Page 123 of The Storm

It’s a testament to the brain’s ability to become numb to certain things that I don’t flinch anymore at the word brother. Mostly it’s thanks to the fact that Dia has been very purposefully calling me her brother ever since... that day. Also the fact that with a stubborn streak worthy of an award, I avoid thinking aboutthe thing. I refuse to let it get to me. I refuse to analyze it. I refuse to contemplate it.

I’ve built a life that centers around keeping myself busy. Late hours. Two jobs. A phone full of names and numbers so I never have to be alone with my thoughts. It’s what keeps me going these days. No more quiet moments on the bay. I haven’t touched a shell or held a paddle for years. Rowing is a silent activity and silence is the enemy. Otherwise I start to think. And when I start to think, the inside of my skin starts to itch. Like the life I’ve so carefully designed for myself suddenly doesn’t fit anymore. Like I’m playacting as somebody else. Pretending to be a character in a life that isn’t my own.

I shake my head to clear it and paste on a smile. “I promise I’ll only be mildly stupid.”

Dia laughs and sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”

I’m just keeping my fingers crossed it won’t end up being a lie.

THIRTY-EIGHT

INDY

Dylan has already foundus a table when I make it to the pub. He’s sitting in a chair, legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other, eyes moving over the people around him. It’s been a few months since I last saw him because I’ve been in San Francisco and he’s been settling into his life with Adrian here.

He gets up when he sees me, his usual small-but-oh-so-deep Dylan smile in place as he watches me approach. Once I’m in front of him, he pulls me into a hug and doesn’t let go for a long time. For the first time in a long while, I let myself relax. I didn’t even know I remembered how to do that, to be honest. Dylan is one of the few people I let myself be somewhat honest around.

His dark brown hair is longer than it used to be, but his eyes are still the same calm light gray. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, a blueish-gray T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, and he looks so settled. So impossibly comfortable in his own skin. Happy in a way he never was in San Francisco.

“Where’s Adrian?” I ask.

“At home.”

I raise my brows at him.

He rolls his eyes. “We’re not that bad.”

I try to hide my grin. “I didn’t say anything. I was just curious.”

“You implied.”

I fail to hide my grin. “How are you two?”

Dylan leans back in his seat and shrugs one shoulder. “I think we found a house?” He squints for a moment. “A house might be generous. A cabin. A small one.”

Based on how well things usually go for me, this new house is probably somewhere on the other side of the world.

Dylan knocks the toe of his sneaker against mine. “It’s in Rockport.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

He laughs softly. “About forty miles away from here. So, not an impossible distance. And even if we end up buying it, it’ll take time to make it livable, which means you can breathe easy. We’re not going anywhere just yet.”

Apparently I’m just that transparent with my feelings.

“Do I get my own room?” I’m only half joking.

“With a view,” he says.

We grin at each other, and he taps the side of his foot against mine under the table.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Aww. You actually missed me,” I say.

“I’m doing this whole thing where I really appreciate the people I love.”