I missed Rebecca. I missed the hell out of her. I missed her shy little smiles, her laughter. I missed the sweet flowery scent of her hair and the curve of her hips. I missed the way she reached out and took my hand, slapped my biceps when I made her laugh.

I missed the way she pressed her cold feet into my lap, burrowing them beneath my thigh while we watched television at night, and especially when it was ninety degrees outside. The woman was always cold.

She didn’t know, and I hadn’t told her, but for the first time since I was in high school, I hung a paper calendar on the fridge of the hotel suite where I was staying, and every day, I crossed off an X.

One more day closer to getting to return to Kansas.

The wait was killing me, and upon my return to Los Angeles, I had only become more certain that wanting to leave and never return had always been and would always be, the best decision I ever made.

Still, I hadn’t wanted to freak her out and I wanted her to have the time we needed. And at night when we spoke, I enjoyed hearing about all the things she’d been up to during the day, nights with friends and her brother, a shopping trip with Brooke to Kansas City. A night at the local bar where she came home with a hoarse voice from screaming during a Kansas City Royals game.

I had no idea she was such a fanatic until she began recalling stats on their entire starting line-up.

Yeah, I needed to get back to Kansas and I still had ten weeks to go. But, there I was, sitting at a rooftop for a late dinner with the producer of a studio company, one I worked with frequently, essentially begging him for a job.

And fortunately, he hadn’t just bitten. He loved my ideas.

“You’ll be busy as you switch roles. You’ll have to prove yourself even if you’ve already got connections.” Klaus Straudvik was the executive producer of the film set to start shooting next week. It wasn’t the first time I worked with him and hopefully, it wouldn’t be the last. His white hair shone silver underneath the rooftop lights. “Will probably require a lot of travel, but you’re not the first actor turned producer and not the first to not live in California to make it work.”

I didn’t mind travel. I’d travel as much as possible. Purchase my own private jet and store it in Lawrence. Hell, I’d get my pilot’s license if I had to, and fly myself. What I didn’t want, ever, was to be apart from Rebecca for ten to twelve weeks at a time while filming a movie.

Hell, here I was, being offered the job of a lifetime, the opportunity to have everything I wanted and all I really wanted to do was set aside my vodka tonic, go back to the hotel, and turn on The Weather Channel so I could watch the storm Rebecca had mentioned this morning.

She’d blown it off, but when it came to her, I’d always worry when I wasn’t at her side.

“So what do we need to do in order to sell this to the studio?” I asked.

Klaus pulled up his tablet, flicked the screen on, and we got to work.

---

Ten missed calls. Fifteen missed texts. A vodka tonic and a tablet turned into several rounds of drinks and a full course dinner. I never knew Klaus enjoyed talking so much. And damn the man could ramble.

But, the haze of the slight drunkenness of too many drinks evaporated as soon as I looked at my calls screen. I’d ignored the insistent buzzing of my phone while we spoke, but after a while, it became too impossible to ignore and I’d pulled out my phone, something I refused to do during business meetings.

I didn’t remember saying goodbye to Klaus. Or explaining.

I think all I muttered was, “I have to go,” and even then I was already pushing out of my chair and walking away from him.

I called Rebecca first.

When she didn’t answer, I called Jordan.

When he didn’t answer, I called Ryan.

When he didn’t answer, I called Max.

“There’s no way you’ll get there tonight. Weather’s too dangerous, Cooper. The entirety of Oklahoma and Kansas are under tornado warnings and they’re saying it’s the worst they’ve ever seen.”

“I need to get there.”

“I get your concern, I do.” He did. I’d told him everything I felt for Rebecca when I’d pressured him and Paul to do whatever it took to get me out of filming this thing.

He still didn’t get my need to see her.

“How bad is it?” He pulled up the weather as soon as I called. In the back of my taxi, my knee incessantly jumped. My bones felt like they were clawing at me, trying to get out of my skin.

“Tornadoes popping up all over the place.” A few more clicks. “Strong ones, Cooper. Shit.”

“What?”

Goddamn, I needed my laptop. I need a fucking plane.

I needed Rebecca and why was nobody answering my damn calls?

“They’re all over. Three have been reported touched down in the county. Storm’s set to last for hours yet. Coop—”

His voice broke and it hit me we were talking about his niece. Emotion threatened to barrel through my chest and I beat it back as hard as I could.

“Where can I get to? Closest place, Max. Small airfield. Private. Anything.”

“If you wait…this might be for nothing, Cooper. Power might be out. Cell phone towers down. Just because they’re not answering doesn’t necessarily mean—”

I couldn’t let him finish. I refused to think about what not contacting them could mean. “I’m flying out somewhere tonight. Where can I go?”

My taxi was stuck on I-fucking-five. Goddamn, this stretch of highway killed any desire I ever had to ever return to California. For the last month, I’d cursed this highway. Clogged at all hours. Didn’t matter the time.

My nails dug into my knees until pain distracted me.

Moments passed. Moments where I sat in the back of a car. Helpless. Half a country away.

Fuck!

“Lincoln,” Max finally said. “Nebraska isn’t under watch, just rain. It’s still almost a four-hour drive.”

“Get me on it. And get me a car.”

“I really think if you wait—”

“Not waiting, Max. I’m using your plane or I’m sitting my ass in the airport until I can get out and if I have to drive through a fucking F-5 tornado, I don’t really give a shit. I’m getting to Rebecca.”

“Take the plane,” he sighed.

“Thank you.” Sweet, sweet relief.

“And Coop? Tell her I love her.”

Jesus. My eyes burned something fierce and I pressed my fingers and thumb to my closed lids. “Will do.”