Page 30 of Wings
"I don't . . . I mean, I used to . . ." The words tangled, tripped, fell flat.
Mia's expression softened. She reached across the table, patting my hand with sticky fingers. "It's okay. I was scared at first too. But it's safe here. Duke promises, and Duke never breaks promises."
The casual faith in that statement made my eyes burn.
"Thor was the same with me," Mandy added quietly. "Took weeks before I could be little around him. Kept waiting for him to laugh or get angry or . . ." She trailed off, but we all heard the unspoken endings. "But he never did. Just kept showing up, being patient, making space for all of me."
"Even the parts that like stuffies and coloring and bedtime stories," Mia added firmly. "Because those parts matter too."
My throat closed completely. Gabe's hand found my knee under the table, warm and steady. Not pushing, not demanding, just there.
We finished our hot chocolate in companionable quiet, the conversation drifting to safer topics—TV shows, books, whether the clubhouse needed a pet. ("A dragicorn!" Mia suggested, making us all laugh.)
When we dispersed, Gabe walked me back to my room. The hallway felt smaller with him beside me, more intimate. At my door, I turned, words tumbling out before I could stop them.
"How do they just . . . trust like that? After everything?"
His expression was infinitely gentle in the dim light. "They learned they were worth protecting. That being little doesn't make them less."
"But what if—" I stopped, swallowed. "What if you've been broken too long? What if those parts are too damaged to—"
"Hey." He stepped closer, not touching but near enough I could feel his warmth. "You're not broken, Ki. Hurt, yeah. Scared, definitely. But not broken."
The tears came then, silent but unstoppable. He stood there, patient as a mountain, while I fought them back.
"It's late," I finally managed. "I should—"
"Yeah."
It felt like he wanted to say more. But he didn’t.
The first crack of thunder yanked me from sleep like a fist to the gut. My body knew before my mind caught up—muscles tensing, breath catching, that sick roll of dread in my stomach that meant storm. That meant danger. That meant hiding.
Lightning flashed, illuminating my unfamiliar room in stark white before plunging it back to black. The walls felt too thin, too close. Not enough barriers between me and the sound that crawled under my skin like memory.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—
Thunder crashed, rattling the windows. My whole body flinched, arms wrapping around my knees as I curled into the smallest ball possible. Four days at the clubhouse and I'd started to feel safe. Four days of watching littles be cherished, of organizing medical supplies with Gabe, of almost believing I could have something different.
But storms always brought me back.
Back to Alex's apartment, the walls shaking with bass from his speakers and the thunder outside. He always got worse during storms. Like the electricity in the air fed something dark in him, made him feel powerful. Invincible.
"Where the fuck is my stash, Ki?" His voice, slurred with whatever cocktail he'd consumed, louder than the thunder.
"I don't know," I'd whispered, pressed into the corner between the couch and wall. "Maybe you—"
The lamp had shattered against the wall inches from my head. Ceramic shards and the smell of fear, ozone from the storm mixing with the chaos inside.
Another flash. Another boom. I pressed my face into my knees, trying to breathe through the panic. The clubhouse was safe. Duke had promised. The locks were good. No one could—
A soft knock cut through my spiral.
"Ki?" Gabe's voice, muffled by the door. He was staying in another room here while I crashed, like a guardian angel. I was glad of the company. "You okay in there?"
I wanted to lie. To say yes, I'm fine, go away. But another crack of thunder stole my voice, left me gasping.
The door opened—when had I forgotten to lock it?—and he stood backlit by the hallway light. Sleep pants and a worn t-shirt, hair sticking up like he'd been tossing. He took one look at me, curled in a ball on the bed, and his whole demeanor shifted.
