Page 141 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
And he really meant that.
In a rush, everything we still have to sort out punches me like Rhonda Rousey, and I blink several times as details come forward about my business, our housing, what’s happening with my presumably empty condo, and the fact that no one has watered my plants—if they haven’t met their demise in a landmine.
I bite my lip.
“I need to talk to you. We need to talk,” I blurt out, and Storm tilts his chin down and holds out an arm, silently telling me to lead the way.
I land on taking us to the media room I’ve never been in but pass by every day. The floor-to-ceiling screen is dark, but as we move into the room, motion-activated can lights pop on row by row.
Storm makes his way to the front row of four plush leather recliners and sits with a groan.
I frown as I sit next to him.
“What’s going on with you, old man?” I ask, trying to tease him, but when he grins, it turns into a grimace.
I tilt my head to the side.
“Are you okay?” I ask. He waves a hand.
“I’m fine. What do you want to talk about, Shae?”
Even though we’re far from being together, I can’t help but pick up on his tells.
“You’re hurt,” I say, moving to stand over him. I tilt his chin up so I can see more of his face and?—
“Oh, my God! Storm! What the hell happened to your face?” I must wrench his head to the side too much, because he lets out a grunt and moves his face away.
“I’mfine,” he repeats, and I smack my lips and wrench the ball cap off his head.
“Storm,” I say, tears inexplicably rushing to my eyes. “What in the world?”
Storm leans back in his seat, smiling even more as he assesses me. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, and his left eye is almost swollen shut. His top lip has a split in it, and a deep purple bruise forms on his cheek beneath the injured eye.
It looks like someone cleaned up and bandaged his injuries, but the sight still has me wanting to take care of him.
What the hell, Shae?
Catching myself, I take a step back and put my hands in my back pocket.
“Well, I hope the other guy looks worse,” I say.
Storm settles into the chair more.
“Yeah, he does,” he says smugly. I roll my eyes at that.
“Do I want to know what happened?” I ask, and Storm’s smile dims a fraction.
“Let’s just say it was a fight that needed to happen. Now I can move on,” he replies, his voice soft.
And I don’t like what the thought of him “moving on” does to my heart.
My eyes slide closed. I’m so in this. I’m sofucked.
My gaze locks on Storm’s.
I’m still so in love with this man, and I hate that I don’t hate this fact more.
I shift to get rid of the buzzing beneath my skin.
