Remembering this fancy new phone has a flashlight function, I use it to locate Finn’s car seat carrier. I strap him in and head for the guest bathroom. It’s in the most central part of the house and has no windows. Unfortunately, it’s also the smallest room in the house. Finn is really freaking out at this point, no doubt picking up on my stress level. I tuck him into the corner of the room and give him my phone. The light fascinates him enough that he settles.
I need to conserve the battery life on my phone in case the power stays out for a while, so I need to find a candle or flashlight. Slade’s not exactly the scented candle type, and I threw out all the little birthday candles in a fit of defiance, not that those would help me now. I have to get to the garage. I should also grab a couple of bottles for Finn, just in case. With a plan in place, I give Finn a little kiss, telling him I’ll be right back.
Then I run, without any light, hitting my arms and legs on various pieces of furniture along the way. First, I grab the bottles from the refrigerator that were already made for the night, then I head toward the garage, ramming my leg hard against an end table. “Shit.”
A huge flash of light startles me from my pain, and I look up at the huge two-story window in the front of the house. The wind is whipping, the lightning looks like a rave with its endless stream of flashes. It’s dark, but I see it coming and duck down as a tree flies into the window. The loudest crash I’ve ever heard shakes the house.
I hear Finn’s cry over the noise and start crawling across the floor toward the guest bathroom. When the lightning flashes again, I look back, seeing a crack in the window extending all the way to the ground. Dear God, don’t let that break. Then I feel it, the water soaking my hands and legs. I know there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The whole window caves in. Glass shatters everywhere, tiny shards ripping at my skin. The only thing I can do is get to Finn and pray.
*
Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. You can’t lose it. I’m not sure how many times I’ve repeated that in my head. It seems like we’ve been confined to this tiny room for hours. The storm is sitting right on top of us, pounding us over and over again. But the worst was when it went totally quiet and still. It was eerily quiet, not the peaceful kind. It was the breath the fighter takes before he slams you into the mat. The center of the hurricane before it engulfs you. The moment before you take your last breath. But it was long enough that Finn took his bottle and fell asleep. So it’s just me alone in the dark, my phone battery having died already.
The wind howls so loudly it sounds like it’s hollering my name, like death calling for me, unrelenting and unforgiving. I stick my fingers in my ears, closing my eyes tightly, willing it all to stop. It’s gone on too long, and I’m losing it.
“Paige?” My name sounds through the wind, a tiny light coming in from under the door.
I look up as the door opens, his body filling up the entire doorframe. God, he looks rough, like he’s been through a worse hell than us. His hair is crazy with bits of leaves in it. His hands are gripping the flashlight so tightly, it looks like it will break under the pressure, but it’s his blue eyes that look the worst—black with despair.
“Slade?”
He glances at Finn, then back to me, falling to his knees. Somehow, I’m wrapped in his arms. I cling to the muscles of his back as he tightens his hold. I’m not sure anyone’s ever held me like this before.
Every emotion in his body comes out in his embrace: the fear in his eyes; the worry in the tension of his biceps; the sorrow in the way his fingers caress my back; the relief in the rhythm of his breath; how much he wants me in the bulge of his pants.
His hand winds in my hair, pulling me to his lips, and for that moment, I forget I’m mad at him. I forget everything because my brain has no room for anything else, wanting to memorize every sensation—the soft feel of his lips, the strength of his hold, the explosion in my body as his tongue meets mine. There are no romantic candles. We aren’t cuddling by the fireplace. The only light is from his flashlight, and I don’t think anything else could be more romantic. He shifts, forcing my legs around him. He’s hitting just the right spot, and I can’t help the moan that escapes.
Clearly, he’s forgotten about the tornado, the shattered window, and the baby sleeping just a few feet from us. Panting, I force myself to stop, resting my forehead on his. “The house,” I whimper. “The glass. It shattered.”
“I saw,” he whispers. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”
He pulls back slightly, his hands cupping my face and smoothing back my hair. Then he picks up the flashlight, shining it down on my bruised-up arms and legs. “We’re alright,” I say.
“Finn?” he asks, his voice with a worried edge I’ve never heard before.
“Not a scratch,” I say. He glances back down at all my cuts and marks. “How’d you get here? The storm’s so bad.”
“Drove through it,” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You didn’t answer your phone. Tornado warnings all over the state. All I could think about was getting to you.”
A toe-curling crash fills the room, and I jump back into his arms. Finn starts to cry, and Slade reaches over, patting him gently, lulling him back to sleep all while holding me close. “I can’t believe you drove through this.”
“I had to,” he says softly, his blue eyes lowering to the ground. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I don’t care about any of it,” he says. “All the reasons you’re thinking that this can’t happen. Your past, my father, the age difference. That was never my hesitation. I swear to God, it was never about you, Paige. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
That was all I needed, not the gifts, the cakes, the gestures. Just the man—the real man. That’s what I wanted. I lean up, pressing my lips to his. Both his hands grip my butt, and he settles himself back between my legs. His lips find my neck, kissing a path along my collarbone. No man has ever kissed me like this before. A kiss has never done this to me. My panties are soaking wet, and the ache between my legs is unrelenting.
“Slade,” I whisper, looking over at Finn, “we have an audience.”
Flashing me a smile, he takes Finn from his car seat and holds us both, and we ride out the rest of the storm just like that. He tells me that Catrine called him about the tuition and tries to persuade me to take the gift. I refuse. He won’t tell me about his drive through the storm, and he tells me, once again, that nothing happened with his cake-ruining bimbo. I ask him why he wanted to hurt me, and he says he wanted to drive me away, but he won’t tell me why. He just tells me over and over again that it’s his shit, not mine. He describes how terrible his week has been without me, how he’ll never intentionally hurt me again, and that he wants to give me all the things I’ve never had, which is why he gave me twenty-one birthdays. We talk until the storm passes and the morning light breaks.
And through it all, I’m wrapped in his embrace. I’ve finally found it.
The feeling.
Home is in his arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY
PAIGE
There’s still no power at the house when we emerge from our self-imposed tornado shelter, but his cell service is back up. He’s already called emergency services, concerned there might be live wires down. My cell is dead, and I have no means to charge it. Carrying Finn, I walk behind Slade. He holds one arm out behind him as if protecting us. Everything seems okay until we hit the threshold to the center of the house. The entire center window is out, a tree resting on the front porch. Glass and water cover the floor. Everything is soaking wet.