Page 74 of Thunder

Something with heat in it, something that's been building all through the worst afternoon of both our lives.

"Thunder." My name, raw, half a plea.

"I'm here." Both my hands come up to take her face. "I'm right here, rattlesnake. I'm not goin' anywhere."

And she comes up onto her toes and kisses me like she's drowning.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Presley

Kissing him is the first thing all day that doesn't hurt.

Everything else has been a knife.

My father's face when he read the ink.

The sound of his truck pulling away.

The awful stretched-out minutes in the yard with every word I'd saved up jammed useless behind my teeth.

All of it still sits in me, raw and bleeding, and the only thing on this earth that dulls it is Thunder's mouth on mine and his hands framing my face like I'm the one thing left worth holding onto.

So, I kiss him like I'm drowning, because I am, and he's the only air in the room.

"Presley." He pulls back just far enough to get the word out, his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. "Talk to me. Tell me what you need."

My hands are still shaking as he lets me go and heads to the door.

Thunder turns the lock. One click, as final as a coffin nail.

I stand in the middle of my own kitchen, arms wrapped around myself, staring at the linoleum like it's got answers.

My throat's raw from crying. From screaming. From every word I hurled at my Pops in that yard, each one landing like a bullet I can't call back.

"Presley." His voice is low. Not a question. A line thrown to someone drowning.

I look up. He's still in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, watching me the way he watches a horse that's about to bolt—steady, patient, like he'll wait all goddamn night.

"I'm fine," I say.

Neither of us believes it.

He crosses the kitchen in three strides. His hands find my face, rough palms against my jaw, thumbs sweeping under my eyes where mascara's bled down in black rivers.

I don't know when I started crying again. Maybe I never stopped.

"Look at me."

I do.

God help me, I do.

And what I see in his face isn't pity.

It's that same controlled heat that's been there since the first time he put his hands on me.

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he says. Drawl thick as honey, each word deliberate. "You hear me, rattlesnake? None of it changes a goddamn thing between us."