Chapter 9
NINE
HALLIE
I’ve been scared of the wind since I was seven years old.
Back then, Amanda and I lived by ourselves in a small house in town. That night, there was a lot of rain coming down, and the wind was strong. I don’t remember much before the tree fell, except calling out for my mother and not getting a reply.
When the tree landed on our house, the loud bang reverberated as the branches smashed through my bedroom window. It sounded like the world was ending, the earth being ripped apart at the seams.
I do remember being terrified. The wind grew louder, howling as it whipped through my bedroom.
Glass was scattered all over the floor and caught in my clothing.
My hair. My fingers came back bloody when I touched my cheek.
And still, Amanda didn’t come. Not until much later, when she returned from a friend’s house.
Pops was really angry that night. After that, he brought me to live with him. Amanda stuck around town for another month and then she took off. That wasn’t the first time she’d run. It certainly wasn’t the last.
Tonight, the rain comes down in sheets, battering against the roof of the guesthouse. I can handle the rain, but when the lightning and thunder start, that’s when I begin to worry. Soon, all I can think about is that window. That tree.
There are a few towering maples in Gabe’s backyard. They look pretty solid, but you never know. I certainly never thought that tree at our old house would come crashing down.
Sitting in the middle of my bed, I tuck my knees up to my chest. The storm has been raging for a while now, with no end in sight.
I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be getting much sleep tonight, if any, thanks to the howling that’s going on outside.
Outside, where branches twist and bend and snap.
Nothing bad can happen if I stay up to watch.
I can’t be disappointed if I don’t expect anyone to come save me.
A bang on the door makes me shriek. I cover my ears and slam my eyes closed, curling further into a ball. The knocking sounds again.
“Foster!” I hear over the shrieking of the wind. “Let me in!”
I scramble off my bed and lunge for the door. Gabe, soaked through with rain, stands on my doorstep. I only allow myself a moment of confusion before I tug him inside and shut out the storm once again.
“What are you doing?” I croak. “You’re wet.”
The Gabe I used to know would have made a cheeky joke in response, but this Gabe is only looking at me in concern. I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly very aware that I’m not wearing a bra under my t-shirt.
“You don’t like storms,” he says simply. As if that answers all my questions.
“No, I don’t. That doesn’t explain why you came out here.”
“You’re coming inside. I wasn’t crazy about the idea of you out here alone in the first place, but especially not when it’s storming and I know you’re scared.”
My heart trips over itself at the look of genuine care on his face. But he has always looked out for me—it’s what he does. I need to stop myself from reading more into it.
We’re friends. Friends care about each other .
My arms tighten across my chest. “I’m a grown woman, Gabriel.”
“Believe me, Foster, I’m well aware.” If I didn’t know any better, I would say that his eyes trace my body then, lingering on the dips and curves. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be worried about you.”
Another protest is on my lips when thunder crashes above our heads. I cry out as I instinctively clutch Gabe’s shirt, pressing my body against his. He wraps an arm around me, a hand trailing up and down my back in a soothing motion.
“Will you come inside with me now?”
I nod as my cheeks flame in embarrassment.
After I find an umbrella in one of the boxes I still haven’t unpacked, we make a run for the main house.
Gabe holds the umbrella above us, dragging me along behind him by my hand, but it does little to keep us from getting drenched.
Once we’re inside, Gabe sets the umbrella out to dry and then tugs me deeper into the house.
We ascend the stairs and head down the hallway. Gabe opens the door to Abbie’s bedroom and peers inside quickly. She’s fast asleep, despite the noise outside, the pink glow from her nightlight casting the shadows away.
I haven’t been in this part of the house before. I haven’t had reason to come up here. I try to only stick to the spaces that are absolutely necessary, so I haven’t explored beyond the kitchen, downstairs bathroom and laundry room.
Gabe leads me to another room and gestures for me to go inside. I step over the threshold, noting the bedside lamp that illuminates the space, and stop short. But Gabe is already slipping past me.
He pulls open a dresser drawer and rifles through it. When he pulls out a dry shirt and sweatpants, and tosses them toward me, I frown.
“You can change in there,” he says, pointing to the en suite. I stare blankly at him, my brain caught up on the fact that I’m in his bedroom . “Hallie?”
I blink, my brain restarting. Right . My pajamas are soaked. He’s being nice enough to lend me some before setting me up in the guest room down the hall.
In the bathroom, I quickly strip out of my wet clothes and toss them over the edge of the bathtub.
Then I slip the borrowed shirt over my head.
It’s just loose enough to be the perfect amount of comfortable.
I shamelessly bring the collar up to my nose to inhale the familiar scent of Gabe’s detergent.
It’s probably run-of-the-mill, but it reminds me of him.
After I have the sweatpants on, I return to the bedroom. It’s then I notice that Gabe has turned down the other half of his comforter.
“You can have that side.”
“Gabe—”
“Bed,” he says, pointing for emphasis.
“But I can’t. This is your room.” My voice comes out shaky. “I’ll stay in the guest room.”
“Get your ass in my bed, Foster.”
The command in his tone turns my insides to jelly. Coupled with the shakiness of my limbs from the stress of the storm, I have no choice but to comply.
“Jeez,” I mutter as I slide under the covers, instantly wishing I could stay in this bed forever. “You’re really bossy.”
At this, Gabe smirks. “Baby, you haven’t seen bossy yet.”
A retort—a really freaking clever one, too—dies on my tongue when he proceeds to take his shirt off . Not only are there muscles that eighteen-year-old Gabe did not possess, but there are also tattoos. Lots of tattoos, just like I secretly hoped. On the left side of his ribs, I spot Abbie’s name.
“Gabriel!” I hiss.
He quirks a brow when he comes back from hanging the wet shirt in the en suite. “Yes, Hallie?”
“Why are you getting naked?”
“Don’t you know that’s how I sleep?”
“I—” My mouth runs dry. “Wh-what?”
I can feel all the blood draining from my face. But at the same time, the thought makes my insides feel warm.
No. Abort. Shut it down, Hallie Foster .
Gabe laughs at the look on my face. “I’m kidding. Would you prefer if I changed in the bathroom instead?”
Do I want him to? No. Do I need him to? Yes. Definitely yes.
“Please. If you don’t mind.”
Gabe gathers a dry shirt and pajama pants for himself, and then he disappears into the en suite, as promised, while I wither away in embarrassment on his king-sized, cloud-like bed. Now that I sent him away, I just look like a prude who can’t handle a little bare skin.
When he emerges from the bathroom, fully clothed, I pretend to be asleep. You can’t answer questions if you’re asleep, and I know he’s itching to ask me about my freak-out in the guesthouse. I feel the bed dip as he settles beside me. I hold my breath, afraid it will give me away.
“I know you’re still awake.”
Busted .
I roll over on my side to face him. He mirrors my position.
Since I came into the house, it’s been easy to ignore the storm raging outside, but another snap of thunder—louder than all the rest—has my eyes squeezing shut.
Gabe’s palm slides under mine, and then he interlaces our fingers.
He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, and I take that as permission to tighten my grip.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks gently.
I shake my head. Growing up with my mother was complicated. Most people know there’s a story there, but only Clara has been afforded some of the pieces. The last person I want to share all that with is Gabe.
His thumb begins to rub soothing circles across the back of my hand. “What do you usually do when there’s a storm?”
Slowly, I open my eyes. My cheeks flush. “Stay up until it stops or until I’m physically too exhausted to keep my eyes open.”
“Christ, Hallie.” I try to pull my hand out of his, feeling oddly vulnerable, but he refuses to let me go. “Wait. I’m not judging you. I just hate that you’ve had to go through that alone all these years.”
My one shoulder tips up in a shrug. “C’est la vie.”
Gabe is quiet for a moment. The wind never ceases, but neither do the concentric circles he draws on my skin.
“Can we try something?” he eventually asks.
“Like what?”
Gabe tugs gently on my hand, guiding me until I’m half on top of him. My lips part as my breasts brush against the hard planes of his chest. And with that, I’ve lost all my ability to speak.
He pats his chest, just above his heart. “Lay your head here.”
This time, I know better than to argue. Or maybe I’ve just given up pretending that I want to. I rest my head on his chest, my ear turned to his heart. Immediately, I hear the organ’s rhythmic beats. It doesn’t drown the storm out completely, but it gives me something steady to focus on.
“Better?”
I hum. “Better.”
“Good,” he says, wrapping his arm around my back. “You’re safe, Hallie. I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you . The words do something to me, stitching up a hole that has been left in my heart from years of my mother’s neglect. It isn’t Gabe’s hurt to fix, but he does it anyway.
I smile. “I know you do.”
“Goodnight, Foster.”
“Night, Gabriel.”
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I fall asleep easily.