Page 127 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
I watch as she absorbs my words, track the movement of her throat as she swallows. Then, after she straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath, I follow her into the room.
“You’re cheating!” Tempest screeches, pushing her brother over with her shoulder. They sit side by side on beanbag chairs in front of the hundred-inch television screen. A split-screen view of Mario Kart shows the top player, Princess Peach, stuck on the side of the track while the bottom driver, Bowser, races toward the finish line in first place.
Tempest straightens her car and races after her brother, but a few seconds later, Raiden crosses the finish line with a loud, “Whoop!”
“No fair!” Tempest yells, throwing her controller and folding her arms. Raiden, either oblivious to or uncaring of his sister’s distress, dances in a circle around their seats.
Tempest’s expression turns hostile, and Shae, likely with some kind of mother’s sixth sense, lunges toward our daughter, standing between her and her brother.
“Okay!” Shae says, clapping her hands three times to get everyone’s attention. “No fighting. Raiden, turn the Xbox and TV off. Tempest, come here.”
Tempest, with her arms still folded and her face scrunched up, hops to her feet and stands a few inches away from her mother.
Then, Shae crouches down and pulls our daughter into a hug.
Inch by inch, Tempest relaxes, pressing her face into the crook of Shae’s neck. The moment is simple, poignant, and I pull my phone, grateful to snap a picture before they pull apart.
“Everyone, let’s sit. Your…your father and I want to talk to you,” Shae says, and like a record scratch, both kids turn to where I’m standing in the entryway. Tempest’s expression is skeptical; Raiden’s is cautious.
How is this going to go?
I take a step into the playroom and eventually end up next to Shae. She pulls on my hand, and I lower to the ground, sitting cross-legged from the kids as they perch on their beanbags.
No one says anything for a long, awkward moment.
“So,” Shae begins, rubbing her hands on her thighs. “There’s been a lot that’s happened in the last week, things I’m sure you’re confused about or are overwhelmed by. So, your father and I wanted to leave this time for you to ask whatever questions you have, and for us to decide where the four of us go from here.”
Tempest and Raiden share a look.
“How long are we gonna stay here?” Tempest asks, and Shae looks at me. Which makes sense—I’m the one requiring them to live with me.
“A few weeks. The rest of the summer, at least,” I say, my voice scratchy. I look to Shae, and she looks worried, but not overly so.
Probably because she was anticipating my real answer, which isforever.
Raiden frowns, and I don’t press him because Tempest pelts me with another question.
“Why haven’t you been around?”
I blow out a breath. That question. Shae and I’d practiced our response, and I look to her to take the lead, as she’d requested.
“Your father and I haven’t been able to get in contact with each other for many years. It wasn’t until recently that we foundeach other again. As soon as he learned about you two, he immediately came to meet you.”
“Yes, at that smelly old museum,” Raiden says, and Tempest rolls her eyes.
“What’s your name?” This comes from Raiden. I give him my attention when I answer.
“My full name is Storm Alexander Sandoval.”
Raiden’s face brightens. “You’re an Alexander, like me!”
I nod and smile, feeling a warm, tight clench in my chest. I turn to my daughter.
“And Tempest, did you know your middle name is my mother’s name? Amaya.” Tempest doesn’t smile at that.
“Your mom? Is that my grandma? Where is she?” Her bottom lip wobbles, and panic has me looking at Shae.
Tempest shoots up, her tiny body vibrating as she stands over us.
