Page 116 of Braving the Storm
A water glass sits on the wooden table, in the center of frame in front of the window overlooking the forest outside.
It’s filled with a small bunch of freshly cut spring blooms.
With that one photo, my Storm just reached through thephone screen and helped me drag myself out of the spiraling depths.
I’m going to find a way to get back to him, even if I have no idea how to do so, there is no way I can give up now.
I’ve got to figure this out on my own, and hope to god he’s still waiting for me by the time I escape this hell.
Chapter 40
“What were my grandparents like?”
My girl looks at me from across the small table, her coffee cradled in both hands and breakfast half-finished. She’s wearing my shirt, and even though it drowns her, I swear to god I’d go to my grave a happy man if that was all she ever wore.
“Ma and Pop? What do you wanna know?”
“Anything, really.” She sips her coffee and then clears her throat, all cute and disapproving when she catches me staring at her tits instead of concentrating on the question.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck and chuckle. “Shit, I forget you never even knew them.”
“My dad never talked about them.” It’s not sad, her tone, more wistful than anything. There’s a certain type of lingering curiosity there. Briar tilts her head to one side and flutters those eyelashes of hers with enough power to bowl me over with just one sweep against her soft cheeks.
She kills me with those eyes every damn morning, I swear.
“Good people. They brought that hard-grafting European mindset with them when they migrated here. Honest to a fault, but firm. Mind you, they needed to be, with my wild ass nearly setting shit on fire at every turn.”
“You would have been a nightmare, I bet.”
“Hey.” Raising my eyebrows allows me the pleasure of seeing her grin in a way that seems so much more natural and carefree than the timid little thing who first turned up here. “I was a perfect angel.”
Briar nearly spits her coffee across the table.
“Come on.” Her big eyes roll dramatically.
“Sainthood levels of perfection.” I fake the sign of the cross over my chest.
“The poor things. Did they ask if they could return you? Exchange you for store credit?”
I’m laughing as I shake my head and drag a hand through my hair. God, this girl makes me feel so much younger, so much lighter. We can talk about stuff I haven’t even thought about for years, and it just feels natural.
“Yeah, I kinda put them through it, but they were already pretty elderly when they fostered, then formally adopted your dad and me. Mom wasn’t in good health, but she always made sure we were taken care of, and knew we were loved and safe, because she’d seen enough kids come from crappy situations that she understood what we needed was stability when they adopted us at the same time. Then, Pop was just a rock. Always there no matter what, you know.”
I swallow hard, thinking about the man who would have adored this girl to pieces. Pop wouldn’t have said much, but I know he would have been wrapped around her little finger.
“We weren’t good at talking, but he could see I needed something to tame my demons, so he got me into rodeo. Put me on a horse and gave me every opportunity he could. Drove me miles to compete, always with his terrible hillbilly music playing and saying about two words the whole time. And if I came off during a ride, he’d look me over and chew his dip and say something like, ‘You dead, boy?’ which for some stupid reason would make me laugh, and then he’d shrug and suggest we head on home. The old bugger knew I was stubborn enough that I wouldn’t leave, that I’d get straight back up there just to prove him wrong.”
An incoming call bursts through my haze of memories. I’venever moved so fast to check my notifications as I have these past few weeks since she’s been gone.
Except, it’s not her.
It never is.
Beau’s name peers back at me, and I have to fight the urge to swipe out of everything and just fucking hide out, allowing my soul to wither all day.
Instead, I decline the video, but stab the green button with my thumb to answer and grunt.
It’s not even ahello.
