Page 93 of Small Town, Big Storm

“They might have been here for me,” I snap.“They might have helped.But I was the one puking my guts up all nine months.I was the one peeing myself when I sneezed or coughed or laughed too hard.I was the one who pushed her out and bled and sported a wound the size of a dinner plate on my uterus for fucking weeks.I was the one who breastfed until my nipples cracked, who lost so much sleep I could barely function.Iwas the one who worried about paying bills and about when to let her use screens and had to learn how to do fucking common core math.”I slam my fist against my chest.“It was me, Storm.Always, it came down tome.”

His eyes are full of thunderstorms, his expression locked down tight.

And I don’t know what I was thinking, letting this man bring me here, letting him into my heart—even if it’s just a little bit.

I should have known better.

Shouldknowbetter.

I shove the sandwich into the cooler and stand.

“You need to eat,” he growls.

“And you need to fuck off.”

I spin on my heel, intending to march my ass up the trail and back into town.I have work to do—supplies to put away, bills to pay, liquor to order, considering that the entire town’s been consuming more of it than normal while trying to glean any bit of gossip about me and Storm.

I don’t need this shit.

I don’t needStorm.

I never have?—

“Oof,” I grunt when he’s suddenly in front of me, his body big and strong andthere.

He steadies me with a hand on either shoulder.

I open my mouth, ready to yell at him to let me go.

But then his words cut me off at my knees.

“When you left me here that night,” he says and my brows drag together.

Because he’s the one who left.

I woke up, went to the bathroom, and when I came back…he was gone.

But before I can ask him what he means by that, he keeps talking.

“I went home and my dad was drunk.”A breath, those big shoulders of his lifting and dropping on a sigh.“I know you’re probably wondering how that was different than any other fucking day?—”

He’s not wrong.

Norm Harrison drank—and did it like he was doing his best to win a fucking gold medal for doing it.

“But that day is—wasdifferent,” he says.“That day…” His eyes close and his jaw flexes.“That day he was enraged, more angry than I’ve ever seen him, and he?—”

His throat works.

“What did he do?”I whisper.

Storm’s lids peel open.“I wasn’t prepared,” he murmurs.“Usually, I could diffuse, or leave, or stay away when he was in one of his moods.But I was worried about you and”—a breath—“I was thinking about how I was going to sneak my way by Sully in the morning because I had to kiss you again?—”

My lungs hitch, and I just know what he’s about to tell me is going to be horrible.

And unfortunately, I’m right.

“I wasn’t ready for him.He…” Shadows through his eyes, his throat works again.“He broke my arm?—”