Page 27 of Into the Tempest

Hmm.

Yeah, I don’t think so.

Anger flared in my belly, burning hot in my chest.

“You know what, Dad?” I said. “I fucked up and I’m sorry for that. But if those leeches come for Jeremiah again, I won’t keep my head down, and I won’t keep my mouth shut.”

Jeremiah slid his hand onto my knee and shook his head, silently telling me no.

It only solidified my resolve. “What they did was wrong, Dad,” I continued. “Where’s their accountability? Where’s their apology to him? And I won’t apologise for what I said or how I said it because for that, I’m not fuckin’ sorry.”

“Tully—” he snapped, but my mother’s softer tone cut him off.

“Tully,” she said, “for what it’s worth, personally, we agree with you. But professionally, we now have a media PR circus to deal with, on top of emergency shipping offloads, fast-tracking quarantine regs, clearing the docks, and battening down hatches.”

I sighed, running my hand through my hair. I felt bad enough, but gawd, a mother’s disappointment weighed too damn much.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“What time will you be home?” she asked.

“After eight,” I replied. “I’m not leaving Jeremiah here by himself.”

Jeremiah frowned at me. “I’ll be okay, you can go if you need,” he whispered, just as another alert came through that he had to switch the alarm off for.

“Then we’ll be at your place after eight,” Mum said. “We’ll bring dinner.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. What could I say? Not that it mattered, because the line went dead. I tossed my phone onto the control panel. “Fuck.”

“What happened?” Jeremiah asked. “I heard most of what your father said, sorry. He spoke rather loudly.”

I sighed again. “My little tirade at those fuckers at the gate this morning made the news.”

“Oh.”

I pointed to the company logo on my chest. “With some prime-time advertising, apparently.”

His eyes widened with realisation. “Oh no.”

“Yeah. Anyway, my parents will be at my place when we get there. So that’s gonna be a lot of fun. I mean, it’s not the arse-reaming I had in mind for tonight. My father is pissed.” Not sure what else I could do, I stood up and ran both hands through my hair. “Fuck!”

Jeremiah stood up and took my hand. “Hey,” he breathed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault. I lost my cool at those reporters. I was so fuckin’ mad for what they did to you. While I was wearing my father’s company name on my shirt.”

His brow furrowed as we studied my knuckles. “It seems a day for both of us to disappoint our fathers.”

Oh god. The phone call he had with his dad...

I sagged and pulled him into my arms. He slid against me easily, our arms holding each other like interlocking parts.

It felt so good.

His embrace, his touch, soothing away my pain and anger, was healing me in real time. I held him tighter, not wanting to let go.

Not now, not ever.

“Was your dad okay?”

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