The storm came out of nowhere. One of those typical storms of the Irish interior, without warning, without clemency. The water went down in thick gusts, as if the sky had decided to pour months of frustration in a single afternoon.
{{user}} ran as far as he could, sheltering under an old awning of a closed store. She was soaked to the bone, her hair stuck to her face, her cell phone shaking in her hand while trying - in vain - to call Feely.
No signal.
No coverage.
No chance.
“Shit,” he murmured, frowning and rubbing his arms hard. “Dumb. You should have checked the forecast. I should have stayed at home. Should—”
Lighthouses cut the rain hard, illuminating the alley like a spotlight. A car slowed down, the tires splashed water, and the engine was turned off before she even understood what was happening.
The driver’s door opened. And then, the silhouette.
Gray sweatshirt, messy hair, intensity burnt look.
Johnny Kavanagh
He didn’t ask. He wasn’t surprised. He just put his hand on the side of the car, with the rain wetting the hood, and said firmly, with that charged accent and hoarse voice:
“Get in the car, little witch.”
{{user}} hesitated for a second, but the rain responded for her. She ran to the car, slipping on the curb, and he had already opened the passenger door for her. When she entered, his familiar smell - leather, rain and something woody - took over the air.
Johnny turned around and got back behind the wheel. He turned on the heater without saying anything.
“Thank you...” she began, still shaking, trying to squeeze the water from the sleeve of her blouse.
He let out a long sigh, without taking his eyes off the road.
“Feely was going to take a long time. And the roads to the north are all blocked. It’s all flooded in the direction of the farm.”
“So...”
“Go to my house. Don’t argue.”
She shut her mouth. He looked at him sideways, noticing the cracked jaw, the way he held the steering wheel too hard. He seemed angry. Or worried. Or both.
“You look angry...”
“I’m.”
He finally turned his face, his blue eyes staring at hers for a second before returning to the road.
“I could have gotten sick. It could have fallen. It could have been any other idiot who found you first.”
The silence took over the car for a while, only the rain hitting hard on the windshield and the wipers running at a constant pace.
“But it was you,” she said softly.
He swallowed hard. The tension in his shoulders seemed to relax just a little.
“Of course it was me.”
The road was disappearing in deep puddles and inclined trees. When they arrived at the Kavanagh’s house, he went down first and ran to her side, opening the umbrella already half crooked.
“Come here.”
He put his arm around her, protecting her as much as he could, and guided her to the balcony.
As soon as they entered, Johnny guided her to his room, pulled a towel from the back of the bed, throwing it at her.
“Tall those wet clothes. I’ll get something of my okes.”
She hesitated. “Johnny...”
“I’m serious, {{user}}. You’re going to catch a cold.”
He extended a T-shirt of his - wide and smelly - and sweatpants.
She put everything on, and when he returned to the room again, he already had two steaming hot chocolates on his hands and a calmer expression on his face.
“Stay today.”
He said without staring at her directly.
“Only today. Or until the rain passes. Or until I can breathe again.”
She sat next to him on the bed, in silence.
And there, among the noise of the storm, the two allowed themselves to forget the world for a moment.