Page 143 of The Spider & the Storm

“Makes you feel more at home, right?”

I huffed a chuckle. “A little, yeah. I'm wondering why you're so creeped out now when you grew up across the street from a graveyard.”

“Are you kidding me?” She threw her arm across me and pointed out the passenger window. “This shit gave me fucking nightmares. My friends used to dare me to sneak in there at night—”

“Oh, you were one ofthose,” I cut in with a snicker.

“Come on. You know I was,” she tossed back. “And for the record, I only did it once and actually pissed in my pants after a rabbit scared the hell out of me. My friends never let me live that down.”

I hummed a short, contemplative sound. Wondering where those friends were now. Wondering if she still knew them. But I didn't bother asking because just as I was about to open my mouth, we pulled into the driveway of a narrow, two-story farmhouse-style home with a pretty porch, painted a sunshiny yellow. Not my style, but it was welcoming, friendly, and I hoped the people inside matched their home's facade.

Stormy killed the engine and turned to face me. “You ready?”

“Nope,” I answered with an incredulous huff-laugh.

“They won't bite.”

But you ran, I wanted to say.How gentle could they be if you didn't want to stay?

But, I reminded myself, she had left home over ten years ago. Surely, things had changed, and maybe if she hadn't found a second family with Blake and Cee, she would've returned home. Maybe she still would one day, but I hoped she wouldn't.

Would I come with her if she did?

My stomach cramped at the thought.

“My sister and her kids aren't going to be here until tomorrow,” Stormy reminded me. “Tonight, it's just my parents. One step at a time, okay? You let me know if it becomes too much, and we'll get some air.”

I sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” I said, followed by an exhale.

We left the car together and climbed the creaking porch steps as Stormy informed me that she had lived in one of the nicer neighborhoods in town. Just a few blocks over was the high school, where she'd watched her old friend take his last breath. I had a difficult time understanding how she could so easily call that guy—Billy—her friend when he had gotten her involved in the dangerous, scary things a real friend should've protected her from. But then I remembered how important it had been for Luke to watch me to consume the vile taste of beer on my twenty-first birthday, and I kept my mouth shut.

Stormy rapped her fist loudly against the door. “I’m learning to knock louder,” she said with a hint of pride.

“Smart.”

“We used to have a doorbell, back when I was a kid. But then the thing kicked the bucket, and my dad never got around to fixing it for whatever reason,” she explained quietly, like she didn't want to talk over the anticipated footsteps on the other side of the door.

I was reminded of the disrepair my childhood home had succumbed to in the years after my parents died.

Those footsteps came moments later. I stood up straighter, unblinking, unsure if I should put my hands in my pockets or rest one at the small of Stormy's back and did neither. They flexed at my sides instead. I clamped my bottom lip between my teeth and worried it, the patches of dry, peeling skin a futile distraction from the jittering in my veins and the inability to pull in a deep breath of air. The lock was undone, and the door swung open to unveil a man on the other side, sporting dark hair abundantly peppered with gray. Before his eyes could land on his daughter, they roved over me with a curious suspicion that teetered dangerously toward distrust. I swallowed hard, instantly sure that every one of my fears had been warranted.

Told you so, I wanted to say to Stormy, but didn't. Instead, I said nothing at all.

“Hey, Dad,” Stormy said, stepping into his line of sight, her arms outstretched.

A switch was flipped, and his scowl transformed into a smile. “Ah, there's my little black rain cloud.” He wrapped her in an embrace, resting his chin on her shoulder. “How was the drive down?”

“Uneventful.”

“That's what I like to hear.”

A hot rush of envy smacked my heart. My gaze dropped to the bleached wooden planks beneath my feet as my mind tried desperately to conjure up the memory of what it had been like to hug my dad. Tiny fragments of moments attempted to fuse together, but I was unsure if any had happened at all, and I hated that I'd allowed time to steal them away. I hadn't known it was happening, hadn't fought to keep those memories I'd thought were so important. How important could they have been if I hadn't even tried to hold on to them?

My chest puffed up with an angry breath; I was so mad that I couldn't drive down that damn highway and knock on my own father's door. So fucking mad that it'd been over two decades since I'd last hugged him. So completely and utterly mad and swept up in grief that would never fully go away that I nearly forgot where I was and barely heard Stormy making the introductions between her father and me.

“… Charlie Corbin.”

I came back to the moment as she placed her hand on my arm and turned to look up at me, her smile wide and proud.

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