Page 54 of Haunted By the Storm
We collapse together, panting, tangled. I pull out of her gently, strip off the condom and toss it somewhere, then gather her close.
She tucks her face into my chest, her breath still shaky.
“Holy shit,” she murmurs.
I laugh, kissing her forehead. “Yeah.”
She laughs too, lazy and warm. “You’re not allowed to leave this bed.”
“Not planning on it,” I say, pulling her tighter. “You’re not done. Not even close.”
She hums in agreement, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest, following the lines of my tattoos. "Can I ask you something?" she says after a moment.
"Anything."
"Did you mean what you said, about wanting us to stay? About... family?"
I prop myself up on one elbow, needing to see her face for this conversation. "Every word," I tell her, holding her gaze steadily. "I want you in my life, Camryn. You and Emily. Not just for now, not just until it's convenient. Always."
She searches my face, looking for any sign of hesitation or insincerity. Finding none, she nods slowly. "It won't be easy," she warns. "I have a job, Emily has school..."
"Nothing worth having is easy," I say simply. "We'll figure it out. Together."
A smile spreads across her face, slow and beautiful. "Together," she repeats. "I like the sound of that."
I lean down to kiss her, soft and sweet this time—a seal on our agreement. "Me too."
We stay tangled for a while, just content to be here.
"What are you thinking about?" Camryn asks softly, her head pillowed on my chest. "You've gone quiet."
I consider deflecting, giving her some lighter version of my thoughts, but that's not what we're building here. Not what she deserves.
"My mom," I admit. "She would have loved you. Both of you."
Camryn shifts to look at me, her expression gentle. "Tell me about her," she encourages. "If you want to."
So I do. For the first time in years, I talk about my mom; not just her death and how the cancer ravaged her body, but her life. How she loved thunderstorms, how she could make anyone laugh with her terrible jokes, how she looked after everyone, not just her own kids, but Shadow and Cerys too.
Camryn listens, really listens, her eyes never leaving my face, her hand steady on my chest over my heart. When I fall silent, having exhausted my store of memories, she simply leans up and kisses me; a gesture of understanding that requires no words.
"Thank you for telling me," she says quietly. "For sharing her with me."
"Thank you for listening," I reply, meaning it more than she can know. The weight I've carried for so long feels lighter somehow, shared between us now.
We drift into a comfortable silence, on the edge of sleep, when Camryn speaks again, her voice a drowsy murmur against my skin.
"Storm isn't just your road name, is it?" she asks. "It's more than that."
I tense slightly, surprised by her insight. "What do you mean?"
"You said they call you Storm because of your temper and how it breaks like a storm," she elaborates. "But it's more than that. It's about her too, isn't it? About your mom loving storms."
The observation hits me with unexpected force. I've never made that connection consciously, yet as soon as she says it, I know it's true. When the brothers gave me my road name yearsago, citing my explosive temper, something about it had felt right in a way I couldn't explain. Now I understand why.
"Yeah," I admit roughly. "I think maybe it is."
Camryn snuggles closer, her body warm and soft against mine. "I think that's beautiful," she whispers, pressing a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "It’s a way of keeping her with you. And maybe..." She hesitates, then continues, "Maybe that's why I'm not afraid of you, despite your name. Because somewhere deep down, I sense that connection. That protection."
