Page 107 of Windlass

“—who’s up for some good old-fashioned collusion? I want to make Donovan sing Celine Dion.”

Emilia’s laugh pealed across the clear air. “Imagine ‘My Heart Will Go On.’”

“And speaking of going on and on,” said Stormy, “how many times did Stevie make you come last night? Eight?”

Emilia choked on her next breath, and Angie flushed what she knew to be a deep shade of crimson.

“I—”

“No shame. I put on headphones. So? What’s the count?”

Immolation seemed the most likely outcome of this conversation. She prayed it happened soon.

“Storm—” Emilia began, a note of concern in her voice. Angie met Emilia’s brown eyes and realized the concern was for her.

“Angie.” Stormy ignored Emilia.

“I—” Her jaw clicked shut. It hadn’t been eight, but it had been a fair number. Four? And that wasn’t counting the smaller, partial times she’d come watching Stevie. Tasting Stevie.

“We’re not blind, love.” Stormy reached over and patted her shoulder. “And honestly it’s about fucking time. Have you two talked about things?”

She still couldn’t speak.

“Angie,” Emilia began again, “we don’t have to—”

“Actually, we kind of do.” Stormy sat fully upright to face Angie. “It’s become a moral obligation for me at this point because I can’t embody the ‘bystander effect’ any longer. No more bullshit. This is the real thing, and I know that scares the hell out of you.”

Angie toyed with a clover flower. Her shoulders moved in a minute shrug, ignoring her brain’s commands.

“And I know you would never play with her on purpose,” Stormy continued in a gentle voice. “So I’m gonna ask: She’s ready. Are you?”

Another minuscule shrug.

“Does she know you’re not sure?” asked Stormy.

Damn Stormy, and damn leisurely day drinking. Her tongue and shoulders were loose. Quietly, Angie said, “It’s not that I’m not sure. It’s . . .”

Her friends waited.

“It’s . . .” She tried again, but there was a weight on her tongue she couldn’t lift.It’s because I’m worried I’ll destroy us, she might have said, orIt’s because I’m worried that if I give in to what I want, I’ll wake up one day next to Stevie, perfect Stevie, and the emptiness will be lying there between us still ready to swallow me whole.She couldn’t say either.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Emilia said softly.

“It’s okay to be scared of yourself, too,” Stormy added. “But Stevie can handle it. She’s tougher than she looks. Just—”

Stormy broke off and assessed Angie. Her ears buzzed their warning as the edges of the world grew white.

“Breathe, baby.” Stormy moved to crouch in front of her, shielding her from view of the rest of their party. “Breathe.”

She breathed. Salt air and cut grass and something herbal she couldn’t identify amid the overwhelming scent of pine eased her lungs. The panic attack temporarily subsided.

“I can’t—I can’t lose her. I can’t.”

“Oh honey,” said Stormy. Angie’s eyes welled with tears at the care in her voice. “You sweet, sweet thing.”

Stormy’s body language suggested she wanted to bundle Angie into a tight hug, but instead she held one of her hands loosely. The salt air had made their skin slightly sticky. Angie didn’t mind the sensation. She turned their linked hands over, playing with Stormy’s painted fingernails. Stormy’s hands were like her: soft, strong, and warm. She wished she could curl up in those cupped palms.

“Tell me why you think you’ll lose her,” said Stormy.

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