by Stacey Lynn
“Busy day indeed,” he sighed. “I wish I was there helping.”
I did too. “What’s on your agenda for the day?”
“A few meetings with the producers, but to be honest, nothing. Tell me about the storm. Is it supposed to be bad?”
“Yeah. I guess. I suppose it depends. It’s August and we’ve been spared most of the dangerous weather, but they’re predicting tornadoes later this afternoon.”
It was a part of life in Kansas. I had already double-checked the cellar outside so that just in case I needed to take shelter, I had it ready. I also considered heading into town and spending the night with Jordan or one of my friend’s families. Storms on the ranch were scary enough, but I’d worry less if I was closer to the animals in case something happened.
“You’ll be safe?” Cooper asked, the tightness in his voice was clear.
“Don’t worry, Hollywood. I was raised with these. Plus, you’ve seen the cellar.”
“Yeah and I still think there are ghosts, or maybe rats down there.”
The cellar wasn’t attached to the house, and our house was old enough we didn’t have a basement. After that first thunderstorm with Cooper, I’d showed him where we’d head if there were tornadoes, but I hadn’t had to use it yet this summer. The walls were built with cement blocks, lined with wood shelves that stored canned goods. I had a flashlight that didn’t need batteries, a weather radio, a few changes of clothes in case and important documents in a small safe in case we ever lost the house, and my favorite warm blanket.
All I needed down there was electricity and I could live there for days if I needed to.
“I worry about you there,” Cooper said. “Last time I was gone, something happened. Tell me you’ll be safe, Rebecca. Always.”
“Of course I will,” I said. “I promise. And, if it gets bad, I’ll call you okay?”
“You better. I’ll let you go, I know there’s work to do, but give Pepper a kiss for me, would you?”
“You and your goat,” I teased.
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I’m saving all my good kisses for you when I see you next.”
It was the first time either of us had talked about seeing each other outside apparently hosting his family for Thanksgiving. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. God, it’s killing me to not be with you. You know that, right?”
I’d assumed. “It feels better to hear it.”
“I love you.” His voice turned gritty. “I miss you every damn day out here, Rebecca. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“I love you, too.” It came easier now, fell off my lips without thought and not always in response to him but because I couldn’t hold it in.
For the millionth time, I wished I wouldn’t have served up everything that day he left. Had I been more honest upfront, not fumbled everything, had I been able to tell him everything I felt before that day, before it became a breaking point, would he be here helping me?
Nightly, I kicked my own butt for pushing him away when he sat there, telling me he chose me and it didn’t seem like giving up anything but walking toward everything.
Still, even that wasn’t completely true.
I was healing. My time was spent for me, working on me, and I’d made more than one important decision. The first was to forgive Joseph. Without having answers, without having the arguments and the closure I needed, my only choice was to forgive him. So every time I thought of him and that niggle of hatred and anger crept into my mind, I forced myself to think of five true, five good things I remembered about him.
It seemed backward, but every time I thought of the way Joseph made me laugh, or the way he held me, or the time he tried to boil lobsters on our first anniversary, but instead spent the night mopping up boiled water all over our kitchen floor because we’d forgotten about them getting lost in other activities, my heart healed a little bit more.
Sometimes it felt almost treasonous to Cooper, to be thinking of such wonderful memories of a man who hurt me in order to get over him, but for me, I needed it. I needed the reminder that there were parts of us that were really good, parts of me he’d loved, parts of my life I wouldn’t change for anything.
But at night, when I was lonely, it was Cooper I missed, Cooper I wanted next to me, and while we didn’t talk about him coming back, permanently or in any manner outside Thanksgiving, I’d been making plans for him already as well.
One week, I spent the quiet nights sipping wine, re-decorating the office. I removed all the old, original dark woodwork bookshelves that lined an entire wall and my father’s L-Shaped writing desk. The shelves held mementos from my parents, family pictures of Jordan and I growing up, and wedding photos from my great-grandparents down to me and Joseph. It was the last remaining photo I had of Joseph I still left out, but now, all of them besides the photo of my great-grandparents were put away in a scrapbook along with all the other family photos I took down.
This was my house, my home, not just something handed to me. I wanted to honor my heritage and the home’s history. But the house needed to be made mine.
And, hopefully someday, Cooper’s.
Now, the room still fit the farmhouse, the bookshelves replaced gone to make room for two matching desks that were inspired from old barn wood, refinished and refined to look classy but masculine. Beneath the front window, I’d set up a sitting area and off to the side, a small wine and whiskey cart. I’d never seen Cooper drink anything harder than the occasional beer, but one night when I was in there working, I looked out the window, the empty space in front of it, and imagined us sitting in chairs, me sipping wine, him a scotch while I flipped through a romance novel on my e-reader I hadn’t used since before Joseph’s death but had recently recharged and used daily. Cooper would sit in the other chair, thin, gold-framed reading glasses propped on his nose, his head bent while he scribbled notes in the margins of whatever script he’d be doing next.
I wanted that for him. I wanted him to have it all, even if it meant that sometimes, it meant not having him next to me.
And if he didn’t want that…I’d take him then, too.
I didn’t care he was Cooper Hawke, Golden Globe winner, whispers already chasing him of his upcoming film being an Oscar nominee.
I just cared that he was kind. He made me laugh, he treasured me, and he loved me. That he had a way with his sexy, strong hands and body molded to perfection were very yummy side benefits.
Thirty-Nine
Cooper
I missed Rebecca. I missed the hell out of her. I missed her shy little smiles, her laughter. I missed the sweet flowery scent of her hair and the curve of her hips. I missed the way she reached out and took my hand, slapped my biceps when I made her laugh.
I missed the way she pressed her cold feet into my lap, burrowing them beneath my thigh while we watched television at night, and especially when it was ninety degrees outside. The woman was always cold.
She didn’t know, and I hadn’t told her, but for the first time since I was in high school, I hung a paper calendar on the fridge of the hotel suite where I was staying, and every day, I crossed off an X.
One more day closer to getting to return to Kansas.
The wait was killing me, and upon my return to Los Angeles, I had only become more certain that wanting to leave and never return had always been and would always be, the best decision I ever made.
Still, I hadn’t wanted to freak her out and I wanted her to have the time we needed. And at night when we spoke, I enjoyed hearing about all the things she’d been up to during the day, nights with friends and her brother, a shopping trip with Brooke to Kansas City. A night at the local bar where she came home with a hoarse voice from screaming during a Kansas City Royals game.
I had no idea she was such a fanatic until she began recalling stats on their entire starting line-up.
Yeah, I needed to get back to Kansas and I still had ten weeks to go. But, there I was, sitting at a rooftop for a late dinner with the produce
r of a studio company, one I worked with frequently, essentially begging him for a job.
And fortunately, he hadn’t just bitten. He loved my ideas.
“You’ll be busy as you switch roles. You’ll have to prove yourself even if you’ve already got connections.” Klaus Straudvik was the executive producer of the film set to start shooting next week. It wasn’t the first time I worked with him and hopefully, it wouldn’t be the last. His white hair shone silver underneath the rooftop lights. “Will probably require a lot of travel, but you’re not the first actor turned producer and not the first to not live in California to make it work.”
I didn’t mind travel. I’d travel as much as possible. Purchase my own private jet and store it in Lawrence. Hell, I’d get my pilot’s license if I had to, and fly myself. What I didn’t want, ever, was to be apart from Rebecca for ten to twelve weeks at a time while filming a movie.
Hell, here I was, being offered the job of a lifetime, the opportunity to have everything I wanted and all I really wanted to do was set aside my vodka tonic, go back to the hotel, and turn on The Weather Channel so I could watch the storm Rebecca had mentioned this morning.
She’d blown it off, but when it came to her, I’d always worry when I wasn’t at her side.
“So what do we need to do in order to sell this to the studio?” I asked.
Klaus pulled up his tablet, flicked the screen on, and we got to work.
* * *
Ten missed calls. Fifteen missed texts. A vodka tonic and a tablet turned into several rounds of drinks and a full course dinner. I never knew Klaus enjoyed talking so much. And damn the man could ramble.
But, the haze of the slight drunkenness of too many drinks evaporated as soon as I looked at my calls screen. I’d ignored the insistent buzzing of my phone while we spoke, but after a while, it became too impossible to ignore and I’d pulled out my phone, something I refused to do during business meetings.
I didn’t remember saying goodbye to Klaus. Or explaining.
I think all I muttered was, “I have to go,” and even then I was already pushing out of my chair and walking away from him.
I called Rebecca first.
When she didn’t answer, I called Jordan.
When he didn’t answer, I called Ryan.
When he didn’t answer, I called Max.
“There’s no way you’ll get there tonight. Weather’s too dangerous, Cooper. The entirety of Oklahoma and Kansas are under tornado warnings and they’re saying it’s the worst they’ve ever seen.”
“I need to get there.”
“I get your concern, I do.” He did. I’d told him everything I felt for Rebecca when I’d pressured him and Paul to do whatever it took to get me out of filming this thing.
He still didn’t get my need to see her.
“How bad is it?” He pulled up the weather as soon as I called. In the back of my taxi, my knee incessantly jumped. My bones felt like they were clawing at me, trying to get out of my skin.
“Tornadoes popping up all over the place.” A few more clicks. “Strong ones, Cooper. Shit.”
“What?”
Goddamn, I needed my laptop. I need a fucking plane.
I needed Rebecca and why was nobody answering my damn calls?
“They’re all over. Three have been reported touched down in the county. Storm’s set to last for hours yet. Coop—”
His voice broke and it hit me we were talking about his niece. Emotion threatened to barrel through my chest and I beat it back as hard as I could.
“Where can I get to? Closest place, Max. Small airfield. Private. Anything.”
“If you wait…this might be for nothing, Cooper. Power might be out. Cell phone towers down. Just because they’re not answering doesn’t necessarily mean—”
I couldn’t let him finish. I refused to think about what not contacting them could mean. “I’m flying out somewhere tonight. Where can I go?”
My taxi was stuck on I-fucking-five. Goddamn, this stretch of highway killed any desire I ever had to ever return to California. For the last month, I’d cursed this highway. Clogged at all hours. Didn’t matter the time.
My nails dug into my knees until pain distracted me.
Moments passed. Moments where I sat in the back of a car. Helpless. Half a country away.
Fuck!
“Lincoln,” Max finally said. “Nebraska isn’t under watch, just rain. It’s still almost a four-hour drive.”
“Get me on it. And get me a car.”
“I really think if you wait—”
“Not waiting, Max. I’m using your plane or I’m sitting my ass in the airport until I can get out and if I have to drive through a fucking F-5 tornado, I don’t really give a shit. I’m getting to Rebecca.”
“Take the plane,” he sighed.
“Thank you.” Sweet, sweet relief.
“And Coop? Tell her I love her.”
Jesus. My eyes burned something fierce and I pressed my fingers and thumb to my closed lids. “Will do.”
Forty
Rebecca
My body trembled and my teeth clattered. Above my head, wind and storm and rain pounded so hard against the metal doors I was terrified it would rip the doors right off. I was locked in, safe as could be, and all the errors I’d made in life still replayed in my mind, a constant loop of shoulda-coulda-wouldas.
Tears from fear had stopped hours ago, but the storm relented.
The sound of a train rushing overhead came and went, the roar, the wild whip of wind tugged at the doors.
I abandoned my phone hours ago when the screen went black shortly after I called Jordan. I put off heading to the shelter as long as I could, my eyes glued to the television in my living room, my hands clenched to the couch cushions, white-knuckling it so hard my hands still ached hours later.
Tornadoes popped up all over the state and I was sheltered in, locked in and had texted both Cooper and then my brother letting them know. My screen went black less than thirty minutes later, shortly after Jordan’s reply came in.
You okay?
My phone froze and I lost connection before I could reply.
I never saw one come in from Cooper.
I’d tried to eat, and stopped. I read for the first hour or two, and couldn’t do anything else other than listen to the weather radio, a crank up one that didn’t require batteries. My flashlight was next to me.
We had beds down here, put here when Jordan and I were kids and I was curled into the far back corner of the cellar, wrapped in a blanket, fighting against the urge to slam my hands over my ears as another round of trains barreled overhead.
Tornadoes.
Everywhere. All over the state. Based on the noise outside, the calm and the pounding, the wave after wave of heavy material crashing above my head, shaking the ground even though I was well beneath it, didn’t end.
It was ten o’clock. Based on the news of the weather, I had hours left of this torture.
It was the first time I’d had to come down here alone. Memories assaulted me of other times, as kids when Jordan and I would spend hours playing UNO or Go Fish or War. There were board games, covered with a sheen of dust on a shelf. Other memories. The storm that hit when I was seven that had set the Whitman’s house on fire.
Nights Joseph and I hunkered down. Nights where we passed the time concentrating on the feel of each other’s body, ignoring the whooshing of wind and the roll of thunder above.
Cooper shuddering, his entire body, as I led him down the stairs to show him what it was like. More like a bunker than a simple tornado shelter, my dad had taken great pains to make this area safe and sound and somewhere we could hide if we ever needed it.
The damage of this storm would be monstrous. I was already planning on tree removals. Figuring the costs of lost cattle. Thank God I took twenty to market a couple weeks ago and cattle prices were currently higher than normal giving me a decent hope of not being fully taken over financially by this.
I just really, really wanted Cooper next to me. If only I could text him. Call him. Hear his voice in my ear or even better, feel his hand grazing my thigh. His lips at my throat.
Goddamn it. Why did I let him leave me?
Never again. I didn’t care what I had to do when this was done, but he was never going to be apart from me again.
An enormous crash hit above. The cellar doors slammed against the ground and I jumped.
The hell?
I rushed to the doors, up the small and narrow staircase I had to turn sideways to enter carefully.
Dented. Right across the center of the doors. Right across the lock.
“Shit.” I shoved and the tiny amount of give usually on the locked doors didn’t move.
I moved back slowly, back to my corner.
And I listened. I waited. Weather forecasters continued to report.
My gaze stayed glue on the doors, dented. Covered.
As soon as the storm was done, as soon as he could, Jordan would get to me. He’d know exactly where to look.
I shoved aside the small bed as another pounding sound, this one worse, whipped into the air above me. Screeching. Crashing. Pounding and thundering, and my whole body trembled with fear as I curled into a ball and pulled the mattress over me.
Then, I closed my eyes and I prayed for every single person I knew, hundreds I’d never met and probably never would. But for the first time in almost a year, I closed my eyes and I prayed to a God I was certain had deserted me, that he’d hear my cries and he’d keep every single one of us completely safe.
* * *
Thump.
“Rebecca!”
Thump.
“Rebecca!”
Thump.
My eyes opened and I was covered in dark. Weight pressed down on me, but I quickly remembered where I was and shoved the mattress off me.