Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I’m on my back, sprawled out on the couch with my shoes still on, and Rylie sleeps glued to my front. When I run my fingers through her hair by accident, I notice she’s sweaty too. But when I try to push her away, she whimpers. Such a sad fucking sound. Like kicking a kitten. Despite sweating my balls off, I hug her to me. We’re a mess of hot, sticky limbs, but at least she’s safe. This time, I run my fingers through her hair on purpose. I mimic the way Mom used to do. It always soothed my sister, who suffered mentally all the time. And now, just like always, she relaxes.
I’m awake now and my mind races to find solutions to problems. A mental search for cures and answers. But all that running and running in my head turns up nothing.
Twisting, I shift our bodies so she’s between me and the back of my couch. I stifle a chuckle when she grips my shirt tight. It’s a little cooler this way and I find myself drifting back to sleep. I don’t stop stroking her hair. I want her to feel safe and loved. Without Mom and Dad, it’s up to me. I realize that now.
I won’t let you down, Rylie.
“Go away,” I groan and toss my pillow at my sister, who stands in the doorway to my bedroom.
She huffs as she dodges it. “But the weatherman said—”
“We never get tornadoes, Rylie. Do you even hear any sirens?”
Bad storms are common for Missouri, as are tornadoes, and it’s just something you learn to live with. Rylie has never been a fan, though, and always tends to stress out over them.
“No, but…” Her bottom lip wobbles.
“But nothing. We’re safe. Besides, Mom will be home in another hour. You’ll be fine.”
Her shoulders hunch and she exits my bedroom. A twinge of guilt niggles at me, but I push it away. She’s nearly fourteen and overreacts to everything.
Still, I can’t quite get over the fact I was being a dick to her when she was scared. Technically, I’m in charge until Mom or Dad gets home. I should be doing what I can to calm her fears. Just as I decide I’ll go make some frozen pizzas to distract her, I hear them.
Softly at first.
Then, the wails grow louder and persistent.
Tornado sirens.
I jolt off the bed and run down the hallway, calling out to my sister, “Rylie!”
She rounds the corner and launches herself into my arms, sobbing. “I told you! I told you!”
Panic seizes me and my heart beats nearly out of my chest. I pat her back as if that has the power to soothe me as well.
“Shhh,” I murmur. “We’ll sit in the bathtub and it will blow over. We’ll be fine.”
“I wish we had a basement like Aunt Becky.”
“I know,” I tell her. “Me too.”
She clings to me, her tears soaking my neck, as I rush into the bathroom. With my little sister holding on to me like she’s a koala hugging a tree, I climb into the small tub and sit down. Her body is tense and she trembles.
I stroke my fingers through her soft hair and listen for sounds other than her terrified whimpers. The sirens continue to go off and the wind picks up outside. When the lights flicker, I curse under my breath.
“What?” Rylie pulls back and stares at me with helpless, panicked eyes. Her tearstained cheeks are bright red. When the lights flicker again, she jumps. “Hudson!”
I grip her head with both hands. “Rylie. Calm down. It’s just a storm. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
She blinks rapidly at me, a garbled sound trapped in her throat. Thunder strikes hard and loud nearby, making us both flinch.
“It’s just us,” I say softly to calm her. “Playing on the sandy beach in front of our cabin. Mom and Dad are getting the burgers ready to grill. Can you play pretend with me?”
Some of the terror bleeds from her expression. “I think I heard a fish splash in the water.”
“Dad will want to catch that fish,” I tell her with a smile. “I found a cool rock. Same color as your hair.”
“Nobody likes brown rocks,” she says, her freckled nose scrunching.
I grin at her and tug at her messy hair. “But look at how pretty this brown is. It’s Rylie brown. Special.”
A smile breaches her face. “You think it’s special?”
“Very special. I bet all the crayon companies will be beating down our door soon asking for your permission to use it in their box.”
Her cheeks turn pink and she giggles. “I’d make them fight over it. It would be funny.”
The wind howls and the lights flicker again, but Rylie is distracted. At least if we blow away, we’ll both be smiling. Another year and I’ll be gone off to college. Will she have to sit in the bathtub alone when Mom and Dad are at work?