Chapter 28
Fallon
It’s just noise.
It’s only noise.
The words loop in my head as I lie under my blanket, knees pulled to my chest, breath stuttering. My phone glows blue beneath the covers, radar maps swarming with swirls of green and orange.
“They said the storm would pass,” I whisper out loud to make it real.
It’s Sunday night, and Rhys hasn’t been around since Black Friday afternoon, when he hurt Steve, the delivery guy. He was here, then gone to work, then here again in pieces, in glimpses.
The rain started in violent lashes against the windows hours ago. I’m trying to hold it together. But I’m failing.
The building shakes as thunder splits the sky, raw and vicious. I flinch so hard from the next boom that rattles the windowpanes, that I hurl the phone across the bed.
It bounces to the floor and lands face down.
Stupid liars!
It’s just sound waves. The rational part of me whispers.
I studied graphs and charts. “It’s just air compressing. I know this. I know this.”
The other part of me is screaming: We’re all gonna die!
A knock at the door jolts me upright, the sound of a fist on metal much different from the slam of air and electricity against concrete.
“Fallon?” Rhys hollers for me.
I press both hands over my mouth. I don’t want him to see me spiraling like this.
“Fallon, I know you’re in there.” His voice is steady and attempts to be soothing even if he sounds wired. “I’m back from work, and I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” I shout, the words strangled from my throat.
I’m not fine. I’m spiraling.
“Prove it.”
A challenge…
I slide off the bed on trembling legs and stop at the door. “See? I’m okay.”
“I don’t see anything. Open the door, love.”
Lowering to the floor, I sit with my back against it. Cold steel presses between my shoulder blades, grounding me to that sensation and not the fear coursing through me.
“I’m fine,” I say again softer.
After a pause, Basil’s voice floats from the kitchen window. ‘Oh, let him in already. You’re NOT fine.’
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Traitor.”
A shriek of wind claws at the building like it wants to turn it upside down and shake us all out like grains of salt. The rain slams my windows like angry fists.
“I checked the weather,” I mumble. “The air pressure is high. The humidity is down, temps are dropping. It’s a classic storm buildup, sure. But look at the wind vectors. They shifted thirty degrees east. Which means—”
“Fallon…”
“The nor’easter is not hitting us,” I yell. “It’s going to break off over the ocean.”
“Those bastards lie, love.” He jiggles the doorknob.
Something crashes in the distance. The metallic sound of a fence has me on my feet. The Chrysanthemums for the market and the late fall herbs for winter are freezing.
After shoving my feet into my gardening boots, I yank open the door.
Rhys is standing there, rain glittering in his hair, eyes narrowing when he sees my face. “Finally.”
“Out of my way.” I shoulder past him and rush to the stairwell.
“Fallon! What the hell?” he calls out, jogging to keep up.
“The garden!” My voice cracks. “The tarp I put down this afternoon. I heard a crash. Nothing will hold in this wind!”
“Fallon! Stop—” He lunges for my arm, but I jerk back, the contact a shock. He freezes, hands lifted, giving me space.
“Do not touch me!” I turn and pound down the stairs.
Rhys is right behind me, long strides eating the distance to catch up. “Fallon, talk to me. What are you doing?”
“This traitorous wind will destroy my hard work,” I pant. “I can’t lose them!”
“Stay here. Let me fix it for you.”
“No. You don’t know how!” I scream, and his face falls.
I don’t have time to worry about an assassin with a bruised ego. I push out the front door, and the storm slams into me the moment I step out into the cold.
Outside, the air tastes like electricity while a distant boom rumbles in the midnight sky. Needles of rain sting my skin, plastering my hair instantly to my face. The wind practically lifts my body as I sprint around the corner toward the locked gate of the Neverland Community Garden.
It’s after hours. The lock is engaged. “Oh, no. I forgot my key.”
“You forgot more than that.” Rhys catches up just as I fumble with the latch. “You’re not wearing any pants!”
I look down, shocked to see so much skin peeking from my cotton nightgown. “Please help me. Help them!”
“Of course, I’ll help you.” He grips the fence and scales it. Next, he’s over the top and dropping in front of me. “All I ask for is a little communication.”
Drenched in rain, he goes to the shed and comes back with a bolt cutter.
“Hurry!” I cry out.
“Stand back, love.” He clips the lock, but it doesn’t break. “Fuck!” He draws his boot into his chest and kicks until the lock shatters.
I push through the gate and run to my plot. Sure enough, my tarp is gone. The limp sheet of plastic is twisted around a distant pole. All my soil has churned to mud while the Chrysanthemum blooms and holly leaves are whipping around, their stems ready to snap.
“Chris and Holly aren’t going to make it. I’m sorry, girls.” I drop to my knees in the mud.
“We quickly fix what we can, and then you’re out of here.” Rhys sinks down next to me, ruining nice pants. “You just got over being sick.”
I nod, teeth chattering. There’s no point to any of this if I spend the next month battling on again and off again fevers.
Together, we wrestle the tarp from the pole and cover everyone. Rhys secures the edges with bricks. My fingers are numb from pressing the roots back into the frigid soil. My lungs burn, and my legs are numb from the drastic drop in temperature. But when it’s done, a weak laugh bubbles out of me.
“They’ll be okay,” I say, nodding. “We did it.”
Rhys glares, soaked to the bone, jaw tight. “You did it. And you can come back and check it all tomorrow.”
“Yes, dear,” I snort in a low voice.
Rhys turns his head to me, long hair plastered to his face. “Mock me again, and I will take you over my knee.”
I blink, and there is that warm feeling between my legs again. “That sounds like fun.”
“With you, it will be.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Shoot, you’re ice cold.”
Not everywhere.
Rhys holds my hand and calls one of his men to come by and guard the gate until he returns tomorrow with the lock repaired. By the time we get back to our building, my muddied boots are full of water, and I’m trembling too hard to hold my apartment key steady.
Rhys takes it from me silently, unlocks the door, and ushers me inside. Warm air hits my frozen skin. It’s like someone set my nightgown on fire.
I kick off the boots and toss them into the half-bath next to my door. I try to peel off the nightgown, but the wet fabric resists and clings to my skin, cold and heavy. I want it off, off, off.
Finally, it gives, and I toss the wet nightie. When I glance up, Rhys has gone white. We just stare at each other.
Water drips from my hair to the floor in soft ticks. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His eyes drag down my bare skin and snap back up like it shocks him to see me naked.
The air thickens, crackles electric, daring one of us to be the first to move.