Chapter 7 #3
The day goes quickly, with me occupied with the children’s activities.
The volcano experiment is a resounding success, creating a foamy eruption that has all three girls shrieking with delight.
We follow that with a drawing session, then a movie in the clubhouse's surprisingly well-appointed media room.
Through it all, I maintain a cheerful facade for Emily's sake, but my attention keeps drifting to the window, watching for returning motorcycles.
By the time evening comes round, there's still no sign of Storm or the others.
Emily, exhausted from a day of play, falls asleep during dinner, her head nodding forward onto her plate until I scoop her up and carry her upstairs to bed.
She barely stirs as I change her into pajamas and tuck her in, just mumbles something about dinosaurs before falling back into deep sleep.
Alone now, with no need to pretend, I pace the room restlessly. The silence feels oppressive after a day filled with children's laughter. Thunder rumbles in the distance, another storm is approaching, and I wrap my arms around myself, fighting the familiar dread that rises with each rumble.
I consider seeking out Octavia, Effie, or Eda for company, but they're likely busy with their own families.
Besides, I don't want to appear as needy as I feel.
Instead, I decide to brave the clubhouse's main room, hoping the distraction of other people will keep my mind off both the approaching storm and the absent bikers.
The main floor is half-full, with brothers playing pool or watching a baseball game on the large TV.
A few nod in greeting as I enter but no one approaches, seeming to sense my desire for space.
I find an empty corner and settle in with a book I borrowed from the clubhouse's modest library, though I find myself reading the same paragraph over and over as thunder grows louder outside.
"Not a fan of storms, are you?"
I look up to find a prospect, not Blaze but another young man, with a closely shaved head and friendly eyes.
"Is it that obvious?" I ask wryly.
He shrugs. "You flinch every time it thunders. Most people don't even notice it."
I close my book, resigned to conversation rather than reading. "I was just wondering when the others might be back."
"Should be soon," he says, glancing at the clock on the wall. "They've been gone a while."
As if on cue, the rumble of motorcycles cuts through the sound of the storm. Through the window, I see headlights cutting through the rain as several bikes pull into the compound.
Relief washes over me, followed immediately by anxiety. Will Storm come and find me? Will he tell me what happened? Hell, do I even want to know?
The prospect excuses himself as the returning brothers enter, shaking rain from their leather and heading straight for the bar. Storm is among them, his expression unreadable as he accepts a glass of amber liquid from the prospect tending the bar.
Our eyes meet across the room, and something in his gaze shifts. Without acknowledging me further, he downs his drink in one go and heads for the stairs, disappearing from view.
The dismissal stings more than it should. I tell myself it's for the best. Whatever happened today, I probably don't want to know the details. But as thunder crashes overhead and the storm intensifies, I find myself wanting the comfort of his presence despite my better judgment.
Another crash of thunder, closer this time, and I'm on my feet before I can second-guess myself. I return the book to its shelf and head for the stairs, telling myself I'm just checking on Emily, not seeking out Storm.
The hallway is dimly lit, most doors closed for the night. I pause outside my room, hand on the doorknob, but I don't turn it. Instead, I find myself walking further down the hall, toward Storm's room.
I stand outside his door for a long moment, questioning my motives. What am I doing here? What do I want from him?
Before I can answer my own questions, another deafening crash of thunder makes the decision for me. I knock softly, half-hoping he won't hear.
The door opens almost immediately, revealing Storm in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair loose around his shoulders, damp from a recent shower. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of me.
"Camryn," he says, my name a rough whisper on his lips.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "I shouldn't have... I just... The storm..."
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "Come in," he says, stepping back to allow me entry.
His room is sparsely furnished, much like mine, but with a few personal touches: a worn leather jacket hung on the wall, a stack of well-read books on the nightstand, a silver chain with a pendant draped over a small framed photo I can't quite make out.
"Is Emily okay?" he asks, closing the door behind me.
"She's asleep," I say, suddenly aware of how foolish this impulse visit was. "I should probably go and check on her."
"Camryn," he says again, the word stopping me in my tracks, "why are you here?"
I turn to face him, finding him closer than I expected. "I saw you come back. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."
"You want to know what happened today," he guesses.
I nod hesitantly. "Yes. And no. I'm not sure I want details but... I needed to see you. To know you're okay."
Something softens in his expression. "I'm okay."
"And Eric?"
"Has been warned," he says simply. "In terms he won't misunderstand."
I want to ask more but the implication is clear enough. "Did you...? Is he...?"
"He's alive," Storm assures me, correctly interpreting my half-formed question. "In considerable pain but alive."
I should be horrified. I should be running for the door, taking Emily, and fleeing this world of violence and retribution. Instead, I feel a treacherous sense of relief.
"Thank you," I whisper, the words inadequate but sincere.
Outside, lightning flashes, illuminating the room in harsh white light. I flinch involuntarily, wrapping my arms around myself as thunder follows immediately after.
"The storm's right overhead," Storm observes, his voice gentle. "Why don't you stay here until it passes? I can go check on Emily."
The offer is so unexpected, so thoughtful, that it brings tears to my eyes. I blink them back, not wanting him to see how close to the edge I am.
Too late. He steps closer, one hand lifting to my face, fingers barely touching my cheek. "Hey," he says softly. "It's okay. You're safe here."
"I know," I whisper, and I mean it. Despite everything, I do feel safe with him. "It's just... when the storms come I can't always control how I react. It's embarrassing."
"There's nothing embarrassing about fear," he says firmly. "Especially fear with a damn good reason behind it."
Another crash of thunder, and I can't help the small sound that escapes me, part gasp, part whimper. Storm's hand moves to my shoulder, steadying me.
"Look at me," he says gently. "Focus on me, not the storm."
I raise my eyes to his, finding them intent on mine, clear blue and unwavering.
"That's it," he encourages. "Just breathe with me. In... out... in... out..."
I follow his lead, matching my breathing to his, feeling my heart rate slow gradually. He's so close I can smell the clean scent of his soap, see the tiny scar at the corner of his left eyebrow, and feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Good," he murmurs. "You're doing good."
The praise warms me from the inside out, a feeling of accomplishment spreading through my chest. It's ridiculous to feel proud of something as simple as breathing through fear, but his approval means more than it should.
Another lightning flash, another thunderclap, but this time I'm prepared, my eyes locked on Storm's, my breathing steady.
"There she is," he says, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I knew you had it in you."
The moment stretches between us, charged with something I'm afraid to name.
His hand is still on my shoulder, a warm, steady weight, his thumb tracing small circles against my collarbone.
I should step back, put some distance between us, but I find myself leaning in instead, drawn by an invisible force I can't resist.
His gaze drops to my lips, a question in his eyes. I answer by tilting my face up, a silent invitation I'm not sure I'm ready to extend but can't seem to withdraw.
He moves slowly, deliberately, giving me every opportunity to pull away. But I don't. I stay perfectly still as he lowers his head, his breath warm against my lips, his eyes holding mine until the last possible moment.
When our lips meet, it's soft, tentative, a whisper of contact that nonetheless sends electricity racing through my veins. He holds the kiss for just a heartbeat before pulling back slightly, gauging my reaction.
I should be terrified. This is the first time I've kissed anyone since Eric, the first time I've wanted to. But there is no fear, only a spreading warmth in my chest and a desperate need for more.
My breath catches as I reach up, tangling my fingers in his hair, and pull him back to me.
He comes willingly, his lips finding mine again, deeper this time.
His hands frame my face, calloused palms rough against my skin as his thumbs trace the line of my jaw.
The contrast of his gentle touch and strong hands makes me dizzy with want.
The kiss deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, asking for entry. I grant it, opening to him, meeting his tongue with mine. A low sound escapes him, part groan, part growl, and his hands slide down to my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I should be frightened by his strength, by the hard lines of his body pressing against mine, but all I feel is safe. Protected. Wanted.
We break apart eventually, both breathing hard, foreheads resting together. His hands still hold my waist, keeping me close, as if he’s afraid I'll bolt if he lets go.
"I've got you," he whispers against my lips. "You're safe with me."
And in this moment, despite all logic and reason, I believe him.
The storm outside crashes once more, but this time I don't flinch. In the circle of Storm's arms, with his warmth surrounding me, the thunder is just a distant echo; no match to the storm brewing in my own heart.