Page 77 of Turmoil's Target

Before long Alfred’s taking our plates and the toffee pudding arrives, a decadent confection that momentarily distracts me from my inner turmoil.

As I savor the rich, buttery sweetness on my tongue, I find myself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in days.

“I haven’t seen that smile in a while,” Grandad remarks, his eyes twinkling. “It suits you far better than the frown you walked in with.”

I duck my head, feeling a faint blush warm my cheeks. “I guess I haven’t had much to smile about lately,” I admit. “But this... this helps. Being here with you, talking things through. It means a lot to me, Grandad.”

He waves off my gratitude with a gruff chuckle. “Nonsense. That’s what family is for, poppet. To be there for each other, through thick and thin. Your mum and I will always have your back, no matter what.”

Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but for once, they’re tears of relief, not sorrow.

The road ahead may be uncertain, but for the first time, I don’t feel like I have to walk it alone.

We linger over dessert, the conversation turning to lighter topics—Grandad’s latest vintage car acquisition, the charity gala Mum is organizing next month.

By the time I drain the last of my wine and push back from the table, my heart feels infinitely lighter than when I arrived.

“Thank you, Grandad,” I say as he walks me to the door, folding me into a tight hug. “For everything.”

“Anytime, my dear,” he murmurs, pressing a whiskery kiss to my cheek. “You just remember what I said, now. Live your life for you. Chase your own happiness. Everything else will sort itself out in time.”

I nod, blinking back fresh tears as I climb into my car.

As I pull away from the house, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror—eyes red-rimmed but bright, cheeks flushed with color.

I’m ready to fight for my future. And the first step?

Facing the man who holds the key to my heart.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Turmoil

I flop down on the worn couch, staring blankly at the faded posters adorning the dingy walls of my mobile home.

Through the thin metal frame, bass thrums like a heartbeat—the club’s having another damn rager tonight.

The door bursts open and Spark saunters in, shades on even though the sun set hours ago. “Yo, you coming out or what? Place is lit, bro.”

“Nah man, I’m good here,” I mutter, waving him off.

Spark pushes his sunglasses up on his dark brown hair and fixes me with a stern look—or at least tries to.

Spark’s not exactly an authoritative dude. “C’mon Turmoil, you’ve been holed up in here for days. It’ll be good for you to get out, have some fun for a change.”

I heave out a sigh.

He’s not wrong.

Lately, I just haven’t felt like...myself.

Like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

But wallowing alone sure as shit ain’t helping either.

“All right, all right,” I relent, pushing to my feet. “I’ll make an appearance. But I ain’t staying long.”

“That’s my boy!” Spark claps me on the shoulder with a grin. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

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