Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
“You’re delusional.”
“And you’re bad at hiding when you think I’m funny.”
I shake my head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
We’ve barely made it to the freeway, and I’m ready to toss him and his duffel bag to the curb.
7
Molly
It feels like an eternity has passed since we started driving. Occasionally, Hudson will shift in his seat or mess with the vents, breaking the monotony of the road. Other than that, it’s been completely silent for three hours. Two more to go.
Already, I’ve run out of ways to silently hate Hudson, so I’ve started focusing on the hum of the tires against the pavement and counting mile markers to pass the time. We couldn’t agree on a radio station or playlist, so music is not even playing.
The rain pounds on my windshield.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard, debating whether it’s worth stopping for coffee. Before I can decide, the shrill wail of a siren cuts through the car like a knife.
“What the hell—” I startle, gripping the wheel tighter.
Hudson sits up straighter, his head tilting as he listens. “Tornado sirens.”
My stomach twists into a knot. Freaking tornado sirens. My foot eases off the gas as dread pools in my chest.
Dane. My thoughts fly to him immediately. Did their plane land safely? Are they already at the hotel? What if—
No. Stop. They flew. They’re fine.
The flight from Redville isn’t too long, and since the team left before us, they’re definitely already there. So there’s nothing to worry about.
I exhale sharply, gripping the wheel harder to ground myself, my knuckles white.
Okay, it’s fine. It’s all fine.
But then the realization slams into me . . . I’m not fine.
Tornado sirens mean one thing—there’s a tornado nearby. And I’m driving straight into it.
Panic bubbles up, clawing at my throat. My breaths come faster, and the edges of my vision start to blur.
“Relax,” Hudson says, his voice maddeningly calm.
I glare at him, incredulous. “Relax? Are you serious? There’s a tornado out there, Hudson.”
“I’m aware,” he informs me, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
He doesn’t even look worried. He’s so infuriatingly composed that I want to scream.
My cell phone starts blaring with a warning, adding to the chaos.
My heart pounds faster. “What should we do?”
Hudson shrugs, his brow furrowing. “Depends on where it’s on the ground.”
I shoot him a quick look, frustration bubbling up. “Can you check where it’s on the ground?”
“Will do.”
Another alert blares from my phone.
He’s taking too long to search.
“What are you doing?” I snap, my hands tightening on the wheel.
Hudson’s fingers fly across his screen. “Looking up the nearest safe spot.”
“How are you so calm?” I demand, my voice trembling.
He shrugs, glancing out the window. “Panicking won’t make the tornado go away. Plus, it’s not my first time dealing with one of these.”
“Great,” I mutter, my heart pounding. “Glad you’re an expert.”
He ignores my sarcasm. “Take the next exit.”
“What?”
“Take the exit,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “There’s an old gas station about five miles off the freeway. It’s got a decent structure. We’ll be safer there than on the road.”
I hesitate, my instincts screaming to keep going. To outrun whatever storm is coming. But the logical part of me knows he’s right. You can’t outrun a tornado.
“Fine,” I finally relent, gripping the wheel and steering toward the exit.
I hate to admit it, but I’m glad he came with me on the drive. I would’ve freaked out had I been alone and maybe even kept driving through the tornado.
He continues scrolling on his phone. “We’re not too far out.”
I keep my eyes on the road, but out of the corner of my eye, I’m glued to Hudson’s movements.
The sirens wail louder in the distance. The sky around us is dark and ominous, like a scene out of a bad horror movie. The storm grows louder with each passing second, its presence heavy and oppressive.
My hands grip the steering wheel tighter until my knuckles ache, and I veer off the highway. I don’t need to know where the storm is hitting to know I don’t want to be driving seventy miles per hour when it does.
Because it’s not a question of if—it’s a question of when.
The sky has already darkened to an unsettling shade. Lightning cracks in the distance, a stark contrast against the blackened clouds. The wind hammers against the car, shoving it in bursts that feel like we’re being tugged by invisible hands.
Other than the storm and the sirens, the road to the gas station is eerily quiet, the sky growing darker with each passing minute. The sirens blare in the distance, a constant reminder of how precarious this situation is.
Hudson is still infuriatingly calm, guiding me with quiet directions as we approach the station. His steady tone chips away at the panic clawing at my chest.