Big Daddy Wants Me

13: Kyle.

We get our first big October storm after Waverly’s been in my cabin for two weeks. Black clouds hang low over the mountains, threatening heavy rain all day but never quite bursting—then as night closes in, the wind starts to howl.

I’m at the bar, like always, serving customers when Maria needs a break and grappling with stock orders in the office otherwise. A few brave souls have come out for an evening drink, huddled around their regular booth, but the bar’s mostly empty tonight.

Good. Most folks in Starlight Ridge know better than to get caught out in a big storm.

When thunder rumbles loud enough to drown out the speakers, I stride out of the office and give Maria a nod. We’ll close up early tonight, because there’s no sense keeping people out in bad weather and making ‘em vulnerable. Especially Maria, who hasn’t actively chosen to be here.

“Text that fiance of yours,” I tell her when I reach the bar, sliding behind it to start unloading the dishwasher and wiping down. “Tell him you’ll be done in ten minutes and to come walk you home.”

Maria scoffs, tossing down a cloth. “I can make it home on my own, Kyle.” But she whips out her phone and taps out a message anyway.

Another loud rumble of thunder, then lightning strobes the night sky. I rub my jaw and stare out of the window as rain starts to lash down, blown sideways by the strong wind.

Thank god Waverly stayed home to draw pet portraits this evening. She should be tucked up warm and dry, sheltered from the storm.

I rub my aching chest for a moment, then get the hell back to work.

There are a few grumbles when I shoo the regulars from their booth, but no one really puts up a fight. Sure, they don’t want to jog home in the rain, but judging by how the storm’s building up speed, it’s only going to get worse as the night goes on. Better to make a break for it now.

“Go,” I tell Maria when her fiance Stig bursts through the bar doorway eight minutes later, soaked through and breathing hard. Christ, he must have sprinted down the mountain trails to reach here in time, mud splattering his legs and wind whipping his blond hair, and I nod at the guy with newfound respect. He barely looks at me, too fixated on Maria.

I get that. I’d sprint to Waverly too, if I ever thought she was in danger.

With Maria gone and the regulars ushered out into the driving rain, I close up the bar in record time. My chest tightens as I work, my whole body tensed with adrenaline, and every time lightning flashes outside, I grit my back teeth and move faster.

No time, no time.

When I step outside and turn to lock the bar door, the wind shoves so hard I stagger three steps to the left. Have to lean my body weight into it to get near the door again, fumbling the key into the lock.

Holy s**t. This is going to be a big one.

Thunder crashes over the mountainside, rattling my bones.

The grass is sodden as I run for the treeline, mud sucking at my boots and slowing my steps. The trees ahead moan and bend in the wind, trunks creaking, branches whipping, and I cover my head with one arm as I plunge into the forest.

Static crackles in the air, even here in the darkness under the canopy, and it smells like a mixture of rain and smoke. Partway up the trail to my cabin, I pass the smoldering remains of a tree, freshly split in two by lightning. Scorched earth surrounds its base, with even the carpet of dried pine needles turned to ash.

Fire.

It’s soaking wet tonight, with rain seeping through the canopy, but I pause and stamp on the smoking pine needles just in case. The last thing Starlight Ridge needs is a fire.

Only once I’m completely satisfied that there are no sparks left on the forest floor do I turn back to the trail and keep jogging. Waverly. Is she okay? Is she scared?

A quarter mile out from the cabin, I hit the steepest slope, my thighs burning as I push myself not to lose any speed. Need to get back to her. Need to see that she’s safe with my own eyes. Except it’s dark beneath the trees, and each flash of lightning blinds me all over again, stopping my eyes from adjusting to the gloom—so I crash into a small body without warning.

“Oh!”

My arms react before my brain does, snatching the person to my chest before they hit the ground. Guess my body already understands what my reason is sluggishly putting together, because it knows this form, that soft voice, these trembling hands gripping my soaked shirt. Knows them better than anything.

“Waverly?”

She’s shivering, wet through. “There—there you are,” she pants, clinging onto me for dear life. “I was worried about you in the storm.”

She was worried about me? So she came out looking for me, putting herself in danger? My gut plummets, and I grab Waverly’s hand to start dragging her back up the winding trail to the cabin.

“Never,” I grit out, following the path by memory rather than eyesight, “do this again. Never put yourself in danger like this. Fuck.”

My artist is silent behind me, letting herself be dragged home.

Thunder rumbles, vibrating the earth beneath our feet, and I tug her faster. Waverly huffs and mutters something behind me, but she strides faster to keep up.

Don’t care if I’m pissing her off right now. Need to get her back in the cabin. Need her safe.