Page 106 of Until the Storm Breaks
It’s me walking away from the one person who actually understands.The moderator is looking at me expectantly. The whole room is. I’ve stopped mid-sentence, lost in my own thoughts, and now hundreds of people are waiting for me to finish. To give them something profound. To make this awkward pause mean something.
“It’s messy,” I finish lamely. “That’s all.”
The moderator quickly pivots to another panelist, and I spend the rest of the hour on autopilot. Nod at the right moments. Make sounds of agreement. Reference my book when prompted. But I’m not really here. I’m in Dark River, in a smallcabin, watching morning light reveal words on skin I didn’t know I’d written there.
The applause feels like assault. People want to talk, to get books signed, to tell me their stories of loss like I’m some kind of grief priest who can absolve them. I escape to the bathroom, lock myself in a stall, and just breathe.
My phone buzzes. A text from my agent.
Richard:Great panel! The Tweet about you saying grief isn’t elegant is already going viral. Profound stuff.
Profound. Everything’s profound when you package it right.
That evening, the rooftop afterparty is the kind of literary scene I’ve always dreaded. Fairy lights strung between potted plants. Sponsored cocktails with literary pun names. Writers and agents and editors all performing versions of themselves, networking disguised as conversation.
I find a corner by the railing, nurse a whiskey that tastes like disappointment. The city spreads out below, lights and lives I’m not living.
I’m considering my escape when I spot Elena Vale near the far corner of the rooftop, partially hidden by a large planter. Adrian Lowe has her cornered, standing too close, one hand on the wall beside her. Even from here, I can see her rigid posture, the forced smile.
Adrian’s voice carries, that pompous tone I remember from his visit to Dark River.
“...the Knopf connection alone could change everything for you,” he’s saying, swaying slightly. “One dinner. My hotel has an excellent bar.”
“I run this festival, Adrian,” Elena says, voice controlled but tight. “I don’t need your connections.”
“Everyone needs connections.” He leans closer, his free handtouching her arm. She pulls away but he’s got her backed against the railing. “Don’t be difficult. I’m offering you an opportunity here.”
I set down my whiskey and start walking over.
“I said no thank you,” Elena says, more insistently than before.
“Come on,” Adrian insists. “One drink. We can discuss your future.”
Heads are starting to turn. I’m halfway across the rooftop when Adrian grabs her wrist as she tries to leave. “Youknowyou want to.”
“Let go of me,” she demands.
Elena suddenly stomps hard on Adrian’s foot with her heel. He yelps and loosens his grip just enough for her to wrench her wrist free and shove him back.
“I said no,” she says firmly.
Adrian stumbles but catches himself against the planter, his face darkening with anger. “You little?—”
“That’s enough.” I say, positioning myself between them.
Adrian turns, still unsteady, and his face shifts to recognition. “Calvin Midnight.” His words are sloppy and he’s clearly had a few too many. “Well, well. Looks like we both made it from Dark River to the big city.”
“Walk away, Adrian.” My voice is calm but there’s steel underneath.
He laughs, that pompous sound I remember. “Heard you finally sealed the deal with that bartender. Maren, right? Took you long enough. She shut me down hard, but maybe now that you’re back in Seattle, I should take another run at her. Bet she’s lonely without you.”
I step closer. “Say her name again. See what happens.”
“In fact,” Adrian continues, raising his fists like he’s going to take a swing at me, “she’s probably ready for someone who can actually satisfy her. Maren probably needs a real?—”
I hit him. One clean punch, all the boxing training drilled into me channeled into perfect form. Adrian goes down hard, sprawling across the deck. His eyes roll back for a second, then he’s blinking up at the fairy lights, dazed, blood trickling from his mouth.
I stand over him, flexing my hand. “You come near Maren, you come near Elena, you come near any woman who tells you no, and we’ll have a bigger problem than your jaw.”
