Page 18 of Into the Tempest

He shrugged. “So I just hafta be extra mushy with you until you’re used to it.”

I snorted. “Excellent.”

“But it did feel good to hear you call me your boyfriend.” He gave me one of his killer smiles and handed me a takeout container. “Now eat something or I will get mad.”

It smelled so good, and I only truly noticed then just how hungry I was. He’d bought us each a gyros snack pack, which was basically shaved gyros beef over fries with Greek yoghurt dressing and a mix of salad.

It was the best thing I’d ever eaten.

I was half done the first time I looked up to find him smiling at me. “You were starving.”

“Mm,” I hummed with a mouth full of food. “So good.”

He laughed and stabbed some meat and fries with his fork. “So before, when I said you were on the news,” he said. “I do mean on every local channel. And on the radio on my way to the kebab shop just now.”

Ugh.

I rolled my eyes and groaned. “It’s embarrassing. Though I’ve since mastered the ‘I’m unavailable for comment at this time. Please stay tuned to the bureau’s weather channel for updates’ spiel. I didn’t really think how official my comment would be. I’m not used to managing press releases.”

His eyes softened. “You did great. You didn’t mince your words at all.”

I grimaced. “Was I too blunt? My forthrightness tends to land me in hot water.” I shrugged. “But I don’t see the point in sugar-coating anything, especially when talking about the severity of the storm that’s coming. I know it’s not my place to issue warnings in regard to evacuations and such, but she asked me what the residents of Darwin can expect. Rightfully, they should expect to evacuate.”

Then I looked at him.

Oh.

“You should leave,” I added with a lump of dread quickly solidifying in my belly. “You and your family. Do what you need to do with your shipping—”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Tully, it’s a reasonable response. There’s no reason why you should stay behind. If you have the opportunity and the means to leave, you should.”

His brown eyes met mine, curious and a little hurt. “Are you leaving?” he asked.

“No, I can’t,” I replied, gesturing to the control panels. “I have to stay.”

“Then so do I.” His eyes met mine, scrutinising and unblinking. “And I do have a reason to stay.”

“Take your family with you—”

“Not my family, Jeremiah,” he said brusquely. “You.”

“I’m not worth it—”

“I beg your fuckin’ pardon?!”

That stopped me so hard, I recoiled. “Pardon?”

“Don’t sit there and tell me you’re not worth it. Worth what, Jeremiah? What aren’t you worth, exactly? What is your life not worth?”

Oh, wow.

He was actually mad at me.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I mumbled, now looking at my half-eaten dinner, having lost all appetite. “I just meant...”

He put his container on the control panel desk, then took mine and put it there too. He took my hands and wheeled us so that our knees were touching. “Jeremiah, look at me.”

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