Page 156 of The Storm

It’s small talk.

I didn’t ever expect Nick and I to be making small talk. It seems so stupidly regular and mundane, and we were never supposed to be mundane. We were supposed to be fire and passion and loud happiness. Not whatever this is.

“Surprisingly, a lot,” he says.

“Why is that a surprise?”

“Never actually considered Boston as somewhere I’d want to be.” He shrugs.

“Because?”

He pauses for a bit before he says, “Far, far away felt like the preferable option.”

I nod as we continue walking. “Was Chicago far enough?”

He glances at me, a thoughtful look on his face. “It felt like it at the time.”

“What made you change your mind?”

He laughs. “Callum. He got traded. And he can be pretty persuasive.”

I clamp my teeth on the inside of my cheek. This is on me. I asked the question I didn’t want the answer to.

“I think I needed the change. I’d worked my ass off for years. Basically lived at the restaurant. I wanted a place of my own. Obviously, I didn’t have the means for that, so I was starting to get restless and frustrated. Then Bridget introduced me to Callum. Long story short, here I am.”

It’s like trying to swallow shards of glass when I try to speak.

“He’s… he’s great,” I manage. “Callum. Great.”

He snorts out a laugh. “He’s easy. Never gets pissed off. Never stays upset about anything. He can have an argument during breakfast and forget about it by the time he puts the dishes in the dishwasher.”

“Sounds nice.” The words are like acid on my tongue.

The contrast doesn’t have to be verbalized.

Peace and calm versus chaos and mess. We’re a storm. Loud and volatile and merciless.

Nobody wants to get caught in a storm. If you say you do you’re lying to yourself. You want to watch it from a safe distance, stand at a window and admire the thunder and lightning and destruction while pretending you’d be fine getting caught in it.

That’s you lying to yourself once again.

Getting stuck in one would be different.

Getting stuck in one would be a quick lesson on how beautiful things can become dangerous in a snap.

Even now, after years apart and all the broken pieces between us, one look from him is enough to throw me off balance. One touch and I’m transported back in time, wanting to walk directly back into the storm, even though I know so well by now that it’ll end with me standing in the wreckage of us, wondering why I ever thought I could survive him.

“Who’s Dylan?” he asks.

I jerk my head toward him and frown. It’s so out of the blue that I’m having a hard time understanding what he asked. Dylan? Who? What? Why?

“What?” I ask distractedly. The leash tightens around my palm when Nova tries to chase a bird.

“Dylan,” he repeats. “He messages you a lot.”

I don’t think he does that much. We talk, sure, but he’s been so busy with Adrian and the Rockport cabin, that I’ve barely seen him in weeks.

“He’s a friend,” I say.