Chapter 10
Wyatt
Thor hangs his head out the back window of my truck as I turn onto Ponderosa Lane.
His nose is lifted to catch all the good smells in the breeze.
In about two minutes, he’ll absolutely lose his mind.
He hasn’t been to Everleigh’s new place since she moved in Sunday—everyone thought it best to let Stormy settle in first.
But he knows Everleigh’s scent. The giant lug is more in love with her than I am.
I tense as I pull up along the curb, uncertain whether I’ll be welcome or not.
It’s one of the reasons I brought Thor along.
Despite the indifferent way she’s acted toward me all day, I know she’s still mixed up about that kiss this morning.
Now that the cracks have started to form in her walls, I’m doing my damnedest to maintain the patience I’ve mastered for months.
But staying away? Yeah, I don’t think I can do that.
I figured even if she’s irritated with me, she won’t refuse Thor’s puppy dog eyes.
After my meeting with Ryder and Weston Stone at the ranch concluded more than an hour ago, Everleigh was nowhere to be found. Had it not been for my sister pulling up in her Jeep, I’d still have no idea how Everleigh got home. She didn’t answer my call or respond to my texts.
Though I never expressly offered her a ride, I assumed she’d be leaving with me. I was the only one headed back into town, or so I thought until Macy informed me of their spontaneous dinner date at The Cow’s Moo.
I went straight home after that, unsurprised to find Flynn gone and a note on my fridge that said Headed out.
Thor’s had dinner. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.
I didn’t check his room to see if he was out on the town, or if he’d packed up his bags and left.
I was too focused on the camera case I discovered on the passenger side floor of my truck to care about my flighty brother’s whereabouts.
Now that I’m parked, Thor’s nose freezes midair and he inhales deeply.
Then he starts to whimper. One corner of my mouth lifts in amusement.
He’s caught her scent, and as predicted, starts to lose his shit.
He whines and paces, barking at me as I cut the ignition as if to say Dad, you’re taking too long.
Because I don’t feel like dislocating my shoulder, I don’t bother with the leash. He charges to the front door, letting out a few excited barks as I secure the pink camera case and follow him.
The front door opens before I reach it, Everleigh’s expression illuminating at the sight of the Great Dane on her doorstep.
My gaze travels up long, bare legs. She’s wearing a pink pair of gym shorts—actual shorts this time—and a gray hoodie.
She bends, throwing both hands around the dog’s neck and hugging him tight.
Thor’s tail wags uncontrollably at the attention. Christ, I’m jealous of my own dog.
When her gaze lifts and snags on mine, her easy expression falls into one I can’t read. Fuck, I hate this uncomfortable tension between us.
“You forgot your camera,” I say, holding up the case as though it’s a peace offering.
“You didn’t have to bring that over tonight.”
“You didn’t have to disappear on me without a word,” I fire back, refusing to let her off the hook. “I thought we were better friends than that, Ev.”
“Friends,” she repeats the word as barely more than a whisper.
“Yes, Everleigh. We’re friends. That hasn’t changed for me. Has it changed for you?”
She scratches Thor behind the ears, her vacant gaze landing somewhere off to the side as she seems to ponder my question.
“No,” she finally says.
“Good. Now, can I finish putting your bookshelf together, or is this a bad time?” It’s late, but not so late that the stars have come out yet.
Though I can’t see the horizon from here, I know the sun is slowly sinking into it.
I consider changing course and suggesting a drive instead.
One where we could chase the sunset like we have so many times before, but Everleigh doesn’t give me the chance.
“Maybe you could put the desk together first?” she asks, stepping back. Thor charges inside without waiting for me.
“Of course—” I don’t finish my sentence because my gaze locks on the scattered assortment of large photographs spread across her coffee table as I step inside. It reminds me of that night at her apartment, and I go on high alert. “Ev—”
“I know you saw them,” she says, walking back to the couch. She’s barefoot, fresh pink polish on her toes. I’m distracted momentarily by the deep, bright color. God, how is everything about this woman so fucking sexy?
Focus, jackass.
“I did,” I admit, stepping all the way into the living room and scanning for a furniture box that contains her desk.
I sense if I keep busy, she won’t feel the need to keep her defenses up so high.
But I don’t see the box, only her photo printer on the dining room table, along with stacks of unused glossy paper and a paper cutter.
“I promise I’m not going to break,” she insists, dropping onto the couch and patting a spot beside her. One Thor is eyeing because he doesn’t seem to comprehend he won’t fit in the small space hardly large enough for me. “And I’ll only bite if you ask.”
I huff a laugh at her quip, and the tension between us dissipates instantly. I squeeze into the offered seat, not upset in the least that our thighs are pressed together.
Thor groans but then spots the gray cat strutting into the room.
Tail wagging, he drops to the ground and waits for Stormy to come to him—something he learned to do early on in their unlikely friendship.
It’s the only way the feline will pay any attention to him.
I love that the mismatched pair have formed not just an understanding, but a kindship for one another.
It’s so easy to imagine them coexisting under the same roof.
“Thor’s the only other animal Stormy tolerates,” Everleigh says, a weak laugh escaping her throat.
“He has that way about him.”
“He certainly does.”
I steal a quick glance at her watching the duo, noticing her eyes are red, as though she’s been crying.
But the tear streaks on her cheeks aren’t fresh.
It’s as though she had a good cry and now she’s…
what? Because I don’t have a fucking clue, I keep my mouth shut and skim the photos strewn across the coffee table instead.
Just like the night I carried her into her apartment, there’s photographs of dark skies illuminated by lightning shows, pictures of funnel clouds—some small, some spanning entire cornfields—and photos of the storm’s aftermath.
Spiked remains of trees whose branches were twisted off their trunks, furniture shredded and dropped in front lawns, chunks of roofs littering the streets.
But unlike the photos I saw that night, there’s also pictures of people in a restaurant booth, smiling and laughing.
I recognize them from their Facebook page—Everleigh’s old crew.
She’s in a couple of them, her long, blonde hair in a high ponytail pulled through the back of a pink ball cap sporting their team’s logo.
Her blue eyes sparkle with confidence and excitement.
It’s so clear to see she lived for this.
“I’m a storm chaser,” Everleigh says, reaching for a crew photo taken in a parking lot with their van and dark skies in the background.
She immediately clears her throat. “I was a storm chaser. Until I let the voice of a stranger get inside my head and rob me of the thing that made me feel the closest to my parents. Until tonight, I think I forgot the why part.”
Despite the urge to ask what specific thing happened tonight, I don’t dare. Instead, I drop a hand to her bare knee and keep quiet. My thumb strokes her soft skin as she continues.
“An older woman in overalls came up to our booth. She’d been eating a few spots down.
She zeroed in on me, as though she had a personal vendetta or something.
She told us we should be ashamed of ourselves, chasing storms like it was some kind of sport.
That it wasn’t some stupid movie. Real people suffered consequences.
” Everleigh sets the photo down, but her gaze remains locked on the image.
“I blew it off. Not everyone’s a fan, and that’s okay. ”
“What happened?”
“I experienced my first EF4 tornado later that night. It took out half the town and left behind miles of devastation.”
“It changed you?” I guessed.
“Not right away. I’d seen destruction before, and I’m not heartless.
I understand the aftermath is devastating for those affected, especially with a tornado of that magnitude.
You’re talking hundred and eighty, hundred and ninety mile per hour winds.
My crew, we always help with search and rescue where they’ll let us.
Set up Go Fund Me’s when we can. We chase storms in a better attempt to understand them.
Are we a little crazy?” She shrugs. “You have to be in that line of work. It’s dangerous. ”
“Did you see her again? The older woman?”
“I was in a cul-de-sac the next morning taking pictures of a neighborhood that’d been leveled while my crew helped rescue teams search for survivors. I wanted to get a fundraiser up as soon as possible.” She reaches for another photo and holds it out to me. “This was her house.”
“Did she survive?”