Page 44 of Dallas Rivals

Like the sky itself is growling.

Oliver presses harder against me, his body shielding mine from flying debris, from everything.

I can feel his heartbeat through my back—fast, heavy, steady in the chaos.

He’s fighting the storm.

Holding me, holding the pipe, holding everything together.

Then, just when I think the roof’s going to rip off. Silence.

The air stills.

The ground stops trembling.

Only the echo of my heartbeat remains, and the weight of his arms still locked tight around me.

Silence.

“It’s passing,” I whisper against her ear. “Or maybe the worst already did.”

She’s clinging to the steel pipe with one arm, the other wrapped around my waist.

I don’t know if she’s trying to protect me or if she just needs something to hold on to.

The debris hitting the barn is softer now, farther apart, and the air has changed—less pressure, less roar.

So I ease my grip, realizing I’ve practically pinned her against the beam.

“No!” she cries, clutching my leg. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not,” I tell her quickly. I can tell by the silence—the tornado’s gone, or it’s moved somewhere else. “You okay?”

She nods fast, but I can feel her shaking. Her whole-body trembles undermine.

“The animals…” she says, her voice breaking.

“They’re fine,” I lie. “What matters is they’re safe, and so are we.”

She nods again, still trembling. I’ve never seen her like this—so terrified, so small.

I loosen my hold on the pipe and wrap my arms around her shoulders instead. At first, she tenses… then slowly melts against me. Her warmth seeps through, steady and real, grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in years.

“Cala,” I murmur, my voice low. “I need to go check outside.”

“What if it comes back?”

“Unlikely.”

Her hands tremble as she unties the rope I’d looped around her waist—just in case the wind tried to carry her away. I do the same with mine, and when we finally let go, we both sit down on the dusty floor, catching our breath.

Tornados in this area aren’t usually violent.

But this one came close. Too close.

The barn’s quiet except for the creak of the beams and her uneven breathing.

Then I hear soft, muffled sob.