Chapter 4
Feel the Thunder
Daniel grabs my oversize throw pillows and tosses them on the floor in front of the couch where we watch TV, while I get some towels. “Lucy, you realize there’s no prize for who can put up with the most crap, right? Trust me. I’ve checked. And I’ve seen what happens when you hold everything in.”
I am a fortress. I almost never melt down, but almost is the key word here, and of course he was the recipient of my last meltdown too. He’s lucky like that.
He takes a towel and guides me to our usual spot, tugging me to the floor. We lean back into the pillows, mirroring each other, hip to hip—one leg outstretched and the opposite knee pulled up.
“You have a right to be upset,” he insists.
But why do I always cry on him?
I never cry at appropriate times. Not when customers scream at me, or when my grandfather died, or when my dad jerked me up by my ponytail because Layla tripped over me sitting on the living room floor when we were kids.
Yes, I’ve always preferred the floor.
Something about DC unlocks all the dusty closets where I shove my feelings. Honestly, it’s ridiculous.
“It’s not about me. Nathan doesn’t know if he can legally demand a paternity test if she says her husband’s the bio dad.
She holds all the power because she knows he wants the baby.
He’s overwhelmed. I can’t expect him to be concerned with me right now.
I’m fine. It’s just bad timing with my car, and I’m frustrated. ”
Daniel reaches for a box of tissues on the coffee table, and thunder cracks, making me jump. He hands me the box and pulls his phone out to see the weather app.
“But it does affect you. And it’s his job, Lu. He doesn’t get to be with you and not be concerned with you. Does he know your car needs an alternator?”
He drapes my towel, then his arm, platonic but comforting, over my shoulders. The lights flicker as the sounds of rain and thunder get louder.
“Um … he knows I’ve had some problems. His brother boosted it for me to get home yesterday, but I haven’t talked to Nathan today.” I stare at the black pattern around Daniel’s arm, resting on his knee, before glancing up at his face.
His mouth presses into a straight line, and he takes a slow breath. I wonder if anything gets to him. He’s always in control, but that’s his tell—the pause and deep breath. I hate how much I cause that tiny display of irritation in him.
“Did he make sure you got home? A text?” he presses.
I drop my eyes away from his and find my usual focal point.
“I texted him,” I say, wondering where he’s going with this. He’s treading lightly, and I appreciate it, but I’m fine with blunt. I know what to do with that.
“Did he answer?”
“No, but he’s at work.”
“Are you talking about last night or tonight?” He lightly jostles me with the arm resting over my shoulder, fishing for a clearer response.
“Tonight. He didn’t know Jackson boosted it last night. He never came outside.”
He muffles a swear, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re saying he didn’t walk you out or offer to stay on the phone with you? He let you walk out alone without a word. Did he even kiss you good night?”
The word kiss sends a chill rippling across my skin.
Daniel and I are close friends who have always flirted.
Harmlessly. It’s probably the cornerstone of our friendship.
He’s been even more flirty lately—either to make me laugh or distract me.
I’m not used to being anyone’s concern, and I’m probably a little attention-starved, so I need to watch myself. Especially since we’re alone. At night.
The cool air-conditioning chills my damp hair, tempting me to curl into him.
He’ll let me. No strings attached. I have before.
I always remind myself this is just his personality. Plus, he’s older than I thought.
How could I almost miss his birthday? We see each other every day, and I didn’t even have his age right. I’ve been way too self-absorbed. I do my best to keep up with our little circle, but between them and my bio family in Cookeville and friends in other places, it’s hard to remember.
I mentally run through the list to be sure I haven’t forgotten anyone. Sammy’s twenty—Cinco de Mayo. Annie was twenty-one in March. Jace is twenty-five … right before Christmas, and apparently DC is now twenty-seven.
Wow. That feels like a big difference for some reason.
As much as he takes care of me, I must seem as young as Annie to him. I’ll be twenty-four in January. Maybe I’ll be a whole grown up by then.
He leans into my side to get my attention because I spaced out when he said “kiss.”
Why would he ask me that?
No, Nathan didn’t kiss me good night. He wouldn’t even speak to me.
I just shake my head.
“You always say he has a lot on his mind, but you’ve never been at the top of the list. This is just his latest and biggest excuse.” He leans his head against mine as lightning flashes and thunder cracks. I jump from the sudden sound, and he pulls me in a little tighter.
We lose power, and the light from the corner lamp goes dark. I can’t see anything, but he’s so close I can feel his breath and smell the faintest hint of cologne. He doesn’t always wear it, but he could lure me to my doom with that subtle spicy sweetness if he were so inclined.
His familiar scent mingling with the comfort of his voice warms me from the inside out.
“You know I always support you, but he got himself into this mess. He should’ve been begging God to help him be the man he needs to be because you stayed when you didn’t have to.
You have not failed anyone. I know that’s what this is really about, because I know you.
And I know from my own experience. We’re not that different. ”
He lifts our joined hands to push his hair back, and my fingers itch to run through it. But I know better. “Making sure you’re safe is the bare minimum, Lu. When you love someone, it’s automatic. How could he not check in? I don’t forget about you. And I would never ignore you.”
“You would never …” I whisper.
“Damn straight. If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight without kissing you so thoroughly you couldn’t wait to come home to me.”
Holy heavens. Is that a threat or a promise?
He is furious. But it's different than anger.
He’s fiery passion contained in patience and self-control, and it might possibly be the most seductive thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Being loved by him would be a dream. And by dream, I mean the furthest thing from reality.
Because that’s not how my life works.
“Right. Home should be wherever you are—I mean—where your person is. I get that.” I fumble over my words. I need him not to say kissing you. I’m not in any condition to hear those words... in that tone. I’m tired, needy, and too weak to remember my place when he gets all protective.
“I don’t think you do,” he says slowly. “Being with you is a privilege, and if he doesn’t want it, I promise you, someone else does.”
The storm is loud, but it’s nothing compared with what’s brewing between us.
Maybe I’m delusional, but I feel like the only time he gets angry is in my defense, and I use the term angry loosely. He’s never really angry. There’s no temperamental rage simmering just below the surface waiting for me to make a wrong move. Even his negative emotions are safe.
He also said the L word, but we all do.
When you love someone.
Those words are sure to tumble around in my mind later.
We’ve formed an odd little family between us, our respective roommates, and the guys’ drummer friend, Sam, over the last year.
And we do the L word here, mostly because Sam enforces it.
He tells us he loves us constantly, but it always feels different from Daniel.
Hearing it, even indirectly, brings out the big baby tears, and I’m glad it’s dark.
Right on cue, he licks my hand and says, “Little girl, why do you taste like strawberries?”
I sob-laugh and choke-snort, glad I have a tissue, as he pulls me into a headlock, dramatically kissing the top of my head like an Italian mob boss.
“It breaks my heart to know you made pies and I didn’t get one.” He smoothly changes the subject and the mood. “I expected more from my best friend.”
“I’m lucky to still be employed, so I probably shouldn’t get caught taking pies. I’ll make you one soon,” I promise with a watery smile in the dark.
He raises his phone, temporarily blinding me with the flash, snapping a picture in my face.
“Eww, no! What was that for?” I ask, putting my hand up too late.
“Jace.”
He shows me a text from Jace asking if I made it home.
“People will find out he’s not always a turd if he isn’t careful.”
He’s the second person tonight to make sure I’m safe other than who it should be, and it causes a burning sensation in my chest.
DC squeezes my shoulder. “That’s why he asked me and not you. He has a reputation to uphold.”
Another message lights up his phone. With his arm around me, I can see several notifications asking about the power outage.
“Sorry for the inconvenience, but the outage is due to the storm. I’ll check with the power company if it’s not restored by morning.”
He traps me between his arms to type the reply, placing his cheek near mine so he can see the screen, not caring to shield my view. Then he forwards the same response to others while my heart rate slows, and my frustrations are diffused by the scent of his wintergreen breath.
“Do you really consider me your best friend?” I blurt.
What the needy heck is coming out of my mouth? Shut up, shut up, shut up.
His voice lightens. “Yeahhhh, don’t you?”
“I guess I assumed Jace would have that title.”
“I can’t convince him to hug it out after a rough day.”
The mental image makes me giggle. “Sam would.”
“Nah.” He gives me a squeeze. “You smell better. And you fit perfectly under my arm. I’ll just keep you.”
I don’t know what contractions feel like, but I think I just had one.
He turns on his phone’s flashlight and stands, pulling me to my feet.