Page 151 of The Spider & the Storm

His eyes widened at that. “You like spiders?”

“Love them actually.”

“Seriously?” He was amused, incredulous.

Ray took Stormy by the arm, whispering something about letting us bond, and dragged her toward the kitchen, leaving me alone with the scrutinizing teenager.

I wasn't sure I could call it bonding, but it was certainly something.

“My mom hates spiders,” Noah said, turning to watch his mom and aunt walk away. Then, he looked back at me as he continued, “My dad hates them, too, but Mom hates them more. So, she has him kill them. Or me, if he isn't around.”

To be honest, I wasn't sure we were talking about spiders at all. Not entirely anyway.

“I don't kill them, if I can avoid it,” I said.

Noah nodded, keeping those arms tightly folded against his chest. Guarded. “That's cool, I guess.”

“Yeah, they're not so—”

The front door opened, not far from where we stood, and in walked a tall, burly man whose bicep muscles could be made out through the fabric of his sweatshirt. He stood easily four or five inches taller than me with a shoulder span that could overtake a bull, let alone someone like me, nearly frail in comparison.Weak.

“Hey, Dad,” Noah said. “You find the apple juice?”

This was Soldier, and he looked every bit of one despite the longer hair, uncharacteristic of anybody in the military. But maybe he'd been enlisted at one point. A Marine perhaps. I hated to admit it, but my anxiety peaked at the sight of him, reminding me of every moment I'd been tormented by Ritchie.

Or his brother. I cringed, hoping it was inward, but knowing it wasn't.

Soldier lifted the bottle in his hand. “Found it. Thank God. I wasn't prepared to listen to that tantrum.”

“Same though,” Noah muttered, laughing.

The giant of a man put the bottle down on an end table and pulled his sweatshirt off, revealing arms of steel blanketed in a patchwork quilt of tattoos. When I really took notice, I saw that every visible area of skin—apart from his face—was covered in ink. And while I couldn't say I found tattoos intimidating themselves, they certainly completed a picture when they were on a guy like this.

A guy like this.Shit. I was stereotyping, and I hated stereotypes.Shame on me.

Then, his eyes landed on me, and I swallowed. He cocked his head, curious recognition igniting in his golden eyes. That look only meant one thing. He'd seen me before, and the oddest part of it was that, in that moment, I realized I'd seen him too.

Probably from outside the restaurant. He must’ve stood out enough for me to remember him.

“Dad, this is Aunt Stormy's boyfriend,” Noah said, taking the reins in making the introductions since neither of us was clearly taking the first step. “Charlie, this is my dad.”

“Charlie,” Soldier repeated, taking a slow step toward me and extending his hand. “Soldier.”

“I know,” I replied stupidly, then quickly added, “Uh, Stormy told me. Your name, I mean. Or … nickname?”

I took his hand, and we shook slowly. Both of us taking the moment to assess the other.

“Nah, not a nickname.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I wanted to tuck my tail between my legs and find a hole to die in.

But Soldier didn't seem to mind the way I would've initially expected him to. “It's all good.”

He stared at me for a few silent moments before his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to place me somewhere, retracing the steps in his mind. “Man, this is gonna drive me crazy. I feel like I know you from somewhere. Where have I seen you before?”

Noah looked up at his father, who, now that I really thought about it, didn't look like him at all. It could've been nothing, but for some reason, it felt likesomething.

“We bumped into him outside that restaurant Aunt Stormy took us to last month. Remember?”

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