Page 108 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

“Nah, not anymore. When I was a kid though, after the accident….”

I set that point aside, wondering why his brother’s car accident would necessitate his need for personal security.

“Before I tell you about Riale, let me tell you about my parents. They have a weird relationship. They used to be close.I have memories of them dancing together at events, and theylookedin love. Over the years, it’s as if they stopped being a couple and morphed into separate individuals. It got really bad after Rainn died. It’s better now, but there were a lot of days when I’d see more heat between dead fish.”

A sad expression crosses his face. His left arm rests on the back of the sofa, and he taps his index finger in a slow cadence that doesn’t match the tempo of the song playing over the speakers.

“When I was younger, I didn’t know something was off between my parents until I met Riale’s mom and dad. Riale invited me to his home for Thanksgiving one year. It was almost a year after Rainn had died.Dad was in China at the time, and I was all alone in that goddamn mansion because Mom had run off for several weeks to grieve and heal. It was the first time I had a panic attack.”

He’d been looking at me up until now, and when he confesses this thing that I know he sees as a flaw, he looks down. I put my hand over his on the back of the couch.

And I leave it there.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Storm. I mean, it makes sense you’d deal with anxiety like that. You’d lost so much, and you were all alone. How old were you when your brother died?”

He looks at me again, this time, a different, softer expression on his face.

“I was fourteen.”

I nod slowly. “You were a child, Storm. I’m sure your parents were dealing with their own shit, butyouwere just a kid andyouwere grieving, too. You deserved better from them.” I feel my chest getting hot, and the sharp pain in my throat that happens when I’m particularly riled up starts to pulse.

Storm smiles at my outburst, though, and the heat travels to my face.

“I’ve never had someone get so incensed on my behalf,” he says.

I go still, and he flips his wrist, winding his fingers around mine.

“Well,” I say primly, trying to ignore the confusing blend of desire and outrage swirling in my gut. “It’s the truth.”

He tilts his grin to the side before continuing.

“Riale was my bodyguard at the time, and when I started having the attack, I ran to find him. I thought I was dying and told him I needed to go to the hospital. Instead, he triaged me, and as he did so, I started to be able to breathe again. He didn’t tell me it was a panic attack—I figured that out later, but he told me I was fine and called the doctor to the house to confirm it.”

“Sounds…efficient,” I add, trying to remain diplomatic.

Storm shrugs, and the song shifts again, this time to an Alessia Cara song.

“The next day was Thanksgiving. Riale was off the schedule, and I’d vowed to stay in bed forever, but he came into my room bright and early and dragged me out of the house. I thought he was abducting me for all of five minutes before he called up his mom and put her on speaker phone to tell her she’d have an extra guest for the holiday.”

There’s that soft look again. The one that makes him look years younger, like a young twenty-something, rather than the older bearing he carries that makes him seem like an experienced, detached player who charms the ladies easily—like Idris Elba on his best day.

“It was like nothing I’d ever experienced. That warmth, that joy. You gotta understand. I went to private school and was surrounded by nothing but white people. My parents were from the ‘I’m Black and I’m proud’ generation, but when I entered his house, it was like entering a whole new world. I’d never known another way of living existed until I met Riale’s family.”

I nod, staying quiet.

“It’s like, I didn’t realize how cold I felt—physically cold—until I walked into their house. When I entered, it was like I was warmed to my soul. They live on the outskirts, and I could probably fit five of their houses in mine, but none of that mattered. It felt like I was alive for the first fucking time in my life. And they welcomed me. I was surrounded by Riale’s aunts and uncles and cousins—so many cousins. But his mom and dad? Well, it was like something cracked when they called me ‘son.’”

I zone in, realizing he’s rubbing the inside of my wrist with his thumb, but I’m not sure it’s even a conscious move because his eyes have a far-off look that tells me that he’s mostly back there, in that warm, love-filled house.

“I was quiet and observed everyone, and I saw how they interacted. I sawfamily, Shae. I understood, in that moment, what community is, why it’s important, and the power and majesty of Blackness. I wanted to soak it up, live in it, and have it in my soul. And it’s like Riale and his parents saw that, too.”

He chuckles.

“And his parents, it was just…wild to see them move together. They were like a unit, counterpoints to each other. It’s like they communicated without words, and when they passed each other, they’d share touches, almost like they couldn’t help themselves. But when they actually looked at each other? It’s like their love became a physical, visible thing. And I realized…I wanted that. So fucking badly.”

My heart starts to beat faster and faster, racing, because what the hell is he saying? That he wants to love me? That he’s…in love with me?

The thought should be terrifying because this is moving so fast. Way too fucking fast. But it doesn’t scare me. Instead, itfeels like something shifts in my chest, properly aligning my heart with my intellect. Everything seems clearer than before.

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