Riders on the Storm (Waiting for the Sun #2)

by Robin Hill

  “Nah,” he says. “We’re good. Think of this as an adventure.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Really?” His head whips around and he smiles. “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks. Please don’t kill us.”

  “Are you sure?” The cab driver peers through the windshield at the ominous sky. “The marina? This really isn’t the best weather for—”

  “It’s an emergency,” I say, my gaze fixed on the slow glide of the wipers. It’s only drizzling now, but if the storm we flew through followed us in… “I need to get…home.”

  His brows arch above his wire-framed glasses as he regards me in the mirror. “You got a weekend house on one of the islands or something?”

  My heart begins to pound in time with the blinker as we exit the airport and turn onto the main road. “My fiancé does. He’s there; I just need to get to him.”

  “You got a boat?”

  “No,” I say, wiping a tear as it slides down my cheek. “I was hoping…”

  “I only know one fool who’d still be on the water with a storm coming. Name’s Joe, and if he’s there, he’ll be on the houseboat on the far right end—the one that looks like it’s about to crumble,” he says, running a hand over his shiny bald head. “He’s got a little fishing boat he could probably take you in”—he rolls down his window, the scent of rain rushing into the cab—“but you’d have to hurry. I’d say you got maybe an hour before this thing hits, and you don’t want to be on the water when it does.”

  I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Thank you.”

  Joe’s easy to spot. With his long white hair and beard, he’s somewhat of a tropical Santa Claus, dressed in a parrot-print Hawaiian shirt and knee-length blue jean shorts. While everyone else has taken cover from the rain, Joe’s kicked back on the deck of his houseboat digging through a tackle box. The wooden dock squeaks beneath my feet, and his eyes snap to mine in surprise.

  “Well, hello there, young lady,” he says, closing the box in his lap and setting it beside him on the deck. “What brings you by on this beautiful day?”

  “I…I need a ride,” I say, stuttering from the cold. “My cab driver—dammit! I didn’t get his name…”

  “Bald guy? Glasses? Looks a little like Mr. Clean?”

  I nod.

  “That’s Jerry. He said I might be able to help you out, did he?”

  I nod again.

  “Where ya goin’?”

  “My fiancé has a house on a small island. I can show you. I’ll pay anything you ask…please.”

  He pushes out of his chair and climbs onto the dock. “Who’s your fiancé?”

  “His name’s Darian—”

  “Oh, Foxtrot! On Anabel.” A warm smile emerges beneath his beard and his eyes light up. “Fiancé, huh? Good for him! About damn time!” He grabs my bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I’d be happy to take you, Miss…”

  “Frankie.”

  “Miss Frankie.” He beams. “Consider it an early wedding present.” His smile slips as his arms fold over his ample belly. “Why isn’t Foxtrot here to pick you up?”

  “He doesn’t know I’m here,” I say, tucking my wet hair behind my ears. “It was kind of last minute, and I wasn’t expecting…”

  Joe chuckles. “A hurricane?”

  “A what?” I look up at the sky, thick with gray clouds casting dark shadows over the water. The temperature’s probably dropped ten degrees since I climbed out of the cab, and the wind is picking up. It’s nothing that would make me think hurricane, but I’ll take Joe’s word for it. I wrap my arms around my torso, suddenly aware of Darian’s damp shirt clinging to my skin, as Joe takes off down the pier.

  “Is it safe?” I ask, trailing behind him. “To be on the water, I mean?”

  “Right this second?” Joe moves his head in a noncommittal nod and my stomach does a little flip. “It’s only a fifteen-minute ride,” he says, peering up at the sky. “I’d say we have forty.”

  The state of Joe’s boat causes my breath to hitch. It’s old, potentially as old as Joe himself. The paint is chipped and peeling, the vinyl seats are cracked, and the worn carpeting squishes beneath my feet as I step inside.

  “Find something to hold on to,” Joe says as his hands grip the wheel. “It’s going to be choppy.”

  Choppy can’t be any worse than bumpy, right?

  The boat makes a sputtering sound as it powers to life. If I weren’t so busy shivering, I’d probably be concerned. I curl up on the bench in the back, hugging my legs to my chest in an attempt to keep warm. Joe, who doesn’t appear to be affected by anything, eases out of the slip and flips on the radio as we coast toward open water.

  “The National Hurricane Center has issued a hurricane warning for the entire Florida Keys. This is in addition to the current tropical storm warning issued earlier. Monroe County is strongly recommending that visitors leave the area as soon as possible. Tropical storm force winds are expected to hit Wednesday evening.”

  “I thought it was just a tropical storm watch,” I say.

  “It was.” Joe glances at me over his shoulder. “You know if Foxtrot ever got that satellite phone?”

  “He has one,” I say, thinking back on the dusty contraption in his storm cellar. “Not sure if it works, though.”

  “Have you tried his cell?”

  “A couple of times; it just rings.”

  “That’s strange. He usually lets me know when he’s coming. I haven’t heard a peep out of him this time.” We clear the marina and the boat picks up speed. “He probably has no idea how bad this storm’s going to get. They thought it’d pass right by us, but it sure didn’t.” He hits the gas, the force throwing me back. “Hang tight, Miss Frankie, here we go.”

  I grab on to the closest handle with one hand while trying to hold my shirt closed with the other, but the wind is powerful, and the metal handle is slick with rain.

  “You okay back there?” Joe calls over his shoulder.

  Fantastic! Might try paragliding…

  “I’m good,” I shout back, tightening my grip.

  “Won’t be too long.”

  The boat bounces against the angry swells, testing my tolerance for seasickness. I close my eyes and think about the Lamaze exercises Jane showed me, but I’m too cold, too panicked for them to work.

  The bouncing gets worse as the boat slows. I release my shirt, letting it flap in the wind, and flatten my hand on the vinyl cushion as Joe circles the island.

  “It’s too windy for the dock, I’m afraid,” he says. “I’m going to get as close as I can to the beach.”

  He backs the boat up to the shore and points to the ladder. “You’re gonna have to jump, but it’s pretty shallow. Think you can do it?”

  I nod, though my feet feel rooted to the carpet. “Thank you so much, Joe.”

  I climb down the ladder and jump into the water. Fuck, that’s cold! It’s not quite waist deep, but the waves bring it up to my chest.

  Joe waits until the water recedes to toss me my bag. “You tell that fiancé of yours to get in touch with me once this has passed. I want to know you kids are okay.”

  “I will.”

  A clap of thunder propels me forward, and I make it to shore just as a bolt of lightning pierces the sky. It’s getting darker, and the wind is howling through the palms, the rain coming down in sheets. I race toward the house dodging fallen branches and wading through puddles, some reaching my calves. My duffel soaks up the water like a sponge until it’s so heavy, the shoulder strap snaps and I have to drag it, but as soon as the house comes into view, I let it go.

  It’s like a scene from a movie—shutters slamming against the siding, furniture toppling over, smaller items taking flight.

  Adrenaline courses through me, and I take off in a sprint, leaving my bag behind and thinking only of Darian as I scale the stairs and cross the back deck to the door. The knob doesn’t turn, but I try
not to panic. Darian wouldn’t have come this way, I remind myself, hurrying to the side of the house that faces the dock. The wooden slats are slick, and I’m careful not to slip as I near the front door.

  “Francesca?”

  I peel my hair from my face, gathering it in my fist as I spin around.

  “You’re not real,” I hear him say, and my eyes are drawn to the deck floor, where Darian sits against the side of the house, his knees pulled in, my father’s pocket watch clutched between his fingers.

  “Darian!” I drop to a crouch beside him and take his face in my hands, his week-long beard wet from the rain that’s blowing sideways across the deck. “What are you doing out here?” I ask, tilting his head toward me, but he doesn’t answer, nor does he meet my gaze. His eyes are glassy and lifeless, and I’m struck with a sense of déjà vu from the anniversary of the accident, the night he came in soaked to the bone, because it had been raining then too. He was hysterical, manic even, and I remember thinking he was just reacting to the day and that it would pass, but after that, I found him on the floor of his closet, much like this.

  I inhale a breath of moist air as tears mixed with rain spill down my cheeks. I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt—Darian’s shirt—and rest my forehead against his.

  “Please come back to me,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.” Long seconds pass with nothing but the cacophony of the storm whirring around us, but then he says my name, as soft as a sigh, and I sit back on my heels. “Darian?” My shoulders sag with relief as his dull gaze begins to sharpen.

  “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “No,” I say, grinning now, though my voice is thick.

  My fingers slide into his hair, and I lean in to kiss him. He smiles back at me…and then everything goes dark.

  I stretch my legs beneath the sheet and smile against my pillow. The early morning sun casts shadows that dance on the walls, and I can’t help but stare at them as I listen to the thunder warring with the rain outside.

  “How does this not scare the hell out of you? It sounds like we’re inside a drum.”

  “I’m used to it, I guess. It’s comforting to me.” I waved the movie in front of him. “And isn’t scary the point?”

  The memory of that stormy day in my cabin comes back to me as if it were yesterday. Hot chocolate and Friday the 13th, snuggling on my couch until the power went out.

  I snuggle against Darian now, feel his warm breath on my neck as he sleeps peacefully behind me. Nightmare free, I think, gratefully, and cover his hand with mine on my stomach.

  “Look at you being all romantic,” I said as he lowered me onto the bed.

  With his body hovering over mine, he grinned. “You think I’m being romantic, but I’m just trying to save you from the mystery stains on the carpet.”

  “Either way, it’s chivalrous.”

  A laugh rises in my throat as I start to sit up, but a sharp, searing pain sends me back to my pillow.

  What’s happening?

  There’s no morning sun, no windows—only the dim light of a candle flickering off to my right. The air is damp and stale, mixed with the sickly-sweet scent of honeysuckle, and rain pounds the roof so steadily it sounds like static.

  There was a storm. I’m in the storm cellar.

  Bits and pieces return to me—the sideways rain, the howling wind, the shutters crashing against the house. I remember finding Darian on the front deck, his smile filling me…

  “You’d make an amazing mother. I’d never deny you a family…if that’s what you want.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” His silence was a loud thrumming in my ears. “Do I want to have children with you? Yes, because it’s you. But only when you’re ready.”

  “What if I’m never ready?”

  Then there was nothing.

  Oh God, my baby.

  Stifling a cry with one hand, I clutch my stomach with the other.

  “Francesca, shit.” Long fingers slip beneath my head and I feel a damp cloth press against my neck. “You took a nasty hit,” Darian says, pulling back the strands of hair stuck to my face. “But you’ll be okay, I promise.”

  I hug my stomach tighter. “Did I fall?” I ask, barely able to utter the words. “Did I hit my head because I fell?”

  “No, baby, you didn’t fall. You were kneeling and I caught you.”

  A relieved gasp rips from my throat, and I nod, unable to speak.

  “I tried to get through to the mainland,” he says, “but with this weather… I’ll try again when the rain lets up. I know you’re fine, but I don’t want to take any chances.” He heaves a heavy sigh. “God, Francesca, I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. The storm wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Joe said we had time, but…”

  “Joe brought you?”

  I nod again, gritting my teeth against the throbbing in my head, and roll onto my side, facing him. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry?” A frown creases his forehead. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who’s sorry. If I would have just listened to you…talked to you.” His jaw clenches. “I did everything wrong.”

  “No, Darian, that’s not true.”

  “I said so many terrible things I can never take back.” He drags a hand down his face. “And then when I found that newspaper article…”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” I say. “I should have told you.”

  “I should have asked.” He takes my hand and holds it to his chest. “I should have trusted you.”

  I should have trusted you.

  I remember losing Darian the first time. It was the Monday after Easter, and we were on his boat. I told him that I loved him, even though I knew he didn’t want to hear it. In the days that followed, I would have given anything to take it back, to have him back, just like this.

  And right now, I’m afraid of finding myself in a similar predicament. I have a truth I need to tell him—two truths, actually—and no idea what will happen when I do. Jane said it would all work out, but she’s never known love like this. She doesn’t know how much it hurts to lose it, and I’ve almost lost it twice.

  “I didn’t trust you,” I say on a shaky breath. “That’s why I left.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I went to your office that night looking for you. Your car was there and I was so relieved, but then I got to your lobby and it was dark and there was music playing and scotch and…”

  Darian lifts up on his elbow, tucking his pillow in the crook of his arm. “Slow down, baby. What are you saying?”

  “There was a red blazer hanging on the back of a chair and papers all over the coffee table. I thought maybe you guys had gone to get dinner, but then I heard her.”

  “Heard who?” His eyes close briefly as realization dawns. “Amanda.”

  “I followed her voice to your office, and I…”

  “That wasn’t me,” he says, letting go of my hand. “I would never. Could never…”

  “I know that now.” I inhale sharply. “I should have known it then.”

  The quiet that ensues is as loud as the storm outside. I pull the sheet to my chin and lie there, watching Darian watch me, wondering if we’ll make it through this.

  “Darian, please say something.”

  “I hate that I did this to you,” he whispers. “That I made you believe I’d be capable—why didn’t you say anything? If you would have just talked to me…” He smiles ruefully. “If I would have just talked to you.”

  “There are a lot of things we should have done differently,” I say. “Both of us.”

  He slowly strokes my hair. “So what changed? How did you know it wasn’t me?”

  “Amanda found me. She’d been trying to find you. Why would you disappear like this? Everyone’s been so worried.”

  Darian lies down on his back and stares up at the ceiling. “I was going to cal
l them. I wanted to be alone and they wouldn’t let up. Their concern was…”

  “Overwhelming?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a quiet laugh, and then he tilts his head toward me. “Francesca, are we okay? Please tell me we’re okay—or that we’ll be okay.” His fingers curl around mine. “I guess what I’m asking is, are you coming home?”

  I meet his olive gaze and smile. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”

  The hard lines on his face melt away, and I’m treated to a rare glimpse of his dimple that makes my heart flutter.

  I nestle closer to him and smooth my hand over his chest, stopping when I feel something hard and sharp under his tee. “What’s this?” I ask, rising up on my forearm. I notice a leather cord extending from the neckline of his shirt and give it a gentle pull. “Your mom’s ring…”

  “Your ring.” He sits up and lifts the cord over his head. “I want to put this back on your finger more than anything, but I won’t—not until I’m worthy. I don’t deserve you, Francesca, but I will, and when that day comes, I’ll fall to my knees and beg you to marry me all over again.”

  Tears pool in my eyes as he hangs the ring around my neck.

  “I want a life with you,” he says, “a family. I want a little pink house with a tire swing in the backyard and enough kids running around to merit a reality show. I want a dog that barks too much and maybe a cat. No, I don’t want a cat. Do you want a cat?”

  Laughter erupts through the tears, and I shake my head. “I hate cats.”

  Darian smiles. “Good, then it’s settled. No cats.”

  I sit up beside him, and we lean back against the cement wall with our feet dangling off the side of the rollaway bed. The rain has stopped, and it’s quiet.

  About those kids…

  “How’s your head?” Darian asks.

  “Better.”

  “I still want to get it checked out, okay? No arguing.”

  I flatten my hand on my belly. No arguing. “Darian, there’s something—”