He stays that way all afternoon and through dinner, so it takes me a little longer than usual to get him fed. Plus, Slade’s been blowing up my phone. I know I’ll have to talk to him eventually, but I need a clear head for that. I prefer not to have a cranky baby attached to my hip during that conversation either.
The lights flicker a little. I start opening cabinets to look for a flashlight but come up empty. Maybe in the garage? A huge bolt of lightning flashes through the window, immediately followed by a rumble of booming thunder. I remember as a kid counting the time between when the lightning flashes and the thunder hits. I’m not sure if it’s true, but we used to say that every second between was one mile. This storm must only be about that distance from us. It’s closing in.
I look out the window toward the horses, the stables, knowing they must be going nuts, but there’s nothing I can do for them right now. The sky is dark except when lightning spreads across the sky. It looks like the gates of hell are about to open.
This time the lights flicker, then they turn off altogether. Finn starts crying even harder. Clutching him to my chest, I struggle to move around in the dark, waiting for flashes of lightning to guide my way. A loud alarm fills the room, my phone buzzing on the counter. I grab it, seeing a weather alert. More specifically, a tornado warning, and it looks like it’s heading right for us. The last sentence says take shelter immediately. Another streak of lightning and crash of thunder hits right on top of each other.
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.
I reach up, patting his shoulder. “It’s bad,” I say, “but we’ll get it all fixed. Soon, it will be just like new.”
He turns to me, glancing down at Finn. “You were here alone with him,” he chokes out. “I should’ve had a generator installed. I should’ve been here the whole time.”
“We’re fine,” I say, cupping his face in my hands, unable to believe this is who we are now. We are emerging from the wreckage, from this storm, as a couple. How on earth did that happen? In my heart, I know I shouldn’t let it happen. I should stop it. It’s wrong and will only end badly. But it feels so right to be in his arms. Maybe that’s what we are: the right side of wrong.
He glances down, saying, “You’re barefoot.”
Before I know it, he’s scooped up both me and Finn and is walking us out of the house. The glass crunches underneath his feet as he carries us outside, the sun temporarily blinding me. Why does the weather always seem to turn beautiful after a storm? Is it supposed to give us hope or something? A new way to look at things? A new beginning?
Hearing a little cry, I turn and see Catrine and Jon rushing toward us. I hold up my hand. “Catrine, please stop running. Dear God, Chewie’s liable to fall right out of you.”
Jon and Slade both start laughing, but Catrine throws her arms around us, bawling. “I was scared to death,” she says. “I saw it on the news, heading right for you. I tried to call over and over again.”
“My phone was dead,” I say, looking up at Slade. “We’re fine.”
She not-so-playfully smacks Slade in the shoulder repeatedly. “What were you thinking driving through that? You idiot.”
He chuckles as Jon encourages his wife to stop. “I was thinking about Paige and Finn,” Slade says. “Only them.”
Her entire face blossoms into a smile. “It’s about time,” she says, taking Finn from me as Slade sets me on the ground.
Deliberately, he runs his fingers over me, examining the cuts and bruises on my skin. “Jon, can you make sure emergency services is sending an ambulance?”
Trying to get up, but for the first time feeling the soreness in my body, I say, “I don’t need an ambulance.”
“No offense, honey,” Catrine says, “but you look like death warmed over.”
Slade kneels in front of me. “I want both of you checked out.”
“But I want to help clean up and check on the horses and . . .”
“And you’re going to the hospital,” Slade says. “Nothing is getting cleaned up today. And I’ll make sure the horses are alright.”
Slade wouldn’t let Finn and me out of his sight all day. It’s sweet and a bit over the top for a girl who’s used to taking care of herself. I dodged a trip to the hospital after a head-to-toe examination by the paramedics, who agreed with me that a hospital trip was overkill.
Finally, I manage to slip away for a second, leaving Finn outside with Catrine. Walking through the house, seeing the damage, I realize how much this place had been home to me. Probably more of a home than I’d ever known before. My eyes fill with tears as I walk through the destruction. It could’ve been a lot worse, but it’s still hard to see. Finn’s little high chair is on the ground covered in water and debris, his playpen a tangled-up mess.
I walk to our room, pushing open the door. It’s perfectly preserved, but the house is uninhabitable. I reach into my closet for a bag and start to pack a few things, forming a plan in my mind.
“I’ll have Finn’s crib moved to my place in the city,” Slade says, leaning against the doorway.
That was not a part of my plan. “That’s incredibly sweet, but there’s a hotel not far from here. We should stay there. That way, I’ll be close to the house when renovations start.”
He smirks at me. “I thought you might suggest a family member, but not a hotel.”
“There’s no one,” I say.
“There’s me,” he says.
“I’m not moving into your place in the city.”
“Why not?” he asks. “We’ve stayed together plenty of nights here.”
“That was before.”
“Before this,” he says, his lips softly landing on mine.
“Yes,” I whisper, breathless.
“What if I said I won’t take no for an answer?”
“I’d say that if you’re going to be with me, you better learn to like the word no.”
He laughs, and it’s beautiful. “Then I’ll rent the hotel room next door to yours.”
And I know that’s true. He would completely do something like that. “Slade, we’ve been . . .” I’m not sure what to call it—Dating? Together? Seeing each other?
“Paige, if you want a nice, normal relationship where the guy picks you up, and you kiss good night at the door, then you should know that’s not me. I’ve been holding back with you for too long to live like that. I only know one way to be with you. And that’s by giving you everything.”
My breath catches in my throat. This is drive through the night, putting your life on the line for each other kind of stuff. Extreme, intense, and scary. “It feels too fast.”
“It’s the only speed I know,” he says, flashing me a naughty smile. Then he reaches for my hand. “Just stay tonight. Give me one night. We should have more information on the repairs to the house tomorrow.” He shakes my hand a little. “I’ll be a good boy, and I’ll eat green shit at every meal.”
*
I look back at Finn in his car seat. He’s still rear-facing, so all I can see are his little feet kicking. He seems unfazed by last night and by our new move.
Slade’s holding my hand as he drives. It’s a small thing, but it feels big. He spots me staring down at our intertwined fingers and gives my hand a little squeeze as the sights of Nashville pass by. This is lightyears away from where I used to live. Music row, Vanderbilt, and the Gulch are areas I always dreamed about.
Slade’s penthouse condo is in one of the newer developments in downtown Nashville. It’s sleek, modern, and doesn’t look like one inch of this place is babyproofed. Slade uses a key card to access the private parking garage, pulling into his reserved spot. He takes Finn’s carrier, guiding us through some doors to the immaculate lobby, with marble floors, a chandelier, and a front desk clerk on duty, who simply gives Slade a nod, obviously recognizing him.
“Do any kids live here?” I ask as he pushes the button on the elevator.
“Not that I know of,” he says.
We step onto the elevator, rising all the way to the top floor. His is the only door on this floor. Slade opens the door, tossing his keys on a side table before taking my hand and leading me inside. The man likes his windows. There’s a wide-open view of the skyline of Nashville through the windows in the den and a balcony with a hot tub. It’s dark out now, so the lights of the city provide the backdrop.
He places Finn’s carrier down, starting to unstrap him. “The office is through there,” he says, pointing at an ope
n doorway to the left. “Guest bathroom over there. And the kitchen is right through that doorway. No dining room. Bedrooms are all upstairs.”
I poke my head in each door for a peek. The rooms are big but not nearly on the scale of those at the ranch. And the décor is all very clean and masculine—grays and deep blues. Finn fusses a little, reaching out to me. “I should get him to sleep. It’s late, and he’s been off his schedule today.”
He takes my hand, leading me up the metal staircase. “I’ll show you his room.”
Finn’s room?
I guess he’s not planning on Finn and me bunking together anymore? He opens up a door, and Finn’s crib is already set up inside. “Jon and Catrine brought your stuff over earlier,” he says, then points at a doorway. “Bathroom’s through there.”
I look around. A bag of Finn’s toys and clothes is on the dresser. There are diapers and wipes and even his baby monitor. But no bed for me. I place Finn down in the crib, patting his back and watching his big, beautiful eyes getting heavier and heavier.
“We’ll have to get him new bottles and stuff,” Slade whispers. “Anything that was in the kitchen I had tossed.”
I nod, knowing I have enough to get us through tomorrow. “I’ve already started a list,” I say, my voice sounding less nervous than I actually am.
Taking my hand again, he walks me down the hall a little, opens up a door, and says, “Our room.”
The dark wood bed has a leather headboard, and the color scheme is the same as downstairs. Again, there are huge windows, but the curtains are drawn, and from what I can see from the doorway, the bathroom looks huge.
He takes a step, and I give his hand a little yank. “Finn might be scared being in a new place. I should probably stay with him. I can just sleep on the floor.”
“You slept on the floor last night,” he says, grinning at me. His head tilts. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve never actually shared a room with a man all night. Never slept next to one.”
The Right Side of Wrong Page 11
