Page 95 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

“That’s good,” I say, relief sagging into my body. The last several days have been a trainwreck of a hot mess. Between whathappened to me and Yenn’s father having a heart attack, things have just been…heavy.

And don’t forget Storm Sandoval.

Like I could forget.

When we finally fuck, it’ll be everything you deserve and desire,he said, and hell if his words didn’t send a lightning bolt right to my clit.

But then, there was his softness as we rocked in the Ferris wheel—the gentle, patient way he held space with me as he bared himself.

That vulnerability was even sexier than his hot words in my hospital room.

Storm Sandoval is sex on a stick, and he knows it. He could have anyone he wants.

…Which presents the biggest question of all: What’s he doing chasing after me?

Yenn’s phone beeps and she pulls it out of her pocket, immediately answering it. She listens to the caller on the other end for several seconds before saying, “Okay, I’ll see you at home.”

I turn away from her and face my closet again. My hands land on a red evening gown that was also a gift from Yenn, but this dress was made in Paris. I rub my fingers across the delicate beading on the structured bodice.

“That was King,” Yenn says. “Daddy’s getting discharged. I’m gonna stay over there tonight, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay?”

I look at her over my shoulder. My best friend looks so tired, her usual bubbliness gone under a blanket of sadness, worry, and guilt. I place the dress back on the rack and pull her into a tight hug.

“I love you, Yennifer. Give Daddy Solomon a hug for me.” I give Yenn a quick kiss on the cheek and she spins out the door.

When she’s gone, I sink back into the bed and put my head in my hands.

I can work with that.

Storm’s voice is like a phantom tethered to me, not leaving me alone.

Not letting me stop thinking about how he looked in the twinkling lights of Navy Pier or our kiss in the elevator or the heat that brewed between us when he visited me in the hospital.

Or the other time…the time that’s tingling at the edges of your memory.

I sigh and flop back on the bed.

The doctor said I won’t regain the memories of my attack, and I won’t be able to patch together a narrative of what happened between Yenn putting me in the cab and waking up at St. Helene. I’m slowly becoming okay with this reality, or, at least, I would be okay with this reality….

…if there weren’t flashes of fragmented events that pop into my mind at random intervals. It’s things that don’t make sense.

Showers of blood.

Tension around my body, pinning me.

And Storm. Storm’s there in those memories too.

But regardless of his presence, I don’t feel fear when I think of him.

My body yearns for Storm Sandoval, despite my best judgment—despite all the reasons why we sure as hell should not be in each other’s lives. There’s so much we don’t know about each other. Maybe too much.

And yet, I can’t stop thinking about him.

I can’t stop my body from responding to the memory of his eyes or the way his body felt pressed to mine.

I can’t stop myself from feeling like when he’s around, everything is all right.

I’m fucked. There’s no way around it.

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