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Chapter Thirty-Seven

Gabriel

When I pull up to the address Storm gave me, I find him sitting across the street on the ground, leaning up against an old brick wall, knees pulled up to his chest, head rested back and eyes closed.

I don’t know why I’m here.

Actually, I do know why I’m here. Because he called and asked me to come.

I get out of the car, and the door closing has him opening his eyes and lifting his head. I walk until I’m standing in front of him.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“Here?” I look around us, at the unfamiliar neighborhood, surprised no one has called the cops yet. Then my gaze goes to the dirty ground.

Storm gets up without a word, wiping the pebbles and dirt off his butt.

“In the car?”

I huff out a sigh. “Fine, but turn around.”

Confused, he does as I say, and I do a better job of wiping off his butt. When he turns to face me, he’s smirking.

“You could have just said you wanted to touch my butt.”

“It was dirty,” I argue.

“Uh-huh.”

We cross the street and get into the car.

“Why am I here? Where are we?” I ask.

Storm chews on the corner of his lip, staring forward for a long moment before answering. “This is my mother’s house.”

“Okay,” I say carefully, leaning over to look at it. “Why did you lie about it? You said you wanted to live in my house because it was close to her. This is across the city.”

Storm shakes his head, running a hand down his face.

“She lives at the Green Willow Living Facility.”

Oh… Well, that’s not what I expected to hear.

“Which is—”

“A few blocks away from you. Yeah.”

“I don’t understand why you would hide that. There’s nothing to be ashamed of if she lives in a place like that. Plenty of people do.”

“I’m not ashamed,” he says flatly. “I’m just… Fuck, I don’t even know. I’m a fucking mess, is what I am.”

“You’re not a mess.”

“No, I really am.” He nods, his eyes going a little red. “I’ve been trying for so long to keep all this shit inside. To live my life and act like everything is okay, but it’s not. Nothing is okay.”

My manners tell me to tell him that everything is okay, but that’s crap. I hate when people give empty words, and so I won’t do it for him.

“I have to go into her house to check it out and probably clean it because I bet it’s way worse than anyone made it out to be, and I think I’ve known this the entire time, but I’ve been avoiding it.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says with a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t know. This house is… I hate it. I hated my childhood, hated that I never had a goddamn thing because we were poor, and I swore that when I got out of there, I’d never live that kind of life again. I’d never struggle, never go without. I’d always have food on the table and the most expensive things, and I did that for myself, but it’s like I’m being punished for it.”

“Punished how?”

He needs to talk, that much is clear, and I’m here to listen to him. I’ll listen to him for as long as he needs me to because he’s been there for me.

“Because just as things got really good for me, when I had everything I wanted, money flowing and work going great, my mother…” His brow pinches and he sighs. “She had a stroke.” Oh god… “And that’s not even the worst part.” He turns to me, eyes watery. “She’s been in a coma ever since. They say she won’t wake up. But I’m too much of a chicken shit to pull the plug on her.”

“Storm, no.” I put my hand on his thigh. This is a lot to take in, even for me, and I don’t know the women. Storm is hurting, I can see it in his eyes. How does he hide this all so well? I never would have known had he not said something…

“I’m a selfish prick who won’t let my mother have peace because she is the last person in the world that I have,” he chokes out. “She’s the only person who never abandoned me, and what did I do? I left her. I abandoned her . All because I wanted money and shiny things. I left her, and she had a stroke, and now I’ll n-never talk to her again. Hear her laugh or hear her tell me she loves me. Nothing.”

I’m not equipped to handle this sort of emotional conversation, but I do my best because it’s Storm. Even though we had an argument this morning, he deserves kindness. Especially when he’s hurting. I know him well enough to know he is a good person. He’s struggling with something and I can be there for him. I can do this.

“You’re not selfish, Storm. You’re human.”

“If I had just stayed—”

“Your happiness isn’t worth anyone else’s.”

He turns to me, frowning, a tear tracking down his cheek.

“If I had stayed…”

“You’d be miserable,” I add for him. “And all this could have still happened.”

“But I’d have been there with her.”

“Maybe so, but don’t you think she cared about your happiness? I don’t know your mother, but I can’t imagine her being like mine. You loved your mom. Love her. You visit her every day. Moved across the country to be near her. She’d want you to be happy.”

“It’s not enough,” he argues, shaking his head.

“It is. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Storm. You never could have known this would happen.”

“Which is why I should have been here,” he growls, pressing his fist to his forehead.

“And waste your life in the process? How long would you be waiting around, unhappy for?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I take a breath before answering. “Look, I’m not going to change your mind about this. You feel how you feel, and your feelings are valid. I understand it, and can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same if I were in your shoes. But Storm, you can’t beat yourself up about this for the rest of your life. You are still here, and you still have a life to live.”

How funny it is to give him this advice when I’ve never followed it myself. Funny how easy it is to say when it’s for someone else.

Another tear falls from his eye, and he leans his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. His hand falls on top of mine and he links our fingers.

“I’m sorry for this morning and for yesterday.”

“This isn’t about me. It’s not about us. It’s about you and your mom.”

Storm wipes his eyes, taking in a sharp breath before slowly blowing it out. We fall into silence for a long time. Minutes. Maybe an hour. I’m not entirely sure. But I let the silence stay for a while because he needs it.

“Tell me what you need, Storm. Do you want me to go in the house with you, or do you want to go home?”

He mulls it over for a moment, blowing out a sharp breath. “Home. I can’t do this today.”

That’s all I need to hear to turn on the car and leave.

There isn’t a word spoken as we make our way to the house or inside. I put my things away before making dinner. Storm sits at the dining table, watching me like he has for weeks now. We eat dinner, still without speaking, and though it isn’t awkward, it isn’t normal. When dinner is done, he helps me clean up and then follows me upstairs. I feel him behind me when I go toward my room, so I turn. He gives me a hopeful look.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

This is a bad idea. My brain is screaming at me that this is a bad idea. The conversation this morning did not go well, and though he didn’t say it outright, I think it’s one of those situations where I should read between the lines. I think what he was trying to tell me is that the most I’m getting from him is sex. But I don’t listen to my brain, because I’m tired of the thing. All it does is worry and nitpick. It stresses me out. And though I know this isn’t going to end well for me, I smile at Storm. Because his approval feels good.

“Of course you can.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and walks into my room. He takes his shoes off, putting them beside mine, then gets down to his boxer briefs, making sure his clothes go in the hamper. In his room, he tosses them all over the floor. He’s in my bed before I’m halfway undressed. Once I’m in my pajamas, I climb in and slide over to him, pulling him into me. I wrap my arm around his waist, same as he usually does to me. His arm covers mine, holding onto me tightly. We stay that way until morning.