Unfinished Ex (Calloway Brothers, #2)(86)

I page through the channels until I find XTN. Then I sip my drink and watch as Brenton Carmichael salivates over the ice storm. He talks about things like road closures, power lines, and the weight of the ice causing problems. The longer he talks, the more concerned I become.

“Don’t even think about trying to talk us into leaving right now,” Coop says. “Even if we could find chains, the roads will be closed. We’d be stranded. You have two kids to think about. And she’s home safe.”

“He said the storm will blow through by midnight.” I look at Tag. “Go pack up the stuff. We’ll stay here until we’re kicked out, and then we’ll drive as far as we can.”

Tag calls out to the owner. “Bill—you got any idea where we could get a set of chains for my tires?”

“Whatcha planning on payin’?” a man with a mullet asks.

Tag pulls a few hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet. I drain mine, adding two fifties. He holds up the money.

The guy slaps his leg. “Well, all right then. I live down the road. Be back in a jiffy.”

Tag looks around me to Cooper. “You good with that? I do have family I’d like to get home to if it’s really as bad as they say.”

“Who knew you guys were as crazy as me.” He laughs. “Yeah, I guess I’m good with that.”





Chapter Thirty-six



Nicky




I wrap myself tightly in my sweater as I stand under the roof on the back porch waiting for Heisman to do his thing. “Hurry up, buddy. It’s freezing out here.”

There’s a cracking noise out in the yard. I know that sound. I turn on my phone’s flashlight in time to see a branch fall by the fence. “Heisman!”

He runs up next to me, and I take a breath. I get down and hug him. “That’s the last time you go out. I hope you can hold it until morning.” I shine my light on the branch. It’s not a huge one, but it’s coated with ice. It could have hurt him, for sure. I trace the base of the tree up, looking out at the branches that are heavy with inches of ice. No wonder we lost power. If it’s like this everywhere, the whole town is probably without it. We go back inside, I kick off my boots, and I check to see if my phone has service. It doesn’t. Not since it stopped mid-conversation with Jaxon two hours ago.

There are a lot of things that can affect the transmission of electromagnetic waves—which cell service relies on—including snow, wind, and ice. It’s strange how isolated I feel without the use of my phone. I plop down on the chair next to the fireplace and listen to my battery-operated weather radio. All roads within fifty miles have been closed. Jaxon must be beside himself. I can just see it now, him forcing his brothers to cut their weekend short so he can check on me. But they’d be fools to try and drive through this. They’re likely to end up in a ditch. I hope one of them has the good sense to wait until the storm passes and the roads have been cleared.

From outside, I hear more cracking. Actually, splintering is more like it. And popping. Like the branch sounded earlier only a hundred times louder. Oh, god. It sounds like a tree. Quickly determining we’re way too close to the windows, I call Heisman and we run for cover in the front hallway. I keep him tucked protectively next to me so he won’t scamper away. I can sense his tension.

Or he can sense mine. “It’s okay, bud.”

Even from this far, I can still hear the cracking. I know that once ice accretions reach a certain thickness, it causes large branches to breach. And fast-growing trees, like the elms out back, have softer wood, which makes them more susceptible to the extra weight. There’s a loud snap followed by a quick succession of what sounds like a whoosh of a rain shower, then it stops as soon as it started. I can only imagine a branch coming loose and shards of ice falling and spearing the ground below. Part of me wishes I could be out there watching. But ice is dangerous. Even a single icicle dislodged from a rooftop or tree branch can spear you. There must be a million icicles hanging off the trees out back.

Suddenly, what sounds like gunshots echo throughout the house. I know these sounds, and I pray whatever is falling misses the house. Then the ground shakes, and a thunderous bomb-like noise reverberates throughout my entire body. I pull Heisman close and brace for the impact that never comes. There’s no splintering of wood. No glass breaking. No roof trusses splitting. Thank God.

When the noise completely subsides, I get one of the high-powered flashlights from the kitchen and shine it through the back sliding door. Relief courses through me when I see that the large elm at the edge of the property line narrowly missed the house. I can see the dark roots unearthed, like a tornado had toppled it over. As I shine the light further along the fallen trunk, I see the fence has been taken out—and although disappointing, it’s by far the lesser of two evils.

But then I realize I can’t see the rest of the tree. I can’t see it because it’s lying inside Calista’s house. “Oh, God!”

I get out my phone to call 911 before I remember it doesn’t work. I pull on my boots. “Heisman, stay.” I race through the back door. Other than potentially falling on my ass, I should be safe, the largest tree having already fallen.

As I step over part of the downed fence, I gasp, shining the light into her house. The entire side of her house is caved in, right where the living room meets the kitchen. “Calista!” I call, approaching.