“Yeah, I’m fine. Just me and the scarecrow.”
“Aye, you really saw a scarecrow move?”
“No, but the vibes out here are definitely ‘children of the corn’ meets ‘wrong turn,’ so I’m not ruling anything out.”
He laughed again, and I found myself smiling despite everything. This was us–easy, comfortable, the kind of friendship that felt like home. Even when my car was dead, and the rain was turning into a full-on downpour.
“Stay in the car and keep the doors locked. I’m leaving now.”
“Kade?”
“Wassup?”
I hesitated, watching the rain blur the world outside my windows. “Drive safe, okay?”
There was a moment of silence. Maybe I imagined the shift in the air between us. Maybe I’d been imagining a lot lately–the way his eyes lingered, the careful distance, those moments that felt like more than friendship but never crossed the line.
“Always do,” Kade said finally, his voice doing that thing where it got a little lower, a little rougher. “I’ll be there soon, Storm.”
He hung up, and I sat there in my dead car, watching the rain come down in sheets, trying not to think about the fact that I was about to spend the next twenty to thirty minutes alone with my thoughts. Dangerous territory.
Because the truth was, somewhere between parties and late-night conversations, between shared secrets and comfortable silences, Kade had stopped being just my best friend. He’d become the person I thought about first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. The one whose opinion mattered most, whose presence made everything better, whose smile could ruin my entire day in the best possible way.
But we were friends.Best friends. Our friend group meshed well, and our parents hung out often. We were… us. And that was too important to risk over some inconvenient feelings that I’d gotten very good at ignoring.
The rain pounded harder against the roof, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, watching the road for headlights. Twenty to thirty minutes. I could do that. What I wasn’t sure I could handle was the weekend we’d planned. It was going to be just the two of us at his family’s cabin–hanging out, cooking, watching movies, and vibing.
With Kade’s birthday around the corner, this was how he wanted to bring it in. It was supposed to be fun, and now this storm was looking more serious by the second. But I’d worry about that later. I just needed him to get here. And I definitelywasn’t thinking about how good he’d look soaking wet from the rain. Definitely not.
Igripped my phone and grabbed my keys off the counter, already moving toward the door. Stormie’s voice was still in my head–that edge of panic she tried to play off with jokes, like I couldn’t hear the real worry underneath. Six years, and I could read her like a book she didn’t know she’d left open.
I snatched my black hoodie off the back of the couch, pulled it over my head, and checked my reflection in the hallway mirror out of habit. Fresh fade, beard lined up clean. The gray joggers I’d thrown on earlier hung low on my hips, and yeah, I knew Storm noticed shit like that even when she pretended not to. I noticed things too, more than I should’ve.
The weather alert on my phone lit up as I locked the door behind me–severe thunderstorm warning, possible flash flooding, all that dramatic shit. Perfect. Stormie was strandedin the middle of nowhere, with a dead car and the sky about to open.
I jogged down the stairs of my new two-story house, keys jingling in my hand, and hit the unlock button on my key fob. My Charger’s lights flashed in the parking lot, custom and black and ready. I slid into the driver’s seat, and the engine purred to life, that deep rumble I never got tired of. Thirty minutes. I could make it in under twenty if I pushed it.
I pulled up Stomie’s location on my phone, mounted it on the dash, and backed out. Route 47. Middle of fucking nowhere, just like she said. The first drops of rain hit my windshield as I turned onto the main road, and I cranked up the wipers. The thing was, I’d drop everything for Stormie. Always had. She called, I came. Simple as that.
What wasn’t simple was the way my chest tightened every time I heard her voice. Or the way I caught myself staring at her mouth when she talked. Or how I’d spent the last six years trying to convince myself that what I felt was just friendship, just loyalty, just... some shit other than what it actually was. Raw, inconvenient, dangerous-as-hell want.
Stormie was fucking beautiful. Light-skinned, pale enough that every freckle and beauty mark showed. She had long, dark hair that changed depending on what she wanted it to be, and honey-colored eyes. She was thick and curved in ways that made me want to grab her and not let go. Her full lips were heart-shaped, and her voice had a soft edge, sharp but not mean. I loved the fact that she didn’t do too much. She always dressedcasually, no makeup or jewels unless she was going out with her girls–a true natural beauty.
I turned onto the highway, pushing the Charger faster. The rain was coming down harder now, sheets of it blurring the road ahead. My phone said fifteen more minutes. I’d make it ten.
Storm didn’t know–couldn’t know–that I thought about her in ways that would probably ruin everything we had. I noticed every little thing about her. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. How she always stole the aux cord and played the same five songs on repeat. The sound of her laugh, the real one she only gave me, not the girly one she used for everyone else. The way her thick legs looked in those little ass shorts she wore around her apartment sometimes,
I gripped the steering wheel tighter and focused on the road. This weekend was supposed to be chill. My people’s cabin, a couple of days away from the city, just me and Stormie doing what we always did–talking shit, watching movies, existing in that safe, comfortable space we’d carved out over the years.
Except nothing about being alone with Storm felt safe anymore. Not when I’d spent the last few months catching her looking at me the same way I looked at her when she wasn’t paying attention. Not when the air between us had started feeling heavier.
The GPS said eight minutes. I could see her location getting closer, that little blue dot on the map that meant everything. My phone buzzed with a text.
I smiled and hit the voice command. “Text Storm: Five minutes out.” I laughed, low and quiet in the darkness of my car. She always did that shit–made jokes when she was stressed, deflected with humor instead of admitting she needed help. But I knew her ass very well.
Three minutes now. I could see the stretch of Route 47 ahead, nothing but cornfields and darkness and rain. Then I saw her car on the side of the road, hazards blinking like a distress signal. I pulled up behind her and put the Charger in park, engine still running.
Through the rain-streaked windows, I could see her silhouette in the driver’s seat, phone glowing in her hand. My chest did that stupid shit it does, that tightness that had nothing to do with the drive and everything to do with her.