"𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞."
Lou Johnston and Eddy "Boone" Higgins, two former best friends whose paths diverged after high school. Now, years later, they find themselves inexplicably draw...
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The cellar was still and quiet, except for the occasional creak above us or the wind outside pushing against the walls. We sat there, huddled together, Boone’s hand still in mine like it was the only thing keeping us tethered to this moment. It wasn’t over. Not completely. But for the first time in what felt like hours, maybe days, we had a chance to breathe.
I could still feel the weight of the storm pressing down on my chest, the distant roar of the tornado still alive in my ears, but it was fading. Slowly. Almost like the world had decided to give us a break, even if just for a second.
Boone shifted beside me, letting out a soft groan as he tried to move. “Easy there, Eddy,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You’re still a mess.”
He managed a weak smile. “Ain’t as bad as I look.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I said, my voice gentler than I intended. “I saw you get crushed by that truck. You’re lucky to be breathing right now.”
“Could say the same about you,” he muttered, closing his eyes again. His voice was steady, but I could tell he was hurting. His breath hitched every now and then, his grip on my hand tightening whenever he shifted even the slightest bit. Still, he wasn’t complaining. He never did.
For a moment, I just sat there, watching him, my heart aching in a way that was different from the pain in my ribs or the bruises across my body. This was deeper. Rawer. The kind of ache that doesn’t go away just because the storm’s passed. The kind that sticks with you.
I hadn’t let myself think too much about it before now, but the fear of losing him—of watching Boone slip away while I couldn’t do a damn thing about it—was still fresh in my mind. I could see it clear as day. That moment where I thought he wasn’t going to wake up. Where I thought that hand sticking out from under the truck would be the last image I had of him.
I let out a shaky breath, trying to pull myself together. Boone needed me to be strong. Hell, I needed me to be strong. “You sure you’re alright?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” he said after a pause, his eyes opening again to meet mine. “I’m here, Lou. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust that he’d be okay, that we’d both be okay, but there was a part of me that wasn’t ready to let go of the fear just yet. It lingered, like a shadow that refused to leave, no matter how hard I tried to push it away.
“Think the storm’s lettin’ up?” Boone asked, his voice low and rough.
I glanced toward the cellar door, the wind outside a little quieter now. “Maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t sure. “We’ll wait a bit longer, make sure it’s safe.”
