‘Colt!’ I see the top of his head first, his brown-blond hair, and then the bewilderment in his eyes, as frightened as I feel right now. Colt, as much as he grew up here, hasn’t witnessed a twister in years. I squeeze past a throng of fans, reaching a hand out and grabbing onto his as soon as I’m within reach. His palm is as clammy as mine. He wraps an arm around me. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he says, his chest heaving against my back with every word as he shields me from the push and shove of the influx of people trying to pile into the tunnels.

‘We won’t fit,’ I manage, voice breaking. In the moment. I try centring myself, imagining a cord around my waist tying me to the ground, channelling all my energy into my therapist’s advice, but it’s not working. The shouts of people around us, the body heat emanating from the crowd, it’s too much all at once.

And then the barrage.

The rain comes in a pounding sheet of water, washing over the stadium in a windy rush of moisture that slaps you square in the face. It takes maybe a minute before we’re soaked to the bone, even in the tunnel, owing to the openings on either side.

‘I got you.’ Colt rubs my back with one hand and holds me to him with the other, steering us to the right, into somewhat dry territory, and then down the set of stairs that leads to the basement. It feels like some kind of dystopia, what with the crammed staircase, the death march of people shuffling into the makeshift shelter.

Chester is just about the worst spot to wait out a storm. We may be D1, but our field is ancient, its shelter meant for crowds half the size of what we typically get – and a quarter of the size of what we’ve been getting as of late. We are shoulder to shoulder in the basement, cramped around piles of old lacrosse equipment.

My entire body shudders. I’m scared. And normally, I’d pull myself together, but now that I’m afforded someone who doesn’t expect that of me, in the way the rest of the world does, I don’t bother hiding my fear.

The tears freely trickle down my cheeks, and I bury my face into Colt’s shoulder, holding fast to his strong body. The rest of the crowd knows the drill, the Oklahoman procedure of looking for something that’s anchored to the earth. That’s what they’ll try their darnedest not to let go of, but for reasons I know I’ll never understand, I refuse to let go of Colt, as if he has roots that reach right down to the core of the planet.

‘I’m not scared of storms,’ I murmur. Got to salvage some dignity while I have the chance.