Page 2 of Through the Storm

I take a shaky breath and whisper it out loud, because saying it makes it feel real: “This baby will never doubt his or her worth. Or my love.”

I need a plan. And step one is to come up with a good excuse to quit cheer.

I love performing. I love the adrenaline and the lights and the way everyone looks so perfect under stadium lights for two hours.

But I love this baby more already.

Besides, between cheer, the impossible business classes my mother insists will prepare me to take over the family business and trying to become the kind of daughter my parents actually approve of, I barely have time to breathe most days.

I definitely don’t have time for the one thing that’s ever really felt like only mine.

Writing.

Maybe now I’ll finally have time to finish my next manuscript. Silver lining.

God, I really need to get myself together. And fast.

I have someone else to think about now.

The spring semester goes by in a blur of lies and denial. But the thing about pretending everything’s fine? It only works until your big brother takes one look at you.

I made up excuses not to come home during spring break, but now that summer’s officially started, I can’t avoid him any longer. So, I make the hour-and-a-half drive home to Rose Bay, a cute little beach town in Connecticut. As soon as I park in the driveway, Declan is already outside, ready to help with my bags.

He takes one look at me as I come out of the car, and his dark blue eyes, identical to mine, narrow.

“Hey,” I say, a little too chipper. “Miss me?”

He stares. “Why do you look so pale?”

My hand tightens on the strap of my tote. “Finals.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not it.”

Damn it.

“You know you can tell me anything. Is your ankle still bothering you?” He steps closer, voice soft but steady. And that’s all it takes.

The tears I’ve been holding in for months break free before I even open my mouth.

He drops the bags and catches me. “Hey, hey,” he says, voice rough. “What’s going on? You’re shaking, Katy. Talk to me.”

But I can’t. The words are caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat.

“I messed up,” I whisper. “I really, really messed up.”

His arms come around me, solid and warm, like they did when I was five and scraped my knee on the boardwalk. “Hey,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re not alone, okay? Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.”

“I lied about my ankle. That’s not the real reason I quit cheer,” I confess.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his expression changes, recognition slicing through denial.

“Oh, God.” His voice cracks. “Are you sick?”

My knees buckle, and I start sobbing harder.

“I didn’t mean to,” I choke out. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

He wraps both hands around my shoulders, holding on tighter this time. “Katy, you’re freaking me out. Just tell me what’s wrong.”