Page 20 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

H er mouth is fire, and both of us are caught in a whirlwind of heavy emotions and physical longing.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this.

With other women, I didn’t have a battle of conscience.

If I was attracted to a woman and she was into it, I just acted on that feeling, but Matty’s different.

I have a profound desire to navigate carefully. To handle her with care.

She’s lying beneath me, her braid sprawled across my pillow like a length of rope I’d gladly let her use to tie me down.

Her hands are in my hair, tugging wildly, urging me deeper.

Her bare legs wrap around my hips, drawing me closer.

The air in the room is electrically charged, and my lungs are fighting to suck it in.

She’s all warm skin, soft sighs, and sharp gasps as my hands roam her body.

It’s like every inch of her is pulling me under, and I’m a man willing to drown in her.

But I can’t.

She’s not some quick fix for the erection currently straining against the fabric of my boxer briefs.

She came here with me, broken open and bleeding, and I don’t want to take from her.

I want to give. Something real. Something that might not make sense, not yet, but feels big in a way I haven’t known in years. Maybe ever.

I slow the pace, pulling back just enough. Her lips chase mine as I break our connection to take a breath, and I smile against her mouth, then kiss the corner of it softly. One of my hands is on her hip; the other is tugging at the tie that’s holding her hair hostage.

“Caison,” she whispers, and I nearly come undone at the sound of my name like that—breathy and soaked in want.

“Case,” I say.

Her eyes flicker up to mine.

“I want you to call me Case. ”

She bears up and whispers into my ear, “Case,” before sucking the lobe into her mouth and biting down. And fuck if the sensation doesn’t rock me all the way to my damn toes.

I shift my weight and kiss the line of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin and feeling the flutter of her pulse against my lips.

It takes all the restraint I possess not to give in to the ache clawing its way down my spine, not to rip the slip of cotton covering her and bury myself deep inside.

My mouth continues to travel lower, licking and teasing as she writhes and hums her encouragement. When I reach her navel, I dip my tongue inside as my hand slides up her inner thigh, finding the material there drenched in her arousal.

That’s when my phone starts ringing.

Loud. Obnoxious. Coming from the floor, where my jeans are lying in a heap with the rest of our discarded clothing.

I ignore it as my thumb runs a circle over the soaked cotton, causing her hips to buck off the mattress and a sexy moan to escape her lips.

Matty’s fingers tug at my hair. Then her nails graze the back of my neck and skate across my shoulder blades, and I groan quietly against her stomach.

The ringing stops.

Then starts again.

Persistent.

I pull back just enough to growl my frustration. Matty laughs a little, breathlessly.

“Maybe you should get that,” she murmurs. “Someone clearly wants to talk to you.”

“Fuck ’em,” I mutter, teasing as I trail my mouth down lower.

But the phone won’t quit.

Third immediate redial.

Matty sighs and comes up on her elbows. “Case,” she says, more serious now, “you should answer it.”

I curse under my breath and roll away from her. “Don’t move,” I order as I drag a hand through my hair before leaning over the edge of the bed and feeling around for my jeans.

I pull the phone from the pocket, screen glowing bright in the dark room. I don’t recognize the number .

“Wrong number,” I say and move to toss it on the nightstand, but it starts ringing right there in my hand.

I recite the number out loud.

Matty sits up sharply. “That’s Charli’s number.”

That gets my attention.

I swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Caison?” Charli’s voice is shaky, clipped. “Is Matty still with you?”

“Yeah,” I say instantly, sitting up straighter, already scanning the room for her dress. “She’s here. Why?”

There’s a pause. A breath. Then, “We found Daddy collapsed in the barn after supper. He was—he wasn’t breathing right. Grandma called an ambulance. They think it’s his heart. They’re taking him to St. John’s Hospital now.”

Shit.

“Okay,” I say, already moving, reaching for Matty’s dress on the floor. “We’re on our way.”

Matty’s halfway off the bed before I hang up, panic etched on her face. “What happened? Is it Grandma? Grandpa?”

“No,” I say quickly. “It’s your dad. They think he might have had a heart attack.”

She goes still. Like a stone. Her eyes go wide and unfocused, and for half a second, she looks like she might have a heart attack herself.

Then she snaps into motion, wild and frenzied, grabbing for her dress and tugging it on quickly. Her fingers shake as she fumbles with the zipper, and she’s looking around the floor frantically.

“Where are my boots?”

“You kicked them off by the front door,” I say as I pull on my jeans and grab a T-shirt and flannel from the wardrobe.

“And my keys,” she gasps. “Where are my keys?”

I shrug on the flannel as I fish them out of the front pocket of my jeans and hold them up.

She reaches for them, but I keep my arm high, out of her reach. “I’ll drive.”

“Caison—”

“You’re not getting behind the wheel of that truck in this state.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. I step close, grasp her shoulders in my hands, and wait until her eyes meet mine.

“I’ll get you there safe,” I promise. “And fast. Let’s go.”

The last of her resistance crumbles. She nods once and sprints out the bedroom door, and I follow as I tuck my phone into my pocket.

I grab our boots, bend, and help her into hers even though she doesn’t ask before stepping into mine.

I lead her out, hand pressed to the small of her back, lock up, and guide her to the passenger side of the truck.

Her braid’s half undone, dress skewed and wrinkled, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Once I have her settled, I round the hood and climb inside. We tear down the driveway, gravel flying in all directions. I drive faster than I should, but I can feel her vibrating with panic beside me, bouncing her knee and chewing the inside of her cheek.

She hasn’t said a word since we pulled onto the highway.

I reach over and take her hand. She doesn’t pull away. Just grips mine tightly in return.

We’re maybe ten miles out from Wildhaven when she finally speaks.

“He was fine when I left,” she says quietly. “He told me how pretty I looked and told me to enjoy my dinner. I was distracted. I should have paid closer attention.”

I start to explain how these things can come on suddenly, how it isn’t her fault she didn’t see it coming, but I don’t. I just keep driving, holding her hand.

By the time we reach the hospital parking lot, she’s shaking violently. Her fingers reach for the door handle before I’ve even got the truck in park.

“I’ll go in with you,” I offer.

She looks at me, eyes wary but dry now. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

She nods once and opens the door.

We walk in together through the emergency room entrance. Bright lights and the smell of bleach assault us. It’s loud and crowded.

We find Charli and Shelby in the waiting area, pacing like caged animals in a sea of occupied chairs. Earl is sitting beside Evelyn, her face pale and drawn, her eyes rimmed red. Cabe’s standing off to the side with Carl, who’s leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and a blank expression .

When Cabe calls out to us, heads turn.

Matty beelines to Charli, who pulls her into a fierce hug and whispers something in her ear. I hang back, giving them space. After a beat, Matty glances over her shoulder. Her eyes search the room and find mine, and she reaches out a hand.

She wants me here, so I go to her.

A nurse eventually calls the family back, and I expect to stay behind in the waiting room with Cabe and Carl. But Matty grips my hand and doesn’t let go.

We are led into a stark white triage room. Beeping monitors and soft murmurs of machines fill the air.

Albert Storm looks small in the bed. Pale. Tired. IVs run from his arm, and monitors are strapped to his chest.

Matty’s breath hitches when she sees him, and I feel her fingers tighten around mine.

He opens his eyes. Barely. But when he sees his daughters, he manages a ghost of a smile.

“Hey, girls,” he rasps.

At the sound of his voice, Matty releases my hand, and all three Storm girls rush to his bedside.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he assures them as they pepper his face with kisses. “The old ticker just went on the fritz. But the doc says it was mild.”

I step back to the door, giving Evelyn and Earl room to make it to their son.

I watch as Matty takes a seat on the edge of her father’s bed, and I’m flooded with memories of holding my own father’s hand in a hospital as she leans in, strokes his hair, and whispers something I can’t hear.

I don’t belong in this moment. So, I slowly back out of the room to allow them privacy, but I don’t leave. I hover in the hallway.

I’ll stand outside this room all night if need be because I don’t want to leave until I know Albert and Matty are okay.