Page 115 of Small Town, Big Storm

“Eat,” Storm grunts.

I whip back to face him.“Do you have a problem?”I grit out.

“Yup,” he mutters.

“Care to explain what the heck it is?”I mutter back.

A pause, a muscle in his cheek flickering.Then he exhales.“I woke up alone.”A beat.“Again.”

The first had made my brows pull together, confusion gathering in my mind.The second, the way it’s rasped out, the sadness that clings to the edges, thehurt…

Damn.

“Storm,” I murmur.“I?—”

“Mom!”Holly yells.“I can’t find my toothbrush!”

I close my eyes for a second, exhale, and then peel back the lids.“Be right there!”I call.I look at Storm again, but he just snags a marker and scrawls his name on my cast with the practiced aplomb of a man who’s done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

“I’ll help her,” he says, dropping it back into the basket.

“Storm,” I say, catching his arm.

He halts, glances down at me.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”I nibble at my bottom lip.“That’s why I got up.I knew you had to be tired after yesterday and Holly had to get ready for camp and…” I shrug.“I wasn’t trying to?—”

He scrubs his hands over his face, groans softly.“I’m being an asshole.I’m sorry.”He drops them.“Ignore me, Poppyseed.”

“Storm—”

“Moooom!”

A chuckle, his lips twitching.Then he kisses the top of my head and walks off, tossing over his shoulder, “Shep made you the bouquet of flowers.”A beat.“His version of an apology.”

I glance at the truly ugly collection of blooms sitting in a vase on the counter.

But how someone can be that bad at arranging flowers isn’t what I’m thinking about as I watch Storm go.

I woke up alone.Again.

“Dammit,” I whisper, almost standing and following him, wanting to erase the hurt on his face, in his words.

But my wrist is throbbing and I need to get some medicine down.

And I have the feeling he won’t really hear me right now anyway.

Sighing, I reach for the slice of toast, remember that it’s made exactly how I like it.

“How the heck did he remember that?”I murmur, my heart pulsing, another wave of guilt hitting…along with a smattering of pain.

Food.Ibuprofen.Apologies.

Ready, set, break.

I sip and I eat and I choke down the tablets.

Then I fumble my way through pouring Holly some cereal and a glass of apple juice.