Chapter 14 #3
Upon further inspection, the shots were mostly of Storm with her friends and the cheer squad.
From the color of the uniform, they were taken when we were at Harbor Heights together.
I didn’t miss the picture of Reed, but decided against saying anything.
Storm and Reed were still sneaking around, even though they were so different and from two totally different walks of life.
I remember once at school when Tate Parker, the now ex-bitch of Harbor Heights High, accused Storm of screwing one of the Sawyer foster boys.
Tate had scathed how she’d rather screw a toaster, and Storm had agreed. Oh, how the tide had turned.
I took a closer look at the image of Reed; the shot was taken when he wasn’t looking.
He was shirtless and gripped his football jersey in one hand.
I imagined someone had snapped him after a game, considering the way his toned body was covered with a sheen of sweat.
It was the type of shot to make a girl weak at the knees.
The wolf tattoo, which all the Sawyer Brothers had on their chests and shoulders, glistened in the sunlight.
If you went for know-it-all Jocks that could be as smarmy as fuck and thought with their stomachs, Reed ticked all the boxes.
How he maintained that body when he ate so much shit had always been a head scratcher.
Next to the closed bathroom door was an archway that led to a dressing room.
The space was half the size of her main bedroom.
As I peeked my head in there, I saw tons of colorful shoes, handbags, belts, and clothes on bespoke rails on either side of the area.
I recognized various designer labels, but then they were filthy rich.
Tucked away at the end was a large dressing table and chair with one of those mirrors that was split into three, so you saw all angles of your face.
I couldn’t think of anything worse. From the light bulbs surrounding all sides, it was also one of those that lit up; very Hollywood.
Makeup was strewn across the surface along with hair straighteners and a wand.
Everything in the suite was of high quality. The space oozed opulence and wealth.
The only thing that didn’t fit was a handful of newspapers strewn across a writing desk, which sat behind the door.
Storm read the paper like an eighty-year-old man?
Everything was online these days; why on earth would she read the newspaper?
It must have been something to do with her father and keeping track of his socials.
Storm had boasted so much about her dear old Daddy and his career, I knew she had been involved in various campaigns of his.
Drawing my eyes away, I started to whistle, feeling impatient. “Do you think she’s OK? She’s taking ages,” I whispered. Molly lifted her head from her phone, and then the bathroom door opened.
Molly glanced around my body with a smile that soon dropped. I twisted to face Storm, who was coming out of the bathroom.
I turned off my bitch switch. And for the first time in my life, I felt a strong urge to hug Storm Summers. Her award for the Most Uptight Woman of the Year was in bits.
She looked wretched, at least her face did. It was blotchy and red, and she had been crying. Although, as usual, her hair was still perfect and fell across her shoulders, shimmering like a dark chocolate waterfall.
Molly shot up off the bed, dropping her phone and moving past me, concern etched into every line on her face. I just stood there open-mouthed as the two girls embraced.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asked earnestly. “Did something happen?” the too-trusting English girl added.
This caused Storm to start crying again, and I moved to stand next to them, quelling the urge to join in with the questions, which didn’t feel right. Instead, I placed an awkward hand on the weeping girl's back and patted it.
Molly did that usual shh, it’s going to be OK thing, and I lowered my hand.
Eventually, Storm drew back, her mascara-stained face looking back and forth between us. A tightness gripped my chest. There was a nice girl inside me somewhere, one who didn’t want to see anyone suffering.
“Sorry. Shit, I’m so embarrassed,” Storm sniffed, walking around us towards her bed. When she got there, she plopped down onto the mattress, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
I found it typical that most people looked like shit when they were upset, but Storm was still a pretty crier—a beautiful mess.
“Fuck,” she said again.
Molly walked over, dropping to her knees and taking the other girl’s hand. I followed but remained standing like a spare part.
“What’s happened? Is it Reed?”
Storm took a deep breath and started to calm herself. After a beat, she shook her head. “No, it’s not Reed.”
“Then what’s upset you? You can talk to us,” Molly began, and then added with a glance in my direction. “Can’t she?”
I read her sharp look and released a puff of air, stuttering, “Err, yeah. Of course.”
The good in me broke through the surface, and I went to join Molly, knowing that this girl needed us. I had never seen Storm so shaken before; the girl was usually as tough as steel. Maybe her dog died or something.
“If I tell you. You can’t tell anyone else?”
“OK. Of course. You know you can trust us,” Molly replied, squeezing Storm’s hand. I instantly nodded as Storm looked at me with an untrusting expression.
“Can I?”
Pursing my lips, I dropped onto the bed beside her.
I couldn’t bring myself to kneel at Storm Summer’s feet, for obvious reasons.
My grudge was always there under the surface, and I wondered if I’d ever get over it.
But Storm could trust me. I was many things, but I didn’t gossip about people behind their backs.
“Yes. You can trust me, Storm.”
“Really? Even though you still hate my guts,” the other girl sniffed. Thankfully, she’d calmed down and was no longer on the verge of a panic attack.
I clenched my jaw, resenting the fact that she didn’t trust me when that should have been the other way around.
Storm had been the snake in the grass at school, not me.
But I knew I needed to pick my battles, and now wasn’t the time.
“Yes. Really. Anything you say won’t be repeated outside of this room.
I may have poor fashion sense and be difficult and awkward, but I’m trustworthy.
” I silently added, with gossip anyway, not your personal items. “And I don’t hate your guts.
” As I said those last few words, I realized they were the truth.
I didn’t hate her. I hated everything she had that I didn’t.
And then Storm dropped her bombshell.
“If word of this were to get out, it could ruin Daddy’s career.”
“OK.” Molly and I exchanged a look.
Taking a deep breath, Storm blurted. “My father had an affair.” Her words sucked the oxygen from the room. You could hear a pin drop.
I swallowed everything I had been about to say.
Balls. So, much for the squeaky-clean Mayor of Newport?