And then the stillness. The trees stop swaying, and the rustling calms. The earth holds her breath because what’s in store is a wrecking no one is equipped to handle gracefully.
But until that moment, until the revelation that all the little things so far away and untouchable are in fact headed for you, it’s just an ocean and a sky and someone else’s thunder.
In the eye of the tempest, the anticipation is palpable. There’s a yearning to be part of something so much bigger, even if it decimates you.
Some flee from it, making the storm chase them down. I’ve been guilty of that as of late.
Others proudly ride it out. My brave new plan.
Ryker is my hurricane. My forest fire. My pivotal realization. Not a new era, but rather the epoch I didn’t fully grasp because I viewed each element ofusas a solitary entity.
I think I’ve always known that it was all meant to be bigger in some respects, the exquisite ruination that would eventually own me, but it was friendship and butterflies andsomeone else’s thunder.
His typhoon resemblance is abundantly apparent as he barrels through the ballroom with me cradled in his arms, like a bridal-style fire rescue.
He kisses my hair, darting through the shadows with a sole purpose. Avoidance. “Don’t make eye contact.”
My head falls back with a laugh. “I honestly don’t think that would matter. You look positively terrifying right now. Only someone with a death wish would approach you.”
His brows furrow at me before he kicks his chin to the crowd. “Right. No one here fits that description.”
“Valid. Is it me, or did this ballroom triple in size?”
“It’s a fuck ton bigger than I ever realized.” He peers down at me, narrowly dodging a chair someone pulled out to transform the jaunt into a minefield. Since he’s in warrior mode, he disregards that, captures my lips, and beelines for the closest escape room.
My arms tangle around his neck, returning his fervor with all I’ve got.
As soon as we come up for air, a silver fox pops out of the shadows, attention lasered on Ryker. “Mr. Noire, would you mind if I had a quick mom—”
“Yes,” Ryker answers, leaving him in the dust.
I’m half concerned and half enchanted by that performance. “That’s not very good for business.”
He winks at me, hisothersole purpose written all over his face as the booming drums, brassy jazz notes, and clomping steps encompass us like surround sound. “They don’t give me their money because I’m nice, Merce.”
I don’t have a chance to respond because just before we reach our salacious sanctuary, Axel cuts us off, boldly grasping Ryker’s arm.
His sapphires ping-pong between us, and he can’t conceal his glee. “You two aren’t bailing, are you?”
“Nope,” I sing. “I’ve never seen an escape room, so he’s giving me a tour.”
Ryker stares at me, amused and deciding to be a spectator for my pitiful cover.
Traitorous chicken.
Axel nods, equally entertained, but ever the good brother. “Fine. Make it a quicktour.” He smirks, shifting his attention to Ryker. “The cameras are off, but hang your suit jacket on it for extra precaution.”
Ryker might give a nonverbal response. I can’t be sure. The next thing I know, we’re bursting into what looks like a dilapidated prison.
“Jesus,” Ryker hisses, locking the door and lighting the space with his phone.
Dingy walls. Rusted bars. An insane-asylum vibe.
I don my best enthusiastic, virgin-schoolgirl impression, my fluttering hands covering my face. “This is exactly how I imagined it.”
He bellows a boisterous laugh, dropping me on my feet. “Yeah. This is about right. After twenty goddamn years, I’m as desperate as a man who’s been behind bars, so …”
His desperation meets his determination, and an impressive escape-room-tryst plan unfolds.
