He’d gotten way off mission tonight. He’d come to make sure his dad was okay after Rowan’s death. Because God knew, Cam wasn’t. Not even close. But the other part of his mission related to a promise he’d made to Rowan. Cam intended to fulfill that promise no matter what, at any cost. Just thinking about it, remembering he was never going to see Rowan again, his chest got so tight that he couldn’t breathe for a long, torturous moment. When his lungs finally released, he sucked in air for a few beats. He was still concentrating on that when another crack of lightning and an ensuing boom of thunder hit, rocking the house on its foundation.

He heard running footsteps, down a hall, down the stairs. Bare feet . . . and then incoming, which was a woman landing right on him.

Burrowing in tight, Piper pressed her face to his throat.

Drawing her in as close as he could, he pulled her under the blanket with him, wrapping her icy form up tight, reminding himself that this was about comfort and absolutely not about her sweet, warm, curvy bod plastered to his. She was clutching something in her hand—her journal. “You sleep with that thing?” he asked.

“I was making a shopping list.” Her voice was muffled against his skin, and he smiled.

“In the dark?”

“My phone’s got a flashlight.”

“Your phone also has a notes app,” he said.

“I like to write by hand. It soothes me.”

He’d laugh, but every time either of them shifted even a little bit, he could feel every inch of her against him. “How’s that working for you tonight?”

“Clearly not so well. I’m . . . not a fan of these violent storms.”

He was getting that. “Did something happen to you in a storm like this?”

Silence.

A tactic he’d used often enough, so he got it. “Storms used to freak me out too.”

She lifted her face to look at him.

He was guessing she hadn’t looked in the mirror because she still had mud on her nose and cheek.

“What did you do? To get . . . not freaked out?” she asked.

“My mom and I used to hide in the cellar. In hindsight, my fear probably came from her anxiety, but at the time I didn’t know that. I just knew I was five years old and terrified because my mom was.”

“Was your mom young?”

“Yes, very. And bipolar.”

Her eyes went soft and sympathetic. “That must have made things really difficult for you.”

He shrugged and ran a hand down her back. To soothe, he told himself, but she was still cold, so he wrapped both arms around her, and for the longest moment, they just stared at each other, sharing air. Until, once again, lightning lit up the room for a single heartbeat, with the inevitable crack of thunder right on its heels.