chapter 12
Wesley
I was four years old when my mother told me I ran to her bedroom and said I wanted to be Superman. I didn’t remember that particular conversation, but I remembered wearing that damn red cape everywhere. Until I flew my ass down the stairs and knocked my tooth out. I threw the costume away that day.
On my sixth birthday, I knew I wanted to play in the Major Leagues.
I worked hard to land the starting spot on the team.
Short stop. During one of our games, we were caught in a thunderstorm, one so severe we had to take cover.
I was transfixed by the flying debris, the wind, the large hailstones falling from the sky, unable to move because I was so mesmerized by the scene.
It was the first time my mother yelled at me.
Through her tears, she’d begged me to move, to run.
My father wasn’t there, but my coach hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me to the shelter.
The experience changed me. From that moment on, I wanted to be a meteorologist. For some reason, my interest in atmospheric science made my father angry.
He hated the thought of his son being a scientist instead of a business mogul, but I was resolute.
He’d never hesitated to tell me how much of a disappointment I was to him either.
I didn’t care, though. I’d spent hours in the library, reading books about cloud patterns and climate trends, and analyzing and interpreting weather data.
I watched videos of storm chasers every day, learned how to anticipate risks.
Of course, I didn’t end up doing that shit, but I still loved storms, I still found myself watching the sky, looking for signs of calamity in the clouds.
I excelled at science because I was a wizard with all those things that made me excellent in business now.
Since I joined Batchelor Corporation, my keen observation skills, ability to think critically, and solve complex problems had helped Granny expand into new markets and avoid bad business deals.
My success proved one thing. Basically … my father didn’t know shit.
The one aspect I always struggled with, though, was patience.
At the NOAA Middle School Science Camp, I’d failed the part of the exam that required me to wait for the weather pattern to materialize.
I had to fight the urge to run to the danger, not from it.
My need for instant gratification had tripped me up often—in business and in my personal life.
Like now …
It had been hours since I’d left Elijah’s house. His words turned over in my mind on an endless loop. More questions. No answers. Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking that the conversation was somehow connected to the social media drama. Specifically, Ms. Tea’s identity.
I’d retreated up to my safe space almost immediately, grabbing a bite to eat and putting a couple of beers in a cooler. The music coming from my speaker was low, just soft enough that I could hear it and the sound of the approaching rain.
When Granny let us pick the apartments, she’d given me first choice.
My place was the only unit with direct access to a private enclave on the roof, which infuriated Jackson, who thought he deserved the space because he was the oldest grandchild.
While I suspected she couldn’t stand some of her offspring, she’d never played favorites.
She literally picked my name out of a hat.
Although the roof was a common space, my tiny slice of heaven was private.
I installed a gate, which shielded the area from view.
It had served me well when tenants were using the roof for events.
No one knew I was there most of the time, and I’d gathered a lot of intel because of it. Which I’d used to my advantage often.
Lightning lit up the sky and the rain started, but I didn’t move. The forecast predicted scattered thunderstorms. Nothing severe, though. I’d taken the precautions before I came outside.
For a brief moment, I considered going to her.
Albany hadn’t called or responded to my text earlier to meet me here.
I thought about sending her another message, luring her up by teasing more information about the case.
But I’d promised myself that I would move at her pace no matter how much I wanted to demand her attention.
Albany was my storm—a destructive yet transformative force.
She was all-consuming, so beautiful I couldn’t look away even when I knew I should.
The damage was done years ago. My feelings for her were overwhelming with intensity.
Passionate. Turbulent. Sometimes chaotic, sometimes calm.
Always vulnerable. At the same time, nothing felt better than the connection, the perfect combination of her warmth with my cold front. It was everything.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled the earthy scent of rain. When my phone buzzed on my lap, I peered down at the screen.
Tapping the screen, I said, “What’s up, Ma?”
“Hey, son.”
I kicked my legs out, stretching in the oversized chair. “Long time.”
“I know, I know. We just got back from the cruise a few hours ago.”
It had taken a long time to move on after my father died, but when she married Morris Walker, she’d finally started to live again. “Did you have fun?”
She chuckled. “Lord, yes. It was so nice to get away.”
“Where did you go?”
“We did the ABC islands,” she replied. “I told Morris I wanted to move to Curacao. It was so beautiful, Wes. You would’ve loved it.”
Admittedly, I hadn’t traveled much. Before I moved back to Detroit, I spent most of my time doing stupid shit. Now that I was here, I mostly worked. “Maybe I’ll make a trip there soon. Not on a cruise, though.”
“I’m telling you it’s like a big city in the water.”
I enjoyed the excitement in her voice. For years, she didn’t smile, and I would forever be grateful to Morris for making her happy. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Erica told me about Joyce’s ultimatum.” She cracked up. “I’m not surprised she lit a fire under your behinds.”
The past several weeks had been so hectic, I hadn’t really thought about the whole marriage thing. “For them, maybe,” I said.
“Your sister is freaking out.”
The last time I’d seen Erica, she had scheduled several dates with old friends. Her plan was to marry someone she didn’t love, someone with shared goals for success, and someone who wouldn’t want her to “pop out a baby.”
“I told her to relax,” Mom said. “Your grandmother would not want you to marry someone you don’t love.”
Another bolt of lightning cracked the sky, followed seconds later by a roll of thunder.
“Is it storming there?” she asked.
“Not right now.”
“Are you outside, boy?”
I was sure my behavior had given my mother heartburn over the years, but I’d never lied to her. Not even if I thought it would help me. “Yes.”
She groaned. “Oh, Lord. I need you to take your butt inside the house.”
“I’m safe.”
“I worry about you. When are you coming to visit?”
We moved to Wellspring, Michigan, after my father died. My mother was born and raised in the small town on the western side of the state. She had a supportive family, friends, and a safety net she didn’t have here.
Wellspring was supposed to be a short stop on the way to something better. She’d suggested she wanted to move south, somewhere like Charlotte or Atlanta. Then, she’d rekindled a flirtation with the county sheriff and declared she wasn’t going anywhere.
“I don’t know, Ma,” I admitted truthfully. “I’m pretty busy.”
“Erica told me Albany is back in town.”
My sister talked too damn much. “Did she?”
“Yeah. She also said you seem to be enamored.”
I barked out a laugh. “Did she say that exact word?”
“No.” She giggled. “She said you looked thirsty.”
“Figures.”
I heard the alert for the rooftop door and glanced at my watch. Nine thirty. Albany was late, which meant she wasn’t coming. She was as anal about timeliness as I was, and if she was running behind, it was usually on purpose.
The only people with access to the common area were residents and maintenance. Since I was the only one who didn’t mind sitting outside in the rain, I figured it was an employee of the building doing a security check.
“Well?” Mom called, pulling my attention back to her.
“What are you asking me, Ma?”
“I’m asking,” she said in the singsong voice she used when she was about to get in my business, “are you trying to rekindle your love affair with Albany?”
“What?” I rubbed my face. “I don’t want to answer that question.”
“You know you can always talk to me,” she pressed. “You’re so closed off.”
“Maybe, but talking about love affairs with my mother is not what’s up. Anyway, I may come out and see you next month.”
“Oh, good. You can come to the Fourth of July parade. It’s a highlight.”
If I recalled correctly, the parade was just like any other. Boring. Hot. And long. “I may come after the holiday. More likely it will be mid-month, around your birthday.”
“That’ll work, too. Maybe you and Erica can come together.”
“I’ll ask her.” I looked up just in time to see Albany at the entrance to my gate. I’d left it open in case she dared to show up. She waved at me. My eyes lingered on hers, but I told my mother I’d talk to her later. “Love you, Ma.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Albany offered. “I wasn’t going to come.”
A smile tugged at my lips. Her honesty was both frustrating and refreshing. “Why did you?”
She shrugged, stepping closer. Standing before me, she looked down at me. “I couldn’t stay away.”
I raised a brow. “Because of the case?”
“Maybe.” She plopped down into the chair next to mine and glanced at me. “Maybe not.”
Passing her a beer, I stared out at the night sky. “How was your day?”
“Long.”
Although I wanted to delay the conversation, just to be able to sit with her, to talk to her about anything other than this, I figured it would be best to get business out of the way. “Remember Elijah?” I asked.
“Of course.” She took a long pull from the bottle. “How is he?”