Page 51 of Out of the Storm

“Do you work later?” Gary asked.

“Nope.”

“I hope you can catch up a little on sleep, then.”

When Gary started to climb out of bed, Jeff poked him with his foot, stopping him.

“Do you want to come to Oklahoma with me?”

“Next week?”

“Yeah.”

“For the tornadoes?”

“Yeah.”

Settling back on the bed, Gary asked, “Are you sure?”

“Can you not leave the station for that long?”

“I can. It’s my station. I’ll have to let everyone in Niles know I’m taking a vacation, though.”

“Good. I want to share my silly hobby with you.”

Gary’s whole body started to buzz with excitement, and yet, Jeff’s offer was so unexpected that Gary couldn’t find the words to respond.

“What do you think?” Jeff asked.

Gary managed to sputter, “Geez, I’d... I’d love that.” He still couldn’t believe it. First Jeff had come over to take care of him, and soon they would be vacationing together? Wow! “Really?”

“Yeah.” Smiling sweetly, Jeff reached up to touch Gary’s cheek. “You and me, radio man. We’ll chase the storms together.”

With those beautiful words, Gary’s still-lingering worries and insecurities regarding his family situation simply fell away, and now the only thing Gary had in his head was the thought that he really, really liked Jeff. A lot. A whole lot. More than he’d ever liked anyone. Boyfriend label or not, Jeff was becoming his person. Jeff had shown up to his house in the middle of the night because he had been concerned. And then Jeff had taken care of him. Gary had to hope that, someday, he could show Jeff the same kind of care in return.

Closing his eyes, Gary tried to imagine their upcoming vacation together. Fear began to swirl in his stomach from the mere thought of seeing a tornado.

But no matter his fears, he’d follow Jeff anywhere.

Even into the middle of a storm.

Chapter Ten

Jeff

Jeff and Gary had only been on the road for an hour, and already, it had been the best Goddamn hour of Jeff’s life. Evenwiththe constant mediocre music that Gary had insisted they listen to—fucking Kenny Loggins and Madonna and whoever else. Although witnessing Gary’s silly seat-restricted dance moves was probably worth the potential headache. Finally, when the second or third replay of “Like a Virgin” ended, Jeff ejected Gary’s tape.

“My turn,” Jeff said, scrambling to find his Dean Martin mix tape with his right hand while keeping his left hand on the steering wheel.

He was rummaging through the tapes in the middle console when Gary found it for him.

“What is it with you and these male singers?” Gary asked, opening the plastic case.

“Nothing,” Jeff said, even though it definitely wasn’t nothing.

Gary popped in the tape. “Don’t lie.”

“We had a record player when I was a kid. That’s all.”

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