He absently peeled the label from his beer bottle. The third one he’d had since he got back from following Brook home. Across the room, Steele reclined on one of the couches, Ivy sound asleep in his lap.
“So,” Steele began softly, dragging out the word as though testing the waters of a conversation he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to have. His voice was calm but probing, like a fisherman casting a line and waiting to see if it would snag. “You gonna tell me why you’re making confetti out of your beer labels, or should I guess?”
Storm shot him a dry look, but the irritation didn’t last long. It crumbled under the weight of his own frustration, and he sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. He set the half-empty beer bottle down with more force than intended, the glass clinking sharply against the table. Ivy stirred in Steele’slap, prompting the club president to glare at Storm in silent reprimand.
“Sorry,” Storm muttered, his words came out low, rough with something he didn’t want to name. He hesitated for a beat, his fingers brushing over the pile of shredded beer labels like he could smooth away his turmoil. Finally, he admitted, “It’s Brook.”
Steele’s grin spread slowly, smug and knowing. “Pretty much already figured that out, genius. I’ve known you all our lives.” He leaned back, letting out a quiet half laugh. “You like her. Haven’t seen you look at someone like that since…”
His friend’s words hung in the air, heavy with history, and for once, Storm was grateful his friend let them trail off. He didn’t needhername spoken aloud, didn’t need the weight of that memory crashing into the room, sullying the atmosphere. It had no place here.
“It’s not a thing,” Storm muttered, his tone defensive, almost desperate to dismiss the thoughts tangling in his head. He dragged a hand through his dark hair, sighing. “She’s... I don’t know, man. Brook’s cute. Sweet. The kind of person who smiles at everyone, you know? A little ray of fucking sunshine.”
Steele nodded, though the smirk never left his face. “Yeah,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “the kind of sunshine that’s dangerous. Definitely don’t want anyone sweet or cute in your life, Storm. Might make you feel human for once. Can’t have that, right?” Steele winked at Storm, knowing full-well what his words were doing.
Storm glared at him, and Steele’s chuckle only deepened. The tension lingered as Storm reached for his beer again, his fingers tightening around the bottle.
“I’m serious,” Storm whispered. His friends could be such assholes sometimes. “She’s... different. Feels like she’s got this light around her or something. Watching her in Little Space wasaddictive. It would never work out, but fuck, I had thoughts while she was here tonight.”
“You’re getting poetic on me now. This is worse than I thought. You’re fucking sprung.”
Storm scoffed and shook his head. “See, this is why I don’t talk to you about this kind of stuff.”
“Relax, I’m kidding.” Steele beamed. “So, what’s the problem? She’s cute, you like her, she’s Little, she’s apparently glowing or something—sounds like a win to me.”
“I don’t know if I’d be... good for her,” he admitted quietly. “She’s got this positivity, this... I don’t know, lightness. And I’m—” He gestured to himself, “Whatever this is. Dark. Broken. Fucking poison.”
“You mean ‘a grumpy loner with a good heart buried somewhere under all that pissed-off charm’?” Steele offered helpfully.
“Fuck off,” Storm said dryly. “I don’t want to drag her into my crap. I have trust issues. No one wants to deal with that bullshit. I know I’m an asshole.”
“Look,” Steele said as he flexed his feet in his reclined position, his tone measured but firm. “I get it. You’re scared. Last time sucked—I know that better than anyone. But Brook’s not Emmaline.”
Storm flinched, the name hitting him like a slap, sharp and unwanted. It wasn’t just the sound of it; it was the memories that came with the name. He hated even thinking about her.
Steele continued, “You didn’t do anything wrong with Emmaline. She’s the one who decided to go fuck ten other guys around town. Did she think you wouldn’t find out? She was a terrible fucking person, Storm. Plain and simple. And yeah, I don’t know Brook all that well yet, but I can already tell she’s not like that. Not even close.”
Storm stayed silent for a long moment, his jaw so tight it was painful. Finally, he sighed, his lips curving into a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re annoyingly good at this pep-talk thing, you know that? You’ve gotten all wise and shit since you took over the club and found your Little girl.”
“Perks of being your best friend,” Steele shot back, the smile returning to his face, but this time, it carried a warmth that only years of camaraderie could forge. “Now it’s your turn to become wise, dipshit. Take a chance.”
Maybe Steele had a point. Maybe the past didn’t have to dictate the future. Maybe, just maybe, Brook wasn’t a risk but an opportunity.
Storm stood outside the real estate office, hesitating. It had been two days since he’d seen Brook, and he couldn’t stay away any longer. He needed to set his eyes on her. To know if she’d slept. If she’d eaten. To make sure she wasn’t skipping lunch or napping with the door unlocked again.
The faint hum of lunchtime traffic drifted through the air, mingling with the drool-worthy scent of fresh bread wafting from the bakery a few doors down. The crisp air filled his lungs as he took a steadying breath and then walked through the door.
Brook’s gaze lifted from her computer screen, her bright eyes catching the sunlight streaming through the windows. The golden rays made them sparkle. Her face lit up with a genuine smile that warmed him down to his bones.
“Hi, Storm,” she said a little unsteadily, as though surprised to see him.
“Hey, sunshine,” he replied, low and casual, though his heart thudded harder than he liked to admit. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d see if you’ve had lunch yet.”
“Not yet,” she answered, her voice soft but intrigued.
“Good,” was his firm yet surprisingly gentle response. “I came to take you to lunch. We can go to the diner.”
Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink that matched the little bow she wore in her hair. The sight made his chest tighten. Damn, she was cute. Even dressed in her business clothes, she exuded the same sweet, playful energy he’d seen when she was in Little Space. It didn’t matter what she wore; to him, she’d always be that endearing Little girl.