My throat tightens. “For what?”
“For understanding.”
I squeeze her hand.
“Go have your baby,” I say and close the door before she can protest again.
Daddy points toward the ranch trucks with keys in hand. He tosses a set to Cabe. “Let’s move.”
“Matty said to remind you to bring a camera,” I shout.
“Got it,” Imma Jean calls as she hurries behind him.
We all sprint forward as Caison slams the truck into gear and hits the gas, spitting gravel and a cloud of dust in our direction. By the time Shelby, Charli, and I pile into the back seat of one of the trucks with Cabe behind the wheel, and Waylon sandwiched between him and Bryce, we’ve all got tears streaming down our faces.
“Geezus,” Cabe says, glancing at us over his shoulder. “What a bunch of crybabies.”
“We’re Storm women,” Shelby says. “We’re emotional.”
Charli wipes her eyes dramatically. “I blame hormones.”
“Those aren’t your hormones,” I point out. “You’re not the one having a baby.”
“Sympathy hormones?” she says as she pulls off a paper towel square from the roll and hands us each one.
We drive off, following Caison, as the rest of the party watches like it’s a live sporting event.
Tires crunch gravel as we speed down the driveway.
“Anyone need a drink?” Charli asks as she pulls the tequila bottle from the seat beside her.
“Hell yes,” Shelby says, grabbing it from her hands, unscrewing the top, and taking a huge swig. “Heck of a graduation party,” she says, turning her eyes to me.
I laugh and take the bottle from her hands. “Yeah.”
She grins as I turn up the bottle.
A brand-new Storm is on the way.
The waiting room is too bright.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting everything in that glaring illumination that makes the world feel sterile and makes it impossible to decipher the time. The air smells like antiseptic and burned coffee, and the vinyl chairs squeak every time someone shifts their weight.
It’s nothing like the bonfire.
Nothing like the laughter and music and smoky Wyoming night we left behind.
Everything now feels … paused.
Like the whole world is holding its breath.
I sit curled in one of the stiff chairs, my knees pulled close to my chest, my phone clutched loosely in my hand even though it hasn’t buzzed in nearly twenty minutes.
Twenty long minutes.
Not that I’m counting.
Okay, I’m counting.
