Page 25 of Unspoken Hearts
I open it to Grayson’s drenched hair and clothes, and I can’t stop the sensation of disappointment gnawing at my gut. I push it away.
“Gray?”
“It’s coming down hard now,” he all but shouts over the sound of rain pouring down on the metal roof.
Before I can say anything, he pushes me back inside and closes the door with his boot. His T-shirt is wet, matching his curling dirty-blonde hair from the bottom of his cap.
“You didn’t have to come,” I tell him.
He just deadpans.
“But thank you,” I murmur softly.
“Of course, M. I wouldn’t leave you to deal with the storm of the summer on your own here.” Gaze sweeping across the house, they land on the bright red bucket sitting in the middle of the living room. The groan that escapes his throat confirms this is indeed not normal. “When did this start?”
“About three minutes ago.” My voice remains low as I wrap my arms around my midsection, chewing on my bottom lip. “Luckily I remembered the bucket under the sink.”
Grayson’s jaw ticks as he looks back outside at the trees in the street almost blowing sideways.
Lightning flashes suddenly, and I jump.
I’ve hated storms ever since I was born. The loud rumbles of thunder. The brightness of the strikes. I still remember the first storm from when I was little. My parents were out somewhere, and all I could feel was the thunder vibrating our house. That first strike of lightning made me run and hide in my bed. It was the only place in that house where I felt completely safe.
I can’t remember where my parents were, but I didn’t sleep until they came home, stumbling into walls and knocking one of the frames off the wall in the hallway. They didn’t even check on me. I was buried under my covers, not daring to move until the storm passed.
It took me years to figure out what thunder and lightning was, but at that point, my response was to run and hide, and I still haven’t broken out of that habit. It’s not like my parents noticed the way I responded. They were too absorbed in their own world to care.
Grayson’s arm slings over my shoulders, pulling me into him when the thunder grumbles, sending a shiver down my spine. “It can’t hurt you in here, M.” His voice is soft and gentle.
Nodding against his shoulder, my hands splay on his muscular back when every light flickers off in the house. The fridge stops humming and the single rotating fan comes to a slow stop.
“Crap,” I murmur, not pulling away from him. “The electricity must have blown out.”
Grayson nods against my head, moving away to assess the dripping roof. I drag my hand through my hair. “Should we go to mine?”
I peer at the open window when a flash of lightning brightens the street beyond. My head shakes hastily as I stumble backwards, right into Grayson’s arms.
“All right. We’ll be fine here. Just don’t panic, M. That’ll make it worse.”
Nodding, I swallow the lump forming in my throat. The air feels like it’s cooling rapidly from the lack of sunshine. “I’m going to get a jumper. Did you want one?”
“Thanks,” Grayson says, smiling weakly.
I grab one for each us. Axel’s hoodie falls to my knees, but it’ll do. Handing one to Grayson, it fits him normally.
I feel goosebumps forming on my arms as I try to block out the noises and sensations of the storm, but even after all these years, it’s engrained in my brain to hide.
“Have you eaten anything?” Grayson asks after a few minutes of silence.
“I was a little preoccupied with my melting roof,” I grumble, pointing a finger to the droplets forming.
Shoulders slacking, Grayson grabs onto the sleeve of my jumper, hauling me into the cramped kitchen. “Come on, then.”
“I don’t have much,” I admit, although it doesn’t stop him.
Peering into the dark fridge, he hums before shutting it. Going through the cupboards, he pulls out a packet of unpopped popcorn and a can of beans.
I give him a twisted smile. “That won’t really go together.”
