Title: Hurricane

Summary: That's the thing about a hurricane. She's all lightning and wind and rain. Get too close and you're swept away. Better hold on till it breaks. Cause it's a hell of a ride if you can just survive the pain. That's the thing about a hurricane.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I just love the characters. I don't own the song lyrics either. Those are Dustin Lynch's.

Author's Note: I first published this story almost 4 years ago. I posted the first 3 chapters, and had the best intentions of continuing, but some pretty heavy stuff happened in my life (along with being extremely busy) and I forgot all about it for a time. The idea for this story had been bouncing around in my head for a couple years before I even started trying to write it. And even though it has been almost 4 years, I found I am still interested and invested in the idea. Recently I started trying to figure out the things in my life that bring me joy, and realized that writing is one of them (even though I rarely make the time to do it). Because of that, I have decided that I want to try my very best to continue and finish this little story of mine!

If you started reading this story in 2015 and have returned because you got an alert saying that I updated, first I want to say thank you for tuning back in! Also, I hope you aren't too upset that this isn't a new chapter. I figured it would be better to start fresh after so long and post 1 chapter per week starting at the beginning of the story. Then that gives me a few weeks to get caught up on new chapters so that I can hopefully keep with the momentum of updating weekly. After 4 years I'm sure you need a refresher on the first few chapters anyways :)

For those reading this for the first time, thank you as well!

Reviews are welcome and super appreciated! I hope you enjoy.

Prologue

I knew when she blew in she wouldn't stay
Every now and then God makes one that way
A red head wild child with storms in her eyes
I knew I'd never be the same

That's the thing about a hurricane
She's all lightning and wind and rain
Get too close and you're swept away
Better hold on till it breaks
Cause it's a hell of a ride if you can just survive the pain
That's the thing about a hurricane

She said she was running from her past
And every breath she stole felt like my last
Her kiss told me better get on out of there
But I was too far gone to care

That's the thing about a hurricane...

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill; 2007

She sits alone on the roof, a half empty bottle of cheap tequila in her hand. She lifts the bottle to her lips and takes another sip, grimacing as the bitter liquid slips and slides its way into her belly. It's disgusting, but it does the job. She's not picky. If it helps to numb the pain or cloud out the memories, she'll probably try it.

It was a fact that led some people to believe she was the life of the party. But it led others to believe she was a slut or an alcoholic. She didn't really care what other people thought of her either way. But she did wonder when she had become so jaded, or when she had lost her self so completely.

Actually, that was a lie. She knew the exact moment she had lost herself, but she wouldn't think about that now. She couldn't.

She hears the door to the roof open somewhere behind her, but she's indifferent to it. Most young women, alone on a roof in the middle of the night, would probably worry that it could be someone with the worst intentions. But the thought doesn't even cross her mind. Self-preservation isn't very high on her list of priorities these days. It was probably just her asshole boyfriend anyways. If you could call him that.

She never hears him approach, but she suddenly feels him right behind her. His gaze is practically burning a hole through her, but she ignores it. He's going to have to gravel to get back in her good graces after that performance back at the party.

"Brooke."

The voice is familiar and low, almost a growl. She knows from experience that he sounds like that even when he isn't angry though. She knows the voice, but it's not the one she expects. She throws a glance over her shoulder. "You." She states simply.

"Me."

"What are you doing here?" She asks, genuinely curious. He was probably the last person she would have expected to come looking for her. They haven't exactly been on the best of terms lately. He takes a seat beside her and she passes him the bottle of tequila. He takes a swig and grits his teeth. There's a long, silent pause. He doesn't drink anymore, but he doesn't hand the bottle back to her either. "I was worried about you." He says finally.

She doesn't really know what to say in response to that, so they settle into a comfortable silence for a few moments. Her head is swimming from the liquor, and she leans her forehead against his broad, muscled shoulder. She can smell the scent of his cologne. It's the kind where there are no other words to describe its scent other than manly. She feels the warmth of his strong body so close to hers. It's a nice feeling for a moment; safe.

"Why do you let that prick get under your skin so bad?" He asks, and she feels the anger silently radiating off of him like a heat wave. She snaps her head up, angry at his words which make her feel weak, pathetic; and angry at his anger because he has no right to be. "This has nothing to do with him." She spits out. His laugh has a bitter edge to it. "Keep telling yourself that, princess."

She doesn't know why, but suddenly she starts giggling. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that she's plastered. "Don't call me princess, you jerk." He cracks a small smile despite himself. "Okay, sugar britches." He says and she rolls her eyes but laughs anyways.

"Seriously though, why do you stay with him?" His tone is softer this time and she shrugs nonchalantly in response. There really isn't anything she can say that won't make her look even more damaged in his eyes than he already suspects she is.

"Do you ever want to just do something wild, and crazy, and dangerous?" She asks breathily, trying to change the subject. He seems to really think about the question for a moment. "Nah, I'm done with that part of my life."

"Well, sucks to be you." She taunts as she hops up on her feet and takes off for the edge of the roof. She's dizzy, and she knows it's a bad idea, but she doesn't really care so she steps up onto the ledge anyways. "Brooke!" He bellows from behind her. She meets his gaze and its full of heat and anger; but more so than both of those, it's full of fear. She knows that he wants to grab her and pull her down by the way he's clenching and unclenching his fists, but he keeps his distance. He's probably afraid that one wrong move will send her toppling head first over the edge.

"What?" She asks innocently as she extends her arms out wide and pretends to walk the ledge like a tightrope.

When she was a little girl, her parents had taken her to the circus. It's one of the only memories she has of them ever doing anything as a family. On second thought, it was one of the only memories she has of them ever doing anything with her period. She had been so fascinated by the people on the tightropes and how graceful they were. Even in the face of such danger, they never lost their composure. At 7 years old, she thought for sure one day she was going to run away and join the circus. It just seemed so glamorous.

"Brooke, just please grab my hand and step down." He whispers, and he's closer now. "This is stupid, come on." He's pleading with her, and she actually does feel a pang of guilt when she hears the terrified tremble in his voice. She knows he's right, but she just can't bring herself to step down.

She turns to face the edge and looks out over the quiet campus. Everything is so still, and dark, and dead at this time of night. But it's beautiful all the same. Up here, with the wind in her hair and the quiet of the campus below her, she almost feels like the girl she used to be. She liked that girl. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. Maybe she begins to lean forward subconsciously, or maybe he just finally sees his chance, because suddenly she is being yanked backwards off the ledge. She lands hard against his overly broad chest and for a moment she is breathless.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Davis?!" He growl-yells from beneath her. This time he is furious. "Do you have a death wish?"

"Maybe." She mutters. Her cheeks are damp with tears but she doesn't remember when she had begun to cry. He huffs incredulously.

"You're fucking crazy Brooke. You know that? You're psychotic." She has never seen him so mad. That's saying something, because he's not the most cuddly guy in the world to begin with. But beyond that she can see the frantic worry behind his eyes. She doesn't care, she's still furious. Maybe it has nothing to do with him, maybe it has everything to do with him. Or maybe she really is just crazy. Her face is burning hot and wet from her tears and she feels like she could explode.

He yanks her to her feet and she screams in his face. "Why do you even care then?! Why are you here?!"

He grabs both of her shoulders and lowers his face so their eyes are dead level. His face is red and his jaw is clenched and his deep, dark gaze is so intense she feels as though he can see straight down into her core. "Because I love you, Brooke! God knows you don't make it easy and I should just run in the other direction. But I can't, because despite my best efforts not to, I fucking love you anyways!"

She's dumfounded by his declaration but she doesn't have long to contemplate his words because all of a sudden his mouth is crashing down on hers and she's spinning out of control.

Her body feels like it's on fire. She's never felt a sensation so dangerous and safe at the same time.

When they finally part, she does the only thing she knows to do. She turns and she runs.