Page 2 of Out of the Storm

Walt chimed in, “Our friend Chris is one of those student chasers. He was telling us how they’ll race in front of the storms, try to set up some equipment in their paths. I’m sure he’ll think it’s wild that we saw a tornado out here.”

“Are there a lot of them in Oklahoma?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, in April and May, mostly,” Dave said.

Conversation fell away as Jeff’s mind followed the clouds.

“Storm chasing,” Jeff mumbled after a while, turning the notion over in his head. Seconds passed as the mass of clouds continued to move across the horizon. He couldn’t manage to look away. “Think I’d be able to see some more tornadoes if I came out there?”

“Probably.”

“Hm.” Jeff sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I might have to try that.”

“If you’re interested in meteorology, our friend would probably talk your ear off.” Dave smacked Walt’s arm. “Do you know Chris’s phone number offhand?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, sounds like Jeff could use it.”

Walt heaved a sigh like this would be a real chore, and Jeff nearly told him not to bother, but, well, fuck, he wanted to talk to this meteorology man. Especially if it meant he could somehow see one of those storms again.

As Walt pulled a scrap piece of paper from his pocket, Dave searched for a pen in the glove compartment. Then Walt scribbled their friend’s number down and handed the paper to Jeff.

“You’re welcome,” Walt said.

Jeff tucked it inside his wallet, and silence filled the van again as the three men watched the remnants of the storm continue to rage and swirl outside.

After another few minutes, Jeff left the van and returned to his light-blue Cadillac—his gorgeous ’78 Eldorado Biarritz. Despite his forehead injury, he’d have to head back to Newton Falls and collect some of his shit. Hopefully he could crash with his friend Brandon for a little while, but there was no way in hell he could continue to stay in his hometown for much longer.

Before turning the key in the ignition, Jeff craned his neck to check his reflection in the rearview mirror. Neither Dave nor Walt had mentioned it, but, fuck, he was a mess. His slightly-wavy brown locks were mussed up, his brown eyes were bloodshot, with pinkish, beige-ish circles under them, and of course, he had that cut on his forehead from the edge of the nightstand. Memories flitted into his mind, ones that were still fresh and painful and weeping like an open wound.

Don’s possessive hands roaming over his body, one then fisting his hair.

“Look how pretty you are like this, sweetheart.”

Watching the lights from the ceiling fan shift and change behind closed eyes.

Unwanted pleasure pooling low.

With the disturbing thoughts still swirling in his head, Jeff glanced back outside and found the clouds again. Before today, he had been moving through life anesthetized, immune to everyday ups and downs, but now it seemed like there was a storm brewing inside of him, its sudden intensity making his muscles tense and his stomach ache. He’d felt it brewing the moment Don had climbed on top of him against his will—not the first time he’d done that, but definitely the first time it’d been wholly unwelcome. Drivingthrough Ohio with no purpose other than torun, Jeff had felt the turbulence swirling inside of him like a fucking tornado. He’d been scared of it, of that internal storm, but seeing that funnel in person had somehow brought him a sense of peace. It had been like looking in a mirror.

And, God, how he needed to see more of them.

Chapter One

Gary

February 1985

When Thursday’s Introduction to Calculus course came to an end, Gary Graham flicked on the light switch, re-illuminating the lecture hall and startling the handful of students who had fallen asleep.

“Come find me if you have trouble with the homework,” Gary said before turning off the overhead projector. “Office hours exist for a reason, you know. No reason to be embarrassed if you need help. See, as a math teacher, I have plenty ofproblemsmyself.”

Groans of exasperation echoed throughout the fast-emptying classroom, and Gary chuckled, partially tickled by his own humor and partially amused by the way he could still elicit such a strong reaction with a well-placed pun or otherwise corny comment. He was still chuckling to himself seconds later as he packed up his lesson plans, scooping up the papers he had left scattered over the desk. After stuffing everything into his well-loved brown leather backpack, he turned and nearly crashed into one of his students—a conventionally attractive, blonde-haired woman named Lisa. She was one of the only students who consistently seemed to pay attention to the material he was presenting, though Gary had begun to sense that her interests might lie with something other than numbers.

“Any plans for the weekend, Professor Graham?” Lisa asked, smacking her lips a few times as she chewed a wad of what was essentially spearmint-flavored plastic. And for a moment, Gary was too mentally preoccupied with trying to remember the gum manufacturing process (perhaps his brain trying to protect itself from focusing on the constantclick, click, clickof her chewing) to answer. After a couple more seconds, she tilted her head and said, “Hm?”

By this point, Gary could no longer feign a neutral expression and was wrinkling his nose instead. Geez, how could some peopleconstantlychew like that? Didn’t their mouths get tired?

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