Unfinished Ex (Calloway Brothers, #2)(54)

~



Halftime rolls around, and I’m impressed with myself. I haven’t once asked to see my phone.

We’re only down by a field goal. We have a real chance this year. People cheer as we trot off the field. Someone yells from the stands, “Dope video of your ex. She still alive?”

I glance up, but no one claims the shout.

“Eric.” I hold out my hand.

“You said not to give it to you.”

“I don’t care if you have twenty pounds on me. I will fucking tackle you to the ground and show our defensive backs how it’s done if you don’t hand me my goddamn phone right now.”

He reluctantly retrieves it and hands it over. “Guess Drake and I will rally the troops,” he says while I type in Nicky’s name.

“Fuck!” I shout at the first hit I get.

He reads the headline over my shoulder: XTN meteorologist struck by debris.

“Deal with them,” I say, nodding to the team. “Say something inspirational.”

He looks worried. “I hope she’s okay, man.”

I run into the athletic office and shut and lock the door behind me. If I’m about to find out she’s hurt—or worse—I don’t need some punk-ass teenager walking in on it.

With my back pressed to the door, I hit play. Nicky is reporting. She’s wrapped in an all-weather jacket that is cinched over the top of a baseball cap on her head. She’s barely able to keep her feet in place. Behind her, water runs in sheets across the road that looks more like a raging river. Every few seconds, she has to shore up her stance and wipe off her face.

“Thanks, Lester. We’re back again from Nags Head on Bodie Island, one of the Outer Banks barrier islands here in North Carolina. As you can probably see, the winds have picked up quite a bit since our last feed. You can see here”—they zoom in on the device she’s holding—“I’ve measured the sustained wind speed on my handheld anemometer at forty-five miles per hour, that’s up from thirty miles per hour just a half hour ago. I’m sorry to say that means they will have closed all bridges to the Outer Banks by now. If you’re local and watching this, take cover in a sturdy building above the ground floor, as storm surge could be high with slow-moving Louisa.”

She holds up her handheld device for a moment. “The gusts are measuring close to sixty-five.

When we talk about gusts, that means a sudden burst of wind speed that typically lasts less than twenty seconds, whereas sustained wind is the average wind speed over two minutes.” She stops talking to steady herself. “That was a strong one.” She checks her device. “Sixty-eight.” She points.

“If we can show these buildings right over there, you’ll see we’re actually quite protected where we are.” The camera pans right, showing two buildings with about twenty feet of space between them.

“The winds are coming from the northeast, directly behind these buildings that are offering us shelter.

But let me show you something.”

The camera follows as she walks slowly, struggling to get to the edge of one of the buildings.

“The air is rushing between these buildings, creating a wind tunnel. I’m going to try and hold my anemometer out to show you.” Her arm gets whipped back as soon as she puts it out. “Whew! Almost lost it there. Let me try again.” She does it successfully this time and then pulls it back. “Can we get a close-up on this, Chris? Eighty miles per hour, folks. And I suspect that’s sustained. If I took two steps to my left, I’d be in hurricane force winds. Attempting to walk in sixty to seventy-mile-per-hour winds is dangerous. There is a high risk of being blown over and sustaining injuries. This is why it’s very important to evacuate. Even a car driving by a wind tunnel such as this could be affected.

Possibly even overturned. If you’ve been unable to get out of the path, stay put in an upper interior room. And remember, if you are in the path, don’t go outside as soon as the weather clears. You may be in the eye. Hundreds of people get injured or killed every year thinking they are in the clear. This is no—”

“Nicole!” someone yells, right before tackling her to the ground when a large piece of debris comes out of nowhere.

The video ends.

I stare at my phone. “Holy shit! What the fuck happened?”

I call her. It goes right to voicemail. I search the internet again and see many more videos. They all stop at the same time. Finally, one keeps going, but it cuts back to the news anchor in New York, who looks more than a little concerned when he says he’d give an update as soon as they know anything.

I call her father. It goes to voicemail. I call Victoria.

“Did you see it?” she asks immediately.

“Is she hurt? Is she…” My entire body shakes. “…dead?”

“We don’t know anything. Dad has a call in to XTN. But my sister is a badass.”

“Call me as soon as you know anything, okay?”

“Will do, but Dad said it could be a while. They weren’t even in the worst of it. The eye wall won’t reach them for another ninety minutes. How’s the game going?”

“Who the fuck cares about the game?”

“Well, you should, for one. Don’t you get it? She’s out doing what she loves, Jaxon. Don’t be stupid and bail on what you love just to sulk until you hear that she’s most likely okay anyway. You know she’d hate that, right?”