Chapter 5 First Sparks
Darkness and Thunder
The weather forecast had promised clear skies.
The weather forecast had lied.
By late evening, dark clouds once again covered the town. Rain tapped steadily against the garage windows, and distant thunder rolled across the horizon.
Apparently storms and I were destined to spend time together.
I sat on the couch with my laptop balanced on my knees while pretending to work.
The keyword was pretending.
My manuscript remained open.
The cursor blinked patiently.
I hadn't written a meaningful sentence in almost thirty minutes.
Part of the problem was the story.
The other part sat across the room reading a motorcycle magazine.
Jaxon looked relaxed.
Or at least as relaxed as Jaxon Kane ever looked.
One boot rested on the coffee table.
A lamp cast warm light across the living room.
His reading glasses sat low on his nose.
The sight had completely ruined my evening.
Not because it was unattractive.
The exact opposite.
Nobody had warned me that intimidating bikers could wear glasses.
It felt unfair.
I tried focusing on my manuscript again.
The fictional biker hero I'd created months ago was becoming increasingly difficult to separate from the real man living twenty feet away.
That probably wasn't healthy.
Then again, neither was spending hours secretly watching him work.
Yet here we were.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the apartment.
A second later thunder cracked loudly overhead.
I jumped.
Jaxon glanced up.
"You okay?"
"Fine."
The answer came too quickly.
He didn't look convinced.
Fortunately, he didn't push.
The storm continued building outside.
Rain intensified.
Wind rattled the windows.
The apartment gradually darkened as evening settled around us.
Normally I liked rain.
Rain made good writing weather.
Rain created atmosphere.
Rain sounded peaceful.
Unfortunately, thunderstorms were a completely different category.
Especially at night.
Another flash lit the room.
Another crash followed.
This one louder.
Closer.
A familiar knot tightened in my stomach.
I looked back at the laptop screen.
Focused on breathing.
Focused on words.
Focused on anything except the storm.
It worked for almost ten minutes.
Then lightning struck somewhere nearby.
The explosion of thunder felt immediate.
Violent.
The entire building seemed to shake.
Before I could stop myself, I flinched.
Hard.
The reaction dragged memories from places I'd rather keep buried.
Darkness.
Yelling.
Slamming doors.
The sound of arguments echoing through a house that looked perfect from the outside.
Most people assumed my childhood had been ideal.
Big house.
Money.
Opportunity.
Political prestige.
The reality was more complicated.
My father wasn't cruel.
Not physically.
But anger had always filled the house.
Pressure.
Expectations.
Disappointment.
Everything felt louder during storms.
Every argument.
Every criticism.
Every moment where I failed to become the son everyone expected.
Thunder still carried traces of those memories.
Even now.
Even years later.
I hated that.
Another flash appeared outside.
My shoulders immediately tensed.
The room felt smaller.
The air felt heavier.
I knew the signs.
Not a full panic attack.
Not yet.
But close enough.
I quietly set my laptop aside.
Maybe a shower would help.
Or sleep.
Or temporary amnesia.
Any option sounded appealing.
I stood.
At that exact moment, the lights went out.
Complete darkness swallowed the apartment.
For one second, silence followed.
Then wind rattled the windows.
Thunder boomed outside.
My heart immediately accelerated.
No.
No.
Not this.
Not now.
The darkness felt absolute.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
I froze.
My breathing shortened.
The living room disappeared.
The walls disappeared.
Everything vanished.
For several terrifying seconds, I wasn't twenty-one years old anymore.
I was twelve.
Sitting alone in a giant house while a storm raged outside and my parents fought somewhere down the hall.
Waiting for the shouting to stop.
Waiting for the silence afterward.
Waiting for things to feel normal again.
"Elliot."
Jaxon's voice cut through the darkness.
Close.
Steady.
Real.
I swallowed.
The memories retreated slightly.
Not enough.
"You okay?"
The answer should've been simple.
Instead, my throat tightened.
A flashlight clicked on somewhere nearby.
Soft light filled part of the room.
Jaxon stood beside the couch.
Concern visible across his face.
The sight should have grounded me.
Instead, embarrassment joined the anxiety.
Fantastic.
Exactly what I needed.
"I'm fine."
Lie.
Obvious lie.
Jaxon clearly recognized it.
His expression didn't change.
"You don't look fine."
Another flash of lightning illuminated the room.
Thunder followed immediately.
I flinched again.
Jaxon noticed.
Of course he noticed.
The man noticed everything.
I looked away.
Humiliation crawled through me.
I was twenty-one years old.
An adult.
Technically.
And somehow thunderstorms still reduced me to this.
Pathetic.
Weak.
Ridiculous.
The thoughts arrived automatically.
Old thoughts.
Familiar thoughts.
The kind my father had unknowingly encouraged for years.
"Hey."
Jaxon's voice softened.
I hated that it made my chest hurt.
"Look at me."
Reluctantly, I did.
The flashlight rested on the coffee table now.
Warm light illuminated the room.
Not enough to erase the darkness entirely.
Enough to make it manageable.
Jaxon remained standing nearby.
Patient.
Waiting.
Not judging.
Just waiting.
"Talk to me."
I laughed weakly.
"About what?"
"The storm."
The answer surprised me.
I stared.
He shrugged.
"Something's bothering you."
There was no point denying it.
Not anymore.
The evidence was probably written all over my face.
"I don't like thunderstorms."
Jaxon nodded slowly.
Like that answer made perfect sense.
Maybe it did.
Most people disliked thunderstorms.
Unfortunately, my reaction went a little beyond dislike.
Another crack of thunder echoed outside.
I closed my eyes briefly.
The anxiety tightened again.
Not enough to fully overwhelm me.
Enough to make breathing difficult.
Enough to make thinking harder.
When I opened my eyes, Jaxon had moved closer.
Still giving me space.
Still respecting boundaries.
Yet close enough that I didn't feel alone.
The realization settled warmly inside me.
Unexpected.
Comforting.
Dangerous.
"Sit down."
The suggestion sounded more like a request.
I obeyed.
Mostly because my legs already felt unsteady.
Jaxon sat beside me.
Not touching.
Just there.
The darkness outside seemed larger than before.
The apartment quieter.
The storm louder.
Another flash.
Another crash.
My hands began trembling.
I immediately curled them into fists.
Too late.
Jaxon noticed.
Of course he did.
Without saying anything, he slowly reached toward me.
Giving me every opportunity to pull away.
I didn't.
His hand settled over mine.
Warm.
Steady.
Solid.
The contact shocked me.
Not because it felt wrong.
Because it felt right.
Far too right.
The trembling eased slightly.
Jaxon didn't comment.
Didn't draw attention to it.
Didn't make it weird.
He simply remained there.
Holding my hand.
Grounding me.
Helping me breathe.
Minutes passed.
The storm continued outside.
Thunder rolled across the sky.
Lightning flashed through the windows.
Yet somehow none of it seemed quite as frightening anymore.
Not while Jaxon sat beside me.
Not while his hand remained wrapped around mine.
Not while that quiet strength surrounded me like a shield.
Eventually my breathing steadied.
The anxiety loosened its grip.
The memories faded.
The darkness became ordinary again.
Just darkness.
Nothing more.
I looked down at our hands.
Then up at him.
Jaxon met my gaze.
His expression remained calm.
Gentle.
Unexpectedly kind.
Neither of us spoke.
We didn't need to.
Because for the first time since the lights had gone out, I felt safe.
And somehow, the person making me feel that way was the last person I ever would've expected.
The Kiss
The power stayed out for almost an hour.
Long enough for the storm to settle into a steady rhythm outside.
Long enough for the apartment to feel smaller.
Long enough for me to become painfully aware of Elliot sitting beside me.
That was the problem.
Not the storm.
Not the darkness.
Not even the fact that I was holding his hand.
The problem was how natural it felt.
I should have let go ten minutes ago.
Maybe twenty.
Instead, my hand remained wrapped around his while we sat together on the couch.
Neither of us seemed eager to move.
Or speak.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
If anything, it was worse.
Comfortable silence had always been dangerous.
Comfort led to attachment.
Attachment led to mistakes.
I knew that better than most.
A flash of lightning illuminated the room.
Not enough to bring back Elliot's anxiety.
Just enough to briefly highlight his profile.
His dark hair.
His soft expression.
The way he seemed calmer now than he'd been all evening.
My chest tightened.
I looked away immediately.
This was getting out of hand.
"Elliot."
My voice sounded rougher than intended.
He turned toward me.
"Yeah?"
"We should probably find candles."
The excuse was pathetic.
I knew it.
He probably knew it too.
Still, he nodded.
"Good idea."
Neither of us moved.
A few seconds passed.
Then several more.
The realization would've been amusing if it wasn't so dangerous.
Apparently neither of us actually cared about candles.
Thunder rolled in the distance.
The storm was moving away.
The apartment remained wrapped in soft darkness.
I finally released his hand.
The loss of contact registered immediately.
Unexpectedly.
Annoyingly.
Elliot looked down briefly.
Something flickered across his face.
Disappointment.
Maybe I imagined it.
Maybe I wanted to imagine it.
Either possibility was equally troubling.
I stood.
Creating distance.