Page 136 of Fierce Storm
“I was consoling a friend.”
“Really? A friend?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I was doing.”
“If that’s true, then as herfriend, I want you to pretend you just found out she was falling for a man twenty years older than her. What advice would you give?”
His words hit me like a blow to the stomach, and I physically wince.
“Paige seems to think you’re in love with her,” he continues, and this time it’s more like a knife, the pang in my middle excruciating. “If that’s true, then please, I beg you, think about her future and what she’d be giving up if things progressed between you.”
He twists the knife, cutting me deeper, and it makes me want to vomit.
“You’re a good brother, Easton.” I smile through the pain. “I understand you’re trying to protect Keeley, I do. I want to protect her too. But Keeley’s a strong woman who has never let anyone make decisions for her. We have to trust that if she wants a relationship with anyone, she knows what she’s doing.”
I hope.Though I’m not entirely convinced.
Easton stares at me for a beat before nodding his head and walking toward the front door, denying me a response to my passionate plea. Does that nod mean he agrees, or that he’s decided us talking is a lost cause? I stare after him, unable to move until my phone vibrates in my pocket, making me pause.
Fuuuck. I’m an asshole. I’m doing it again. Putting work over everything else.
At the worst possible time.
I shouldn’t be leaving without talking to Keeley.
But if I don’t go, how much further will the Mikklesons take this?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
KEELEY
Iavoid all people for the rest of the morning, and when Addie calls to postpone our lunch—because Mom needs her—I sigh in relief.And silently thank Mom for getting me out of it. I have no doubt she lied to help me.
My mind whirs in the silence, so I get up and put on some music, smiling when “Baker Street” is one of the first songs to come on. I added it to my playlist after my night with Sal, and it’s the perfect song for wallowing.
Though I shouldn’t be wallowing at all. I promised myself I’d call Sal, and I’ve been putting it off. Despite the fact that he’s called me twice.
The song changes, this time to Britney Spears’s “Toxic” and I burst out laughing, picturing Sal’s face if I told him this was one of the five songs I thinkhe’dlike.
My conversation with my mom comes back to mind, and a shiver runs through me. I was always the one telling Sal it wasn’t a big deal—that our relationship and the age gap between uswasn’ta big deal—and now I’m the one second-guessing everything.
Except my feelings. They haven’t changed.
When he calls a third time, I take in a deep breath and sit down on the couch, curling my feet up underneath me.
“Hi,” I answer softly, maybe a little more hesitantly than I normally would when it comes to Sal.
He sighs in relief, rushing out a “thank god,” not bothering to hide how affected he is by me not answering his calls.
“I’m sorry. I?—”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. How’s your mom, now that she’s home?”
“She’s good. She wants everything to return to normal, and for us all to stop checking in on her.”
“That sounds like Rochelle.” There’s a slight smile in his voice, but when he speaks again, it’s gone.
“I have to go to New York. Only I don’t want to go until I’ve seen you. Are you home?”
