Chapter 13 #2
The directness of his statement, the possessiveness that should alarm me but somehow doesn't, makes my heart race. "I think," I say carefully, "'boyfriend' is probably easier for Emily to understand right now. But between us... Yes, I'll be your old lady, if that's what this means to you."
The smile that spreads across his face is breathtaking in its intensity, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way I've rarely seen. "Mine," he says, the word somewhere between a statement and a question.
"Yours," I confirm, leaning down to press my lips to his. "And you're mine."
His arms tighten around me, the kiss deepening with a possessive hunger that sends heat spiraling through me once more. We might have continued, morning responsibilities forgotten, if not for the loud knock at the door, which startles us apart.
"Cam? Storm? You decent in there?" Blaze's voice calls through the door.
Storm growls against my lips, clearly annoyed by the interruption. "What do you want, prospect?" he calls back, his voice gruff.
"Got Emily with me," Blaze replies. "Tavia dropped her off early, said something about Ruby and Sera getting into a fight over the last pancake."
I stifle a laugh, imagining the scene. "Just a minute," I call, reluctantly extracting myself from Storm's arms. "We'll be right out."
We dress hastily, sharing secret smiles and stolen kisses. It's a side of Storm I haven't seen before, playful, almost mischievous; a lightness that contrasts starkly with his usually stern demeanor.
When we emerge from the bedroom, Emily is sitting at the kitchen table with Blaze, chattering excitedly about her sleepover adventures.
"And then Ruby said the monster wasn't real, but Sera got scared anyway, so I told her about how Mom checks under my bed every night, and that made her feel better." She pauses, finally noticing us. "Mom! Storm! Good morning!"
She bounds over to give me a hug, then, to my surprise, throws her arms around Storm's waist as well. He returns the embrace somewhat awkwardly, his hand patting her back in a gesture that's becoming more natural with practice.
"Morning, butterfly," he says with a softness in his voice reserved only for her. "Sounds like you had quite the adventure last night."
"It was the best!" she confirms, bouncing on her toes. "We had ice cream sundaes and watched three movies, and Octavia let us stay up until ten!"
"Ten?" I gasp in mock horror. "That's practically midnight!"
She giggles, pleased with her late-night rebellion. "I'm starving now though. Can we have breakfast?"
"Of course," I say, moving toward the kitchen. "How about some cereal? We're going to head to our house after breakfast to pick up some of your things."
Emily's eyes widen. "Our house? Are we going home?"
The question hangs in the air, weighted with implication. I glance at Storm, who watches us both with careful attention.
"Not exactly," I say, choosing my words carefully. "We're just going to check on things and get some clothes and toys. There's actually something Storm and I wanted to talk to you about."
Blaze, sensing the seriousness of the conversation to come, stands up from the table. "I should get going," he says. "I’ve got prospect duties to attend to. Thanks for the dinosaur story, Em. Very enlightening."
He gives me a quick hug, claps Storm on the shoulder, and heads out, leaving the three of us alone in the suddenly quiet room.
"Am I in trouble?" Emily asks, her brow furrowing with concern.
"No, honey, not at all," I assure her, guiding her back to the table. "It's actually good news, I think. At least, I hope you'll think it's good news."
Storm joins us, sitting beside me, his presence solid and reassuring. I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain a situation I'm still figuring out myself.
"Emily, you know how Storm has been helping us, keeping us safe from those men at the party?" I begin.
She nods solemnly. "Because he's a good guy who fights bad guys."
I smile at her simple but accurate assessment. "That's right. But there's more to it than that. Storm and I... we care about each other. A lot. He's become very important to me, and to you too, I think."
"He's your boyfriend," Emily states matter-of-factly, as if this is old news.
I blink, surprised by her directness. "Yes, actually. He is. How did you know that?"
She rolls her eyes in that dramatic way only children can perfect. "Because you look at each other like Eda and Ace do. And because he stayed in your room last night. And because he makes you smile more."
I feel heat rising to my cheeks, caught off guard by my daughter's perceptiveness. "You're very observant," I say, unable to deny her assessment.
"So does that mean Storm is going to stay with us?" she asks, looking between us. "Even when we go home?"
I glance at Storm, silently asking him to join the conversation. He leans forward, his expression serious but gentle.
"That's what we wanted to talk to you about, butterfly," he says. "Your mom and I want to be together, to make this, us, more permanent. But we wouldn't do that without making sure you're okay with it first."
Emily's face scrunches in thought. "Would you live at our house? Or would we live here?"
"We haven't figured out all the details yet," I admit. "But we'd be together, one way or another. Storm would be a part of our family."
"Like a dad?" she asks, the question hitting me with unexpected force.
I hesitate, unsure how to answer. Emily has never had a father figure in her life. She knows Eric exists, that he's her biological father, but only in the most abstract sense. She's never expressed interest in meeting him, never seemed to feel his absence keenly. Until now.
"Not exactly," Storm says, rescuing me from my momentary speechlessness. "I wouldn't be trying to replace anyone or take over. I'd just be... Storm. Someone who cares about you and your mom, who wants to keep you both safe and happy."
Emily considers this, her expression thoughtful beyond her years. "But you'd be around all the time? Like for breakfast and dinner and bedtime stories?"
"If that's okay with you," he confirms. "I'd like to be."
She nods slowly then breaks into a bright smile. "I think that would be good. You make really good pancakes, and Mom likes you a lot, and you promised to teach me how to ride a bike without training wheels."
Relief washes through me, followed quickly by confusion. "When did he promise to teach you to ride a bike?" I ask, not recalling this conversation.
"Yesterday," Emily says casually. "When he was helping me with my butterfly wings. I told him I want to learn but I’m scared of falling, and he said he'd teach me and that falling is part of learning but he'd make sure I didn't get too hurt."
I look at Storm, touched by this revelation of a conversation I hadn't been privy to; of how he's been forming his own relationship with Emily separate from mine.
"I was going to mention it," he says, looking slightly sheepish. "Just hadn't found the right moment."
"It's okay," I assure him, reaching for his hand under the table. "I think it's wonderful."
Emily, apparently satisfied with the conversation, moves on to more pressing matters. "Can I have cereal now? I'm starving!"
The mundane request breaks the seriousness of the moment, bringing us back to the practical realities of life with a seven-year-old.
As I get up to prepare Emily's breakfast, I'm struck by the strangeness of this situation; discussing life-changing relationship decisions one moment, pouring Cheerios the next.
But maybe that's what family is: the big moments and the small ones, all woven together into the fabric of a shared life.
Our house feels smaller somehow, as if in our absence either it's shrunk or we've grown. The familiar walls and furniture seem like they are from a different life, one that feels increasingly distant with each day spent at the clubhouse.
Emily runs from room to room, checking on favorite toys and books, exclaiming over things she'd forgotten she had. Storm follows her, letting her give him the grand tour, responding with appropriate interest to each excited explanation.
I stand in the living room, taking in the space that's been ours for three years. It's a good house, neat, comfortable, in a decent neighborhood with good schools nearby. I've worked hard to make it a home for Emily and me, a safe haven against the world.
But now, looking at it with fresh eyes, I see what's missing. The emptiness I never noticed before, the spaces that could be filled by someone else's presence. Storm's presence.
"Everything okay?" Storm asks, coming up behind me, his hand settling at the small of my back. Emily has disappeared into her room, busy deciding which toys are essential for our return to the clubhouse.
"Just thinking," I say, leaning slightly into his touch. "About this place, about us, about what comes next."
"And what conclusions have you reached?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
I turn to face him, needing to see his expression for this conversation. "I don't think I want to come back here," I admit. "At least, not to live. Not right away."
Relief flashes across his features before he schools his expression. "You don't have to decide anything now," he says. "There's no rush."
"I know," I assure him. "But being here, it just feels... like a step backward somehow. Like returning to a life that doesn't quite fit anymore."
He nods, understanding. "The clubhouse isn't exactly ideal for raising a kid long-term, though. It's secure, but it's still a clubhouse."
"What about your place?" I ask, remembering that he mentioned having his own home separate from the club. "You said you have a place, right?"
"I do," he confirms. "Nothing fancy, just a two-bedroom house about twenty minutes from the clubhouse. It's small but it's mine. Paid for, not just a rental."