment before we’re plunged into darkness again.
“We have to get under the stairs.”
A small lantern flickers to life.
“For fuck’s sake, Sav. What the hell?”
Greyson’s large fingers wrap around my biceps, lifting me to stand, and shaking me a little when my eyes take too long to focus.
The anger creasing his forehead softens the longer he stares at me.
“What caused it?”
He’s the only person to witness a flashback since Ace.
“Th…” My voice wobbles, and I suck in air through my teeth. I’m not weak. “The dark. Sensory deprivation.”
“Another secret you’re unwilling to share?”
I nod, just once, and the hard lines of betrayal reappear on his handsome face. He releases me, and my traitorous body follows as though it misses his comfort.
“I don’t owe you anything, Grey.”
A sheet of ice falls over him, an impenetrable wall, and he takes a step away from me, hinges at the waist, and opens a door that only reaches his shoulders.
“No, you just stole all my secrets while hoarding your own. In.”
“I’m not going in there.” Tight spaces. Sweat. Fear. The sounds of crunching metal, suffocation and pain.
“The hurricane took out half my backyard. We really don’t have time for this shit, Sav. Get in the fucking shelter. It’s the only safe space right now.”
A loud crack outside makes me jump, and I move on autopilot, through the mini door that opens to a tiny room under the stairs.
Small fabric chairs embroidered with the names Finn and Rory line one wall. On the floor opposite are crates marked food, water, and flashlights.
Greyson steps in behind me so his front is pressed against my back, and I scoot forward, then fall into a navy-blue chair made completely of fabric and foam.
The click of the door echoes in the small space, and I fight to control my fear.
Grey moves about the room, pulling blankets from one bin and bottles of water from another. I don’t say a word as I track his efficient movements.
Before long, he drops into the green chair next to me, his large frame taking up his space and mine.
“When Moose built this house, he made sure this was up to code for natural disasters.”
Moose is a seventy-year-old giant. He’s friends with Madi’s grandfather and a staple here in Happiness. He must have chosen these small chairs for his grandchildren.
“I still can’t believe he sold you this place.” Idle chatter is my go-to when stressed.
Moose built this place for his wife, but she passed away before it was finished. He never even moved in. He just visited the property whenever his kids were in town.
“It came at a cost,” Grey says with none of the anger he directs at me. “He’s puttering around in the workshop every morning at seven.”
“I heard he brings you breakfast.”
His large shoulder lifts and rises against mine. “I hate breakfast.”
The noise of the storm is suddenly so loud, I can’t focus. The house groans as though it’s being trampled by a giant, and the airhorn noise rages on.
“Are we going to be okay in here?”
“Yes.”
“What did you see outside?”
Hatred burns brightly in his eyes when they fall on me. “A fucking hurricane.”
No. I’ve lived in Happiness since college. We’ve never had an actual hurricane, especially not in July.
A loud bang shakes the interior walls, and a whimper escapes me. Another crash and howling winds unlike anything I’ve ever heard before set off the panic I’ve worked ten years to manage.
All my carefully crafted facades, the walls I’ve created, the thick skin I sewed for myself, they all crack and peel away, leaving me raw and exposed.
“Listen, I’m sorry, okay?” I babble. “I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
Glass shatters somewhere, and I shriek.
Oh my God, we’re going to die.
“I know you think I lied about everything, but I didn’t.”