Page 228 of The Storm

I draw in a deep breath, and a small smile tilts the corners of my lips. “No hand stuff?”

He laughs, and it sounds easy. It pushes off some of the weight that has sunk in my stomach.

“Mostly I was afraid,” he says. “That moment I saw you on the subway again? It was…”

He looks for words but doesn’t seem to come up with any.

“A storm?” I guess.

He tilts his head to the side for a moment before he nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “A storm. A violent, destructive one. And I was straight in its path once again.”

“You didn’t think to run?” I ask.

His dark eyes catch mine and hold me captive like they always do. “I’ve never been able to resist a storm.”

“Me neither,” I say quietly.

We don’t say anything else for a long while, just look at each other and remember and understand without words. I think somewhere deep inside me there was still that fear that I could say something or do something, and he would disappear again. That voice is gone now. He holds my hand, thumb caressing the inside of my wrist.

I think about loving him and I think about the future and the past. I think about sex. I think about our home. I think in terms of forever.

Forever, I think.

All my thoughts come in the form of forever.

He tips his forehead against mine, and I breathe him in. It all feels inevitable. Like this was how we were always meant to end up.

This is how we’re meant to be.

Forever.

SIXTY-EIGHT

NICK

“Areyou really not going to tell me where you’re taking me?” Blue asks. There’s a teasing glint in his eyes. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of my car, long legs stretched out, seat pushed back as far as it goes.

I glance toward him, biting back a smile. “I told you it’s just a quick detour before we’re meeting everybody else.”

“But what’s with the secrecy? You could just tell me where we’re going.”

“I would have,” I say. “But then you kept asking, and now I think it’s funnier this way.”

He makes a face, but he fails to come off as disapproving as he probably plans to.

“Fine,” he says while rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me. I don’t care anyway.”

I laugh, link our fingers, and squeeze his hand while I maneuver us through the early evening traffic.

“Where are we meeting with the others?” Blue asks.

“Some pub,” I say. “Callum picked the place.”

Blue looks down at his torn jeans and hoodie. “At least I’m not underdressed.”

Callum tends to gravitate toward a select few hole-in-the-wall places where all the patrons are the same few old people who have gotten used to the fact that they’re sipping their whiskeys in the presence of football royalty a long time ago, so they’re more likely to heckle him a bit instead of fawning and asking for autographs and selfies.

I park the car on the street and we both get out. Blue looks around the lively downtown street and raises his brows at me. I take his hand and pull him forward, around the corner to the bright purplish-blue door, tucked away in a tiny inner courtyard. I pull out the key and unlock the door, holding it open for Blue.