Page 122 of Finding Storm

I take a deep breath. Pull the door open and walk back inside.

Stevie’s still sitting right where I left her.

Pain lances across my chest, almost taking my breath away.

I knew leaving her would be hard. I just didn’t realize how fucking hard.

“Hey.” I sit back down across from her.

She puts her spoon down in her bowl.

“Hey.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her gorgeous eyes. “Everything okay?” she asks, referring to the phone call.

No, babe. It’s really not.

I should tell her right now.

But I don’t want to do it here. I’ll wait until we get back to the B&B.

So, I force a smile, reach over, take hold of her hand, and say, “Yeah, babe. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine.”

That’s what he’s said twice now when I’ve asked if he’s okay.

But it’s clearly not fine. He’s been off since he took that call half an hour ago at the ice cream parlor.

He was quiet the whole car ride back. He smoked two cigarettes on the way back with his window rolled down.

He didn’t even ask me if I minded.

That’s not like Storm.

And I said nothing. Which is unlike me. I didn’t even give him shit when he flicked both the cigarette butts out of the window.

I did make a mental note whereabouts he ditched them, so I can go back and pick them up.

Just because we’re having problems doesn’t mean the marine life should suffer for it.

And now, we’re walking up the stairs to his room at the B&B, and the tension is palpable.

I feel like I’m walking the green mile, heading for my execution.

Honestly, I would rather be picking up his cigarette butts from the roadside right now than walking up these stairs with him.

My legs feel like lead. Hands clammy. Heart heavy in my chest. Rocks in my stomach.

Because I know what’s coming.

This last week, I’ve felt it coming like the sands of time. The grains have been slowly slipping away into the bottom of the hourglass.

And whatever the phone call was … it was the last grain to fall.

Time has run out.

He’s leaving.

He’s going back to LA.