A huge bang startles me awake. I bolt upright and reach for the closest object, which happens to be a textbook on my nightstand. No lights are on, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, since I could’ve sworn they were when I fell asleep. A flash of lightning startles me, and seconds later a crash of thunder makes the entire cabin shake. Shadows crawl across the walls for the short span of time that there’s light, so, of course, I scream.

I hate thunderstorms. The thunder sounds a lot like gunshots, and it reminds me of my time at college in Seattle. That, along with the fact that I’m in a rickety cabin, the fire has gone out, and there are no lights on, sends me right into Anxiousville.

Rain pounds on the roof, and more thunder and lightning have me hiding under my covers. I try to slow my panicked breathing, but it’s coming too fast and I’m already spiraling out of control—all my thoughts are fleeting. I need light.

“Take a breath, Lainey. Take a breath and figure it out,” I tell myself. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. Breathe in. Breathe out.

There has to be a flashlight somewhere in here. Or some candles. I gave up on charging my cell phone yesterday, since I have one of those cheap carrier services and I haven’t been getting reception at all. Still, it doesn’t hurt to see if it’s holding a charge so I can at least use the screen to find something more reliable. Unfortunately, it’s dead, just like all the lights in this place.

A cold drop of water hits me on the back of the neck—and then another on my arm.

The momentary reprieve in my panic dissolves as I stumble around in the strange inky darkness, searching the cupboards for anything other than the pack of matches I keep using to light the fire. I finally find a lighter, but all it does is spark without giving me a flame. Eventually I manage to find a flashlight, but it flickers once and dies. “Is nothing about this stupid place reliable?” I yell to no one.

The only answer is a strike of lightning and a boom of thunder.

The wind picks up, howling through the walls, making it sound like there are wolves outside my cabin. Which is when I totally lose it. Because here I am, alone in this cabin with no lights, no flashlight, no candles—and the roof is leaking in a bunch of places, based on the number of times I’m getting dripped on.

“You need to get a grip, Lainey,” I tell myself through a sob. I suck in a deep breath and release it through my nose, trying to focus on the visualization strategy my therapist always tells me to use when the panic gets too big.

I go through my senses: five things I can taste, four things I can touch, three things I can smell, two things I can hear—that doesn’t help the anxiety at all, since thunder happens right at that moment.

I work to block out the memories from college. The storm. The lightning and thunder, how they overlapped with the repetitive rat-a-tat. The crashing open of the lecture hall doors. The screaming . . .

I’m startled once again when the phone rings. If it’s my parents, there’s no way they’re going to believe I’m okay. Because I’m not. I’m terrified. But I really don’t want to be alone in this storm right now, so I answer it, even if it’s going to bring me nothing but grief.

“Hello?” I croak.

The line crackles with static. “Lainey?”

It’s not my parents, thank God. “RJ?”

“Hey, I’m glad you answered. I tried to call earlier, but the line was busy—” He cuts out when a huge crack of thunder makes the cabin shake. I also shriek, which makes it hard to hear. “Are you all right?”

“Uh . . .” I consider lying but realize there isn’t much of a point. “I don’t have any power.”

“Yeah, all the lines are down. The summer storms can be harsh here, and we can lose power for a couple of days.”

“A couple of days?” There’s that high pitch again.

“Yeah, I have a generator in case of power failures. I’ll come get you, okay? I’ll be there in five minutes, maybe ten at the most.”

“Okay. That would be nice.” I whimper at the next flash of lightning. “I don’t really like thunderstorms.”

“I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

“Can you bring a flashlight? The ones here don’t have any batteries.”

“Shit. Yeah, of course. I’m already on my way out the door. See you in a few.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I reluctantly hang up the phone. I want to pack a bag, but I can’t do that without some kind of light source.

Minutes drag on for what feels like hours, until a knock scares me—although pretty much everything is scaring me right now. I flip the lock and throw open the door. Standing on the rickety, unsafe back steps, getting pounded by the rain, is RJ, dressed in a yellow rain slicker, holding a flashlight bright enough to land a plane.

I step back, letting him in. His hood falls back, exposing his gorgeous face, flushed and dotted with raindrops. I close the door behind him and throw myself into his arms, not caring that he’s soaking wet. Or that I look desperate. A crash of thunder has me trying to bury my face in his chest.

He stands there for a moment, unmoving, possibly shocked, before he finally wraps his wet arms around me. “Hey, you’re okay.”

“I really hate thunderstorms,” I mumble into his rain slicker.

He runs a soothing hand down my back. “Totally understandable when it’s raining almost as hard inside as it is outside.”

I take several deep, steadying breaths, trying to regain a little composure so I don’t come across as a complete head case, but I’ve been crying, and my face always gets blotchy and my eyes get puffy. At least the lighting is bad.

Eventually I loosen my hold, aware I can’t koala bear him forever. “I’m okay. I’m fine. Thanks so much for coming.”

“I would’ve been here sooner if I’d known it was this bad.” He cringes as drops of water land on his head from the ceiling above. “Let’s pack you a bag and get you out of here.”

I nod. “I’d like that.”

With the help of his flashlight I stuff clothes into my suitcase. I throw in my laptop and any other electronics, worried that they’ll get wet and ruined with how much rain is coming through the roof.

I toss my toiletries in as well and throw on my coat. “I think I’m ready.” I shove my hands in my pockets so he can’t see how much I’m shaking.

RJ stuffs my suitcase into a big black garbage bag before we head out. The rain is so heavy I can barely see the truck, still running, sitting less than twenty feet from the back door. “Let’s go,” he shouts, voice drowned out by the driving downpour.

I make a break for it as another boom of thunder shakes the ground. My feet slide out from under me, but RJ’s strong arm wraps around my waist, dragging me back up.

“Got you.” RJ half carries me the rest of the way to the truck, only letting me go when he’s sure I have my footing. I wrench the door open, scrambling into the passenger seat with help from RJ. Once I’m safe inside, he tosses my suitcase into the back seat and rushes around the hood.

It’s warm and dry inside, apart from where I’m dripping all over the seat and the floor. In the short distance between the cabin and the truck, my coat got soaked through to my shirt. RJ blasts the heat, and I buckle myself in.