to Brady’s, I’d stay there until the wind and rain calmed, and if needed, I’d sleep on his couch. But there was no way I wasn’t going to check on him, not after the way he’d pulled away from me.
I hit send on the email I’d been working on as the first crack of lightning rent through the sky, lighting up my office. The following rumble of thunder was my cue to leave. I grabbed my purse and dashed out, calling out my goodbye to a volunteer named James, not feeling any remorse leaving him to lock up the library.
I knew he’d lock up but he’d stay and read until the storm blew past. Same as Ellen, he was retired. He, too, was in education, only he was a college professor. A man whose thirst for knowledge had not dimmed with age. He loved books, and if I had to guesstimate, I’d say he’d read eighty percent of the titles we shelved, save the children’s section. I knew the man also read romance. We’d had deep discussions about women’s psyches and why women lean toward the alpha male—if not in their real life, then he’s part of their fantasy—and how romance feeds the need to believe that true love overcomes all.
Keys in hand, I jogged through the empty parking lot, wincing as the hard rain came down in sheets and the wind kicked up violently, blowing the low thunderclouds across the sky. I beeped my locks and jumped into my car soaking wet.
And that was when I felt the first warning. The cold chill that seeped into my bones telling me to go home. I dipped my head and glanced out the windshield and watched as the lightning flashed, brightly lighting up the dark sky. Thunder boomed, trees swayed, the gutters overflowed but I was Hadley Walker, determined if not a little reckless. Concern outweighed common sense. I started up my Camry, and not for the first time wished I drove a vehicle that sat higher off the road.
By the time I was halfway to Brady’s, I was seriously contemplating my stupidity. I was driving twenty miles an hour under the speed limit, my wipers were on full speed and still, visibility sucked. I knew I was going to catch a ration of shit from Brady for driving in this weather. If my dad or brother found out, they’d lose their ever-loving minds.
A fifteen-minute drive had turned into thirty-five, and by the time I pulled onto Brady’s street, I was white-knuckling the steering wheel. The storm had picked up, the roads were horrible—though thankfully empty because most people were smart enough not to go out for a cruise while mother nature was unleashing her fury.
I pulled into Brady’s driveway, kicked off my heels, and tossed them in the passenger seat next to my purse. Leaving both my shoes and bag in the car, I ran to the porch as fast as my bare feet would take me, splashing in ankle-deep water as I went.
I knocked then waited.
Then I knocked again and still no answer.
I glanced back at the truck in the driveway just to make sure I hadn’t been hallucinating. After I ascertained that my car was indeed parked next to Brady’s truck, I pounded on the door. The rain was coming down sideways. The overhang I stood under did very little to shield me from the torrential downpour.
I pounded on the door again, this time yelling Brady’s name as I did. Concern grew into fear.
What if something happened to him?
What if he slipped and fell getting out of the shower and he’s sprawled out on his bathroom floor with a bleeding head wound?
I was getting ready to find a way to break into Brady’s house when the door flew open and there he was.
Disheveled.
No. Destroyed.
Eyes alight with grief.
I felt my chest start to burn. Something was very wrong. So wrong I saw it, I felt it, and he knew I did because he flinched.
“What the fuck?” His deep voice held a vein of menace but I ignored it and pushed past him.
“What the fuck?” he repeated. His tone no less dangerous but I ignored that warning, too.
I shouldn’t have.
I should’ve heeded my earlier caution and gone straight home.
But stupid me didn’t listen to anyone, not even myself.
I stood rooted in place as I took in Brady’s living room. I’d been to his house three times in the last four years. And each time I’d been there it was OCD