Tornado

Chapter 15 #2

The live goes feral.

-OPEN THE DOOR

-GIRL RUN

-This is better than Netflix!!!!!!

-SOMEONE SCREEN RECORD

“Oh my god,” I whisper. Adrenaline slams into my veins. “OK. Everyone calm your tits.”

They do not calm their tits. And nor do I.

I fumble the phone off its makeshift stand, still broadcasting to several thousand people, and half-jog down the hallway on shaking legs. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth.

When I open the door, Jacob is there in his work clothes, slightly rumpled, hair mussed by the breeze, breathing a little hard like he walked faster than his usual decorous pace.

He looks up at me, eyes soft, mouth tense. “Hi,” he says.

I shove the phone sideways against my hip so the camera shows only my fingers and a blur of hallway. “Uh. Internet, this is Jacob. Jacob, this is… far too many people.”

A polite wave enters frame; his long fingers, the edge of his sleeve. Then his voice, low and careful. “Hello. I apologize for… intruding on what appears to be a support group.”

The comments combust.

-HELLO SIR

-BIRD BOY HAS ENTERED THE CHAT

-support group LMAO

-his VOICE???? Rawwwwwrrrrrrrrrrr

I can feel my brain shorting out. “OK, I love you guys,” I tell them, “but I need to actually talk to this man without a live studio audience. So I’m gonna… yeah.”

I end the live. The app immediately starts pinging with notifications like a slot machine on steroids, so I jab my phone onto vibrate and toss it onto the console table, then step back to let Jacob in.

For a moment, we just stand in the hallway looking at each other.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “May I… come in properly?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” I step aside. “Sorry. My brain’s doing cartwheels.”

He toes off his shoes neatly by the door and follows me back into the living room. The twins are still just soft white noise on the monitor.

Jacob stops in the middle of the room, hands curling and uncurling at his sides. “I didn’t mean to ambush you,” he says. “I was watching your live and I thought… ‘This is a conversation I should be part of.’ So I drove over.”

My heart does something stupid and swanlike.

“Are you mad?” I ask, trying for lightness.

He shakes his head. “No. Not at all. I’m… glad you felt able to talk about it. Even if the medium was rather public.”

“You saw the whole thing,” I say slowly. “The meltdown monologue. The part where I was like, ‘I might have to break up with this man I really like because I’m down bad for him’.”

His jaw flexes. “Yes. I saw that bit.”

“And you’re still here?”

He gives me one of those small, serious smiles that feel like they’re just for me. “Of course I’m still here.”

Emotion claws up my throat again. I push my hands through my hair and laugh shakily. “You picked a hell of a moment to decide you’re OK with change, Bird Boy.”

He takes a breath, steadying himself, then meets my eyes full-on. There’s a steadiness there that wasn’t, before. A new thread of self-possession.

“That’s the thing,” he says. “I don’t like change when it’s forced upon me. When it’s someone else deciding my routine, my environment, my life, without my consent. That makes me feel… trapped. Unsafe.”

He steps closer, slowly enough that I can step away if I need to. I don’t.

“But this?” His voice goes softer. “Choosing to change something because I want to? Because the alternative is losing you? That’s different.”

My breath catches.

“The change I really don’t want,” he continues, “is being without you. So if it comes down to the stability of my current life, or spending that life with you, I choose you. Every time. No hesitation.”

My knees actually wobble. “Jacob,” I say, hoarse.

He swallows, but he holds my gaze. “You said on your live that you don’t want to make decisions for me.

So let me make this one. Staying in Foxton, in my little house, going to the office three times a week, cooking the same three dinners in rotation…

” There’s a hint of a smile. “That’s comfortable and familiar.

But it’s not the same as being alive. Not like being with you feels. ”

I stare at him. My brain is still trying to wrap itself round the idea.

“But your job,” I manage. “Your routines. Your -”

“My job is global,” he says simply. “I work in cybersecurity. Almost everything I do is on a computer. Adam already lets me work from home whenever I need to. We have secure VPNs. Encrypted connections. I can log on from anywhere, as long as there’s decent internet and I’m not in a wildly incompatible time zone when people need me live.

I looked into it.” His cheeks pink slightly.

“I thought, if there was ever someone I’d change my lifestyle for, it’d be you.

So I checked the practicalities. As far as Arcus is concerned, my location is a line of metadata and a good firewall. ”

I gape at him. “You researched how to be my traveling cyber nerd and didn’t tell me?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “I didn’t want to frighten you. Or myself, if I’m honest. But then I watched you sit there and try to work out how to break both our hearts for our own alleged good.” His throat moves as he swallows. “It seemed important to mention.”

I laugh, half-sobbing. “Oh my god.”

He glances down, then back up, nerves flickering in the set of his shoulders.

“I would need some structure,” he says. “Quiet places to decompress. A clear work schedule. Noise-canceling headphones. You might have to drag me out of a hotel bathroom occasionally if I get overwhelmed by a crowd. But I can learn, and adapt. My brain isn’t broken, it just needs the right parameters. ”

“I know,” I say, fiercely proud. “I know it isn’t broken.”

He smiles a little. “Then stop treating me like glass.”

I wince. “Yeah. OK. Point taken.”

We stand there for a beat, breathing the same air.

I turn back to him, heart pounding for a whole new reason. “There is one more thing we need to talk about.”

He nods, bracing. “Your non-monogamy.”

“Yeah.” I exhale, crossing back to him until we’re only a foot apart.

“I wasn’t exaggerating earlier. I am not going to be a one-person-for-life girl.

It’s not a phase. It’s not trauma. It’s just…

me. I get a lot of joy and fulfillment out of connecting with different people in different ways.

Sexually, emotionally, whatever. And I don’t want to give that up, not even for you.

I can’t promise I’ll always come home exactly when I say I will.

I can’t promise I’ll never wake up one day and say ‘hey, there’s a sex-positive festival in Berlin, let’s go’.

And I can’t promise that my bed, or yours, will only ever have two people in it at once. ”

His pupils dilate. Interesting.

“And if that’s something you need,” I push on, voice shaking, “if you need traditional monogamy to feel safe and secure and loved, then I’m not your woman. And that would suck so bad, but I’d rather face it now.”

He is quiet for a moment, considering, which I’ve learned means he’s taking me very seriously. Then he says, very calmly:

“So you’re worried about us having fun?”

It takes me a second. Then my jaw drops. “Um...”

He shrugs slightly, the faintest hint of a blush painting his cheekbones.

“We went to Pink Sugar together. We both made Marissa climax. And her g-going down on me while you kissed me was the sexiest thing that ever happened to me. I’m not…

threatened by the idea of you with other people.

I’m not opposed to taking part. As long as it’s safe, consensual, and you’re enjoying yourself, I actually rather like the idea. ”

I blink. “You… do.”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “I don’t have a template for this.

I wasn’t exactly… experimenting wildly in my twenties.

But the thought of being in a room with you while you’re…

ah, having a good time, and knowing that you’ve chosen me as your anchor in that space, that you’ll come back to me afterwards and tell me what you liked… That appeals. A lot. A whole lot.”

My brain flashes, unhelpfully, to any upcoming club night. To Jacob in a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled, sitting in an armchair while I sink to my knees between someone else’s thighs—and his eyes on me the whole time.

OK then.

“But feelings,” I say, a little hoarsely. “Jealousy. Attachment. Me sleeping with other people, or you sleeping with other people, because that’s part of it too. Ethical non-monogamy isn’t I get to fuck around and you sit in a chastity cage. It cuts both ways.”

He nods seriously. “I’m aware.” He hesitates.

“I think, realistically, it will be a learning curve. There may be moments where I feel… threatened. Or insecure. Or overwhelmed. But I would rather work through those feelings with you than sit alone in my house imagining what you might be doing without me. I’m going to be anxious either way, Tippi.

I’d prefer my anxiety to come with orgasms and frequent flyer miles. ”

I actually laugh, watery and disbelieving. “God, I love your brain.”

“Thank you.” Then he says, oh so very carefully, “And I… love you.”

The world goes silent.

I stare at him. The words hang there between us, simple and monumental.

“You what?” My voice cracks.

He makes a faint noise of frustration with himself, like he wishes he’d been more eloquent.

“I know it’s only been a short time. I know we haven’t done this the usual way, with dates and labels and whatever people do nowadays.

But when I picture my future, now, you’re in it.

When I’m at work, I think about what you’d say about my colleagues.

When I’m home alone, my house feels wrong if you’re not there.

When you cried last night, every part of me wanted to fix whatever hurt you, even though I know that wasn’t in my remit.

And when I watched you on that live, trying to cut yourself out of my life for my own good, I realized that the idea of you leaving and never coming back made me feel physically ill.

” He swallows. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is, but it’s more than enough for me. ”

My eyes sting.

“And I know enough to know that love is not about control,” he adds.

“It’s not You must stay in this town and only sleep with me or it doesn’t count.

It’s I want you exactly as you are, even when it scares me.

So if you want to keep traveling the world and kissing and fucking other people and writing about it while I’m on my laptop in the corner making sure VPNs are up to date, I would like very much to do that.

With you. For as long as you’ll have me. ”

Something in me, knotted tight for years, starts to loosen. Carefully. Achingly.

I take a step closer, until our chests are almost touching. My hands find his shirt, twisting lightly in the fabric. “Jacob.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me yes,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be without you.”

His eyes go molten. “Yes,” he says, without even the ghost of hesitation. “Yes, Tippi. I will come with you. I will adapt. I will share you. I will probably complain about airplane food. But I am in, wholeheartedly, for as long as you’ll let me stay.”

My laugh breaks on a sob. “OK,” I say, because my vocabulary seems to have deserted me. “OK.”

I reach up and kiss him, slow and deep and grateful. He makes a soft sound against my mouth, hands coming up to bracket my face like I’m something precious. The sofa bumps the backs of my knees and we sink down together, half-clinging, half-laughing softly into each other’s lips.

From the monitor, one of the twins lets out a sleepy little squawk.

We break apart, foreheads pressed together, both breathing hard for reasons that have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the terror and relief of choosing someone.

My phone vibrates violently again on the console, trying to get my attention with the force of a thousand horny TikTok users. I reach over and flip it face down without looking.

“They’re going to lose their minds when you tell them,” Jacob says dryly.

I grin against his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart,” I say. “I’m not telling them. I’m taking them with us.”

He groans, but there’s a smile in it, and when he kisses me again I taste laughter and salt and the wild, terrifying possibility of a life where I don’t have to choose between loving the world and loving this man.

For the first time, the thought of staying isn’t ‘settling down’.

It’s building something we can take on the road together.