Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
brOOKE
By the time Silas got home last night, I was asleep. I’m not entirely sure if he actually slept with me or not though because his side of the bed is still neat, but the clothes he was wearing yesterday are in the hamper.
As much as I would love to stay in bed and drive myself crazy, overanalyzing everything that happened yesterday, I can’t. I need to get down to the weather center for one of my classes, and there’s no way I’ll make it by foot or bike at this point.
I run out of the room to see if Silas is still home, but he’s not, and I don’t see his truck out the window either.
I do see Bo’s and Chelsea’s cars here though. Maybe I can get a ride from one of them.
I knock on Bo’s bedroom door, and Chelsea answers.
“Hey, good morning. You okay?” She twists her wild curls into a top knot and yawns.
“No. I’m running late, and Silas is already gone. I hate to ask, but do you think you can give me a ride down to the weather center building?” I hold my hands together like I’m praying.
“Why don’t you just take my car? I don’t have class until this afternoon. Will you be back by then?” She walks over to the small desk in the room and gets her keys out of her crossbody bag she always wears.
“Yes, I have one class and a thirty-minute lab, and then I should be back by, like, twelve fifteen. Does that work for you?”
Bo is lying in bed, shirtless, and I suddenly feel like I’m intruding.
“Morning, Brooke.” He waves.
“Hey. Sorry to wake y’all.”
“No worries, seriously.” He smiles.
“Yeah, that works fine for me. Here you go.” She hands me her keys.
“Thanks, Chelsea. I really appreciate it.”
“Where’s Silas this early?” Bo calls after me.
“I’m not sure. I think he has some meetings today between classes. I didn’t see him before he left.” I’m not about to tell anyone about what happened yesterday. No one was here, and I’m gonna leave it at that.
“Oh, right. I think he mentioned something about meeting with his agent today.”
“Okay, I gotta go get dressed. Thank you so much, Chels. I owe you!”
I make quick work of getting ready, and by the time I jump into the car, I have fifteen minutes to make it five miles down the road, which seems doable, but everyone and their brother seems to be walking to class and holding up every light.
Shit.
Once I make it through the busiest part of campus, the noise fades and my thoughts drift—inevitably—back to Silas.
I know why I’ve been holding back. I’ve known all along.
Giving myself fully to him would mean letting go of the careful balance I’ve spent years perfecting. It would mean admitting that I don’t always have everything under control. That I can want something this badly and still be terrified of it at the same time.
Loving him isn’t the scary part.
Losing myself is.
I’ve built my life on being steady. On not needing too much.
On not asking for more than I can handle.
I watched what happened when the ground fell out from under my family, and somewhere along the way I decided that if I stayed guarded enough—measured enough—I could keep everything from collapsing again.
Silas doesn’t fit into that plan.
He asks for honesty without pressure. He offers support without conditions. And every time I let myself lean into him, even just a little, it feels so easy it scares me. Like if I stop bracing, I might never want to start again.
So I’ve kept parts of myself tucked away. Not because I don’t feel enough—but because I feel too much.
Because giving myself to him fully would mean trusting that this won’t end the way my parents’ marriage did. That choosing happiness doesn’t automatically mean paying for it later.
I grip the steering wheel and close my eyes for a second. Breathe. I know this feeling. I won’t let it take over.
Five. The dashboard lights. The small crack in the windshield. My reflection in the rearview mirror. A tree swaying outside. The clock on the radio.
Four. The seat beneath me. The cool air from the vent. The wheel under my palms. The ring on my finger.
My breathing slows.
Three. A car passing. The click of my turn signal…
I’m so lost in controlling my emotions that I almost don’t notice the sky.
It’s not a dramatic shift. There’s no movie-moment crack of thunder or mysterious darkness. Just a subtle wrongness.
The air thickens. And the light in the sky turns flat and yellow, like someone pressed a dimmer light on the sun.
My chest tightens and I grip the steering wheel harder than necessary, telling myself to breathe. In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
Wind starts to rattle the windows of Chelsea’s Honda Civic like whispered warnings.
You’re okay.
But my heart doesn’t listen.
It starts racing—too fast, too loud—like it’s trying to outrun my thoughts. My hands feel disconnected from my body. The ring on my finger feels heavy and hot.
Silas.
Husband.
Safe.
All the words tangle together as fear starts to creep in with every sway of the car and the ones in front of me.
The first gust hits the car hard enough to make it drift.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay, okay.”
Big golf ball sized hail slams down without warning, pounding against the windshield. The wipers automatically flip on and squeal as they move, but they can’t keep up with the hail. The trees on either side of the road bend unnaturally, leaves and debris spinning in tight circles across the road.
My breath comes shallow now. Faster.
Pull over, a rational voice says.
But panic doesn’t care about rational.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder.
I glance down for a second and that’s when the world tilts.
The wind screams, sounding like a freight train going a hundred miles an hour.
The Civic jolts sideways as debris skitters across the pavement before me—branches, leaves, something darker I don’t let myself identify. The steering wheel starts to vibrate in my hands.
Then the sky turns green.
I know that color. Growing up in Oklahoma makes you learn real quick what a green colored sky means.
“Oh God,” I panic.
My breath feels like it’s trapped somewhere behind my ribs. My vision narrows, edges blurring. I can’t get enough air. I can’t—breathe.
The funnel touches down a quarter mile away.
Small. Narrow. But close enough.
Too close.
I slam the brakes making the tires scream. The road is slick from the melting hail and the car starts to fishtail as wind slams me into a guard rail.
I don’t scream.
I go silent.
The car spins again, once, twice, then stops hard against something solid. A tree, I think.
Then suddenly the trees stop moving and the hail disappears but the wind still roars in the distance.
My heart finally slows enough for breath to claw back into my lungs in jagged gasps. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. My hands shake uncontrollably.
I’m alive.
The realization crashes through me harder than the accident.
Alive.
Married.
Silas.
Something wet runs down my face and drips into my lap.
Then everything goes black.