“I got your texts.” My emotions were all over the place when it came to Ozrik, and I wasn’t prepared to explain, so I diverted. “Am I allowed to ask how you’re feeling?” I didn’t bother masking my bitterness.
Ozrik pressed his lips together, a stitch growing between his brows.
“I’m much better, thanks.” He shifted his weight. It wasn’t often Ozrik looked uncomfortable. The man oozed confidence. “In the car. In Tulsa. I didn’t mean to bite your head off for expressing concern.”
I cut my gaze to the board of pictures, unable to meet his eyes and at a loss for words. I nodded, but it didn’t convey what I felt.
“Gale. You need to understand something. When you spend every waking moment of your life with a mother who is constantlytelling youthat you’re sick, when you really are sick, and someone points it out, you get defensive. I’m sorry for being an ass.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
Ozrik entered the room, his gaze flitting over the collage of photographs once before refocusing on me. “Is that why you ignored me? Because I snapped?”
I sighed. “When you spend your life under the thumb of bullies, where everything you say or do is thrown back at you or used against you, even an ounce of hostility makes you jumpy and skittish.”
“Fair enough. Are we okay?”
I nodded and found his eyes. It had been a hell of a week. Ozrik’s presence was a balm.
He kneeled beside me and examined the board of pictures, lips parted and eyes sparkling as he took it in. “It’s us. It’s the team out chasing.” He touched the one I’d taken of the tornado in Arkansas. “Are these for Charles?”
“No. It’s my secret proposal project for the magazine.”
“You talked about it. You’re doing a piece about us?”
“About storm chasing. I detailed the weather aspects and science, but my real focus is on the individuals and process.”
“It’s brilliant.”
“It’s okay. I’m not as good at taking pictures of people. I was aiming for candid shots. Some are better than others. The problem is, I have dozens and have to narrow it down to a select few.”
“Can I see them?”
I located the folder on the floor beside me.
As Ozrik flipped through the photographs, I studied his reaction, waiting for a comment since it was obvious he’d become my muse. Ninety-five percent of the pictures were of him, taken in Tulsa, including the few from the time Twisted Fates had rescued me.
The last run we’d gone on in Arkansas had allowed me to take some of the rest of the group, but none of them were my favorite. No one was as photogenic as Ozrik. He was the only one who shared chemistry with the storm. If I could have focused the entire piece on him without it being strange, I would have.
Once he’d viewed the last shot, he held up a picture of himself, wearing the same cheeky smile as the guy caught on film. “You seem to have a thing for him. I can see why. He’s pretty hot.”
I mirrored his smile. “And high on himself.”
Ozrik laughed. “No shame, but for real. You like this guy?”
“I do. Your energy out there is…” I shook my head, unable to explain. “I tried to capture the confluence between you and the storm, but it hardly translates.”
He studied the shot for a minute before setting it aside and meeting my gaze. “Did you miss me, Gale?”
“Yeah. Chasing was far too serious without you. You make it fun, even when I don’t want to be there.”
“I’ve been told I’m a touch reckless.”
“You might be a bad influence, but I don’t mind.”
Ozrik glanced around the room, taking it in before speaking again. “I came by to invite you out for lunch.”
My stomach fluttered. “Oh.”
