Page 192 of Overcast

“Yeah, but it’s Lockwood. He’ll throw his entitlement around and—” Another punch to my arm and Stormi’s voice comes through like a reality check.

“Hey!” Walking in our direction with Mills in tow, her eyes are nailed on Emmy. “Quit hitting him.” I smile at her concern when I’m the one who filets people up for a living. “You’re going to cause more damage to his already screwed upstate.”

I frown—so much for that.

“I don’t think he’s fixable, girl,” Emmy asserts. “His assholeness will always get in the way. Along with his bossiness.”

Stormi props her thigh on the edge of the picnic table, keeping somewhat of a distance from me because she knows I’ll reach out and give zero fucks about who’s around. Our eyes lock before she flicks her attention to the pain in the ass next to me.

“I’m hungry. You wanna help me make dinner?”

I really wish she wouldn’t say simple shit like that.

I’m famished but only for her. And that sundress that Emmy bought for her helps nothing.

It makes me think of the possibility of a life. A home that consists of her and a lifetime of Stormi being mine. Not just because she’s here against her wishes but because we made the decision to try this together without anything hovering over our heads.

“Let’s do it.” Emmy twists her body to swing her legs from underneath the table and smacks me upside the head before linking her arm with my tormentor.

Stormi, however, doesn’t budge an inch, remaining exactly where she is—eyes back on mine.

“I’ll be just a sec,” she conveys.

Emmy nods, walking off, and Mills doesn’t stick around to bother me, surprisingly, following her inside the cabin.

“What’s wrong?” Stormi leans over, worry laced in her tone and elbows resting on the tabletop before propping her chin on her palm.

“You know if Mills turns around, he’s going to see your ass in that dress,” I reply with a perked brow. She quickly straightens before motioning me to scooch over so she can sit down.

Straddling the bench seat, she does the same, and we sit face to face, not only with each other but things that lie in between us. The truth that I now need to tell her. The decision that hovers over my head like a raincloud, fucking with my mood and feelings that have developed.

I’m not ready to face the reality that we have to talk about her leaving. I just want a little more time.

“Why do you look so upset?” Stormi presses, her brows knitted together. Her hand falls on top of mine, and she squeezes, tiny fingers having such a rippling effect on my facade.

“I’m not, sweetheart.” I brush the sides of her chin with the pads of my fingers, reveling in the softness of her skin and how I might not have many more opportunities like this.

Fuck, I’m going to miss her.

My stomach knots harder in warning that this is going to hurt. I’m aware of what the right answer is, what would be best for her.

Except my wicked, selfish side is all about keeping what I’ve claimed and not letting anyone else touch it.

I come with baggage. A bag of tools and torture techniques that she’d have to lie about to other people when asked about what I do. I have to travel and stay in places for weeks at a time. I can’t give her everything she deserves and needs.

“Did you have fun playing horseshoes?” I ask, changing the subject in both my head and this conversation.

Stormi scoffs and looks heavenward. “I sucked.”

“It was your first time.” I give her hand a squeeze as she plays with the hem of her dress. I never comprehended how something like this—sitting in my backyard and holding hands with a pretty girl—could feel so good. And I’m glad it’s with her.

“Can we have a movie night tonight?” Stormi suddenly asks, giving my hand a gentle shake. “I can make popcorn.”

I raise my brows. “How much of it do you honestly think we’re going to watch?” Stormi smiles, big and bright, adorable as hell.

I’m so beyond the word fucked that there isn’t anything in this world that’s going to make this okay for me.

“Please,” she begs, bringing both her hands together in silent prayer.

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