The wind picks up, battering me as I stumble through the flooded street. Rain pours down, soaking me to the bone. The hurricane’s here, and I’m stuck out in it.

Then, I hear the screech of tires, and a truck pulls up. The door swings open, and standing there, looking as pissed as ever, is Rafe Cameron.

“What the hell are you doing out here, Pogue?” he yells, his voice barely heard over the storm.

I shout back, “Trying to survive!”

Rafe eyes me like I’m an idiot, but then, surprisingly, he holds out his hand. “Get in the truck. Now.”

I hesitate, but the storm’s getting worse. “I don’t need your help,” I snap.

“Well, you’re getting it anyway,” he retorts.

I climb in, shivering as he slams the door and speeds off, tires screeching.

“You’re lucky I don’t leave you out here,” he mutters, but I see the worry in his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking for your charity,” I grumble.

“Well, you’re getting it,” he snaps, his focus back on the road.

Eventually, we pull up to his house—huge, quiet, and safe from the storm.

“You’re staying here until this blows over,” Rafe says, parking the truck. “I’m not letting you die out there.”

I want to argue, but the storm’s too strong. “Fine,” I mutter, stepping out.

We head inside, and the wind’s roar fades. Rafe glances at me, his expression softening just for a second. “Don’t make me regret this.”

I nod, thankful despite myself. For once, we’re not enemies. Just two people stuck in a storm, trying to ride it out.