Beyond the Storm (The Big Boys of BRU)

Chapter 1

Kai

There wasn't a single decent cup of coffee to be found in this town. If that wasn’t reason enough to move back to Australia after my transfer year, I didn’t know what was.

The coffee here didn't only come in cups as big as my head. No, they chucked half a gallon of liquid creamer and a shitload of syrups in there, followed by a flood of milk. Then, of course, they topped it all off with an optional mountainous dollop of whipped cream.

It was a tragedy. Blasphemy, really. I expected to have to lower my expectations. Australia was widely known for proper coffee culture after all, but fuck me, this was worse than I’d expected.

Didn’t stop me from getting my caffeine fix, but it just wasn’t the same.

“What’s that face for?” Tāne gave me a sideways glance, lest he take his attention off the road. My uncle was responsibility personified.

I scoffed. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Not the coffee again.” He sighed with exasperation.

“In my twenty-one years on this planet, I never would have thought anyone would dare call this abomination coffee. It’s a disgrace. An insult against real coffee,” I declared dramatically, slumping in my seat.

Tāne rolled his eyes. “I promise your precious machine will get here any day.”

“Oh, please, like you’re not on fucking pins and needles to get all your boring shit.”

“Excuse me, my shit isn’t boring,” he shot back gruffly.

Turning my head his way, in my best impression of slow motion, I shot him an incredulous look.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure customs are working overtime to rush over your busted-ass recliner, your fifteen boxes of old game tape, and a hundred stubby holders, mate.”

“Don’t forget the lawn mower,” he muttered.

He talked about it as if it were a family heirloom.

I snorted. “Oh right, the sacred mower. Because God forbid you use an American one.”

“Exactly. Lawn isn’t going to mow itself, you know.”

“If you say so. I still can't believe you had this thing professionally cleaned just to ship it. Who does that?”

“Someone who values their possessions and knows they don't make them like this anymore,” remarked Tāne as he pulled into our driveway.

We’d been in the US for a couple of weeks, staying in an Airbnb while we waited for the house purchase to be finalized and for our belongings to clear customs.

Well, mostly his belongings. I was only staying for a year, but since he had extra space in the container, I slipped in a few of my favorite items. Just enough to make this new life feel less transient.

We’d just went to the store and picked up some shit to make the house my uncle had bought in a quaint neighborhood in eastern Tennessee feel a bit more cozy. Most of the homes were fairly new or recently renovated, but the one next to Tāne’s new home had clearly been there for decades.

The house was neat and well taken care of, with a meticulously designed front garden and a slightly rusty car, which had yet to move even once, sitting in the driveway. It certainly wasn't one of the modern builds making up the rest of the area.

Tāne's enormous SUV rocked from side to side as we climbed out. Perhaps its size wasn't actually that ridiculous, given how big we both were. It was nice to have some legroom.

“Ah! Finally!”

Our heads whipped around to the source of the exclamation. Staring back at us was a short, plump woman who was definitely my Kuia’s age but who didn't look like a grandmother at all. Or at least, not like mine.

Her dark hair was cut just below her chin and perfectly styled with blonde highlights. She wore bright red lipstick, high heels and a blazer. Although she had to be at least seventy, clearly no one had made her aware of that fact.

Tāne’s eyes darted my way as if to check I was equally caught off guard.

“Finally?” he echoed.

Her heels clacked down the wooden stairs with dull thuds.

“Why, yes, dear. Finally. I’ve been waiting for you.” She strode more or less securely across the grass separating the path leading up to her house from our driveway.

Tāne shot me another quick glance, tilting his head to the side as though trying to solve a puzzle.

“For us?” he questioned.

“That’s what I just said, dear.” She stopped a few yards away from us, scrutinizing us from head to toe, before turning her gaze to me. “Not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, that one, is he?”

Tāne’s head jerked back in bafflement, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“What?” he spluttered. “Why—”

I had to bite back a laugh. Usually I was the one getting accused of being slow on the uptake — this was a nice change.

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure you’ve got other things going for you.”

The woman smiled brightly at him, then clasped her hands together in front of her.

“I was beginning to think this house would stay empty until I died. And trust me, it could happen any day now. There wasn’t anything wrong with Mrs. Fitz-Henry, of course.

She used to live here, incidentally, before her children dragged her off to a nursing home.

Poor lady. You wouldn't get me into one of those places. If it ever comes to that, just take me into the woods and shoot me. Although she did steal my chicken salad recipe, so maybe she doesn’t deserve my pity after all …

oh well, now!” She clapped her hands together once. “Shall we?”

I was seriously questioning myself at this point. Had I missed something? Was this a fever dream?

“Um — what?”

Completely unperturbed, she marched straight up the steps to our front porch without so much as glancing in our direction. “I’ve been dying for a tour. And you know, I could die any day now, so it’s best to get things done while you can,” she called over her shoulder.

Tāne’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide. “She’s taking the piss, right?”

“Does she look like she is?” I said under my breath but followed her anyway because apparently I’m the kind of idiot who lets strange women break into my uncle’s new house.

She was already in the living room, hands on her hips, turning in a slow circle like a general surveying her troops. Her gaze landed on the boxes stacked against the far wall.

“That one,” she said, pointing to the top box with a lacquered nail, “goes in the kitchen. And your couch does not belong here.” She swiveled to glare at Tāne.

“If you put it against that wall, the whole room will look lopsided. Move it there—” she instructed, jabbing a finger towards the window, “—so the light doesn’t bounce off the television. You’re welcome.”

Tāne's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I—uh—”

“Don’t thank me,” she cut in briskly. “I’m only saving you from yourself.”

I set my box down just to see what would happen. Sure enough—

“No, no, not there.” She shooed at me like I was a wayward cat. “That corner makes the whole space feel cramped. Center it, dear boy. Think balance.”

I fought back a grin and dragged the box exactly two feet to the left.

She nodded, satisfied. “Better. Those curtains are dreadful, by the way. Burn them.”

Tāne made a strangled sound. “What?”

“They look like they belong in a motel in Reno,” she said, already pivoting toward the kitchen doorway. “The cabinets will need repainting. Something warm. Yellow, maybe. Unless you cook, in which case white would be better. Do you cook?”

“Yes?” Tāne sounded more defensive than was necessary for a one-word answer.

“Then white, dear.”

I had to duck my head so she wouldn’t catch me laughing. She’d known us all of two minutes and already had our entire domestic future planned out.

The sound of another set of footsteps thudded over our porch and a girl about my age appeared in the still open door.

Black leggings, a crop top, and dark brown hair streaked with bright red scraped up in a messy bun.

She was tiny compared to me, but goddamn, the attitude radiating off her could've fooled me.

“Gran,” she warned in a low voice, “stop telling strangers how to decorate their house.”

“Oh hush, Tori.” The woman waved her off. “If I don’t, they’ll have beanbags and mismatched chairs in here within a week.”

Tori dragged her eyes over me once in a slow, unimpressed survey before fixing them back on the old bat who was apparently her grandmother.

Her features were softened by the smooth, warm undertones, which gave her a quiet glow, even in the most ordinary light. Large, intensely expressive eyes framed by long sweeping lashes betrayed a subtle intrigue.

“I'm Kai,” I blurted out, deciding that someone had to break the ice. It definitely wasn’t because I was desperate to keep her attention on me. I hitched my thumb in Tāne’s direction. “This is Tāne, my uncle. Nice to meet you! Are you … do you live next door, too?”

I was going for open and engaged, but something — maybe the way her eyebrow arched up — told me she wasn't a fan of me so far.

“Well, someone has to keep Gran in check so she doesn't terrorize the neighborhood.” She cast a pointed look at the older woman who was still rearranging things without a care in the world.

“Too late,” Tāne muttered under his breath.

“Nonsense, darling. I'm just making friends with these strapping young men. I like to know the people who live around me.” She peered over at us. “And they are certainly an upgrade to Mrs. Fitz-Henry, wouldn't you agree?”

“I liked Mrs. Fitz-Henry.” Tori’s expression remained unimpressed. I found myself intrigued, not only by the clear dismissal she was sending our way, but by the way her eyes seemed to contain a maelstrom of emotion without letting a single drop spill over onto her features.

“She stole my brisket recipe! It was a DuPont family recipe,” her grandmother interjected indignantly.

“I thought it was the chicken salad?” I offered, then immediately regretted opening my mouth as both women turned their gazes on me.

Tori scoffed. “She didn’t steal anything.”

Her grandma propped her hands into her hips. “Excuse me! How would you know? You weren’t even born yet, darling.”

“I know you happily shared recipes back and forth until the big trash can incident. You’re just being petty.”

“The big trash can incident?” I echoed, giving a slow blink.

“Don’t ask.” Tori rolled her eyes.

Her grandma narrowed her eyes before bursting out, “The old hag did that on purpose! Every week she—”

“Ooookay, we’re not gonna go there again. I love you, Gran, but I’ve already spent too much precious time arguing about trash cans. How about we head back home and leave these guys to it? We’ve imposed ourselves on them long enough.”

The brief pause following this gave me just a second to really look at her. I shouldn't have allowed myself to do so because I was immediately captivated.

Tori’s nose was gently sloped, and it harmonized with the fullness of her plush, soft-looking lips. Her beauty held a quiet elegance that was both striking and seemingly effortless. It was as if she wasn't trying to draw attention, yet it was impossible to not be drawn to her.

“Oh, no, you’re not—”

The stern glare cutting my way had me swallowing down whatever words were about to tumble out of my mouth.

Tori began herding the older woman toward the door, and for some reason, I found myself following them out on the porch. Fuck, she was even tinier than I’d thought.

As we'd been standing on opposite sides of the room, I'd pegged her as being a bit taller. Only when I was standing virtually right behind her did I realize she didn't even come up to my shoulder.

Glancing over her shoulder, she startled slightly at seeing me tower over them, so much closer than before.

“Just making sure you’re getting home safely,” I offered dumbly. Yeah, real heroic. Escorting them twenty feet across the lawn.

“Right.”

They started down the steps, and the words left my mouth before I could stop them.

“Hey, do you go to brU too?”

Tori stilled at the bottom of the steps, while her grandma peered back at me shrewdly.

“Why?”

“I’m starting there next semester. Thought it’d be nice to have a friendly face around.” I shrugged.

Now she finally turned her head, shooting me a pointed look. Fair enough. Poor wording on my part, I reckon. She didn’t exactly seem to make a habit of wearing the friendliest of expressions, but she understood what I meant.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she replied flatly.

I huffed a laugh. “Fair enough. It’s only for a year anyway. I’ll be back in Australia before you even notice I was here.”

Her head inclined slightly and one eyebrow arched.

“Good,” she quipped without missing a beat. “Then I won’t have to get used to you.”

There was something about the way she said it — calm and almost casual — making the words land more sharply than they should have.

It should’ve stung. Hell, most people would’ve taken the hint and left her to her scowling. But instead of backing off, I found myself grinning wider. Something about her bluntness hit me right in the ribs, taking my breath away, and I found I couldn’t care less.

“Good to know where I stand,” I replied cheerfully, even though she was already half-turned away.

Her eyes flicked back, sharp and cutting, as if she hadn’t expected me to take it the way I did. Then she rolled them so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of her head.

Most people took one look at me and decided I was the friendly giant. Big, broad-shouldered, easy smile, slow to anger. Usually people liked those qualities. They wanted to like me.

But not her. Leaning against the doorframe with my arms folded, I watched the tiny spitfire walk away from me.

Every word Tori had said had been laced with warning and abrasiveness, like spikes running along a castle wall. And yet, all I could think was how much fun it might be to climb it anyway.

Tāne appeared at my back, but I kept my eyes glued to her form until she disappeared from my line of sight.

“Do you have any idea what the old bat’s name is?”

I snorted. “Nah.”

He sucked his teeth. “Righto. Are we sure this wasn’t some kind of hallucination? Or an out-of-body experience? A stroke, perhaps?”

“I sure as hell hope not,” I quipped, finally turning around to face him.

Tāne tried not to laugh. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?”

“Dunno. But it’s weird. Quit.”

I’d met Tori less than ten minutes ago, and my little neighbor had essentially told me she didn’t plan on liking me. Rather than putting me off, it just made me want to know exactly what it would take to change her mind.

I’d told her I was only here for a year.

Right then, it didn't feel like nearly enough.