But he’d shown none of those signs two days ago. He’d been the Storm I’d fallen for.
The Storm that made me pine for him in the worst way.
He’d been Asher.
I closed my eyes, trying not to get upset, trying not to get angry. I bottled my emotions up and snuggled into my hoodie, the Sinners’ one Storm had given me years ago, one that had a salsa stain on the front from last night’s late-night binge session.
My cell buzzed, rupturing my pity party, and Storm’s ringtone echoed through the kitchen.
Praying Cyan didn’t hear it over the TV she was blasting in the family room—the only place she was allowed access to screen time now—I quickly silenced my phone and stared at the image that flashed on my phone.
It was of him and Cyan together, a picture I hadn’t changed even when we’d split up. They were both grinning at each other, and I’d caught them just as Storm was kissing her on the nose.
Happier times.
Better times.
Or was that just a part of the larger charade?
Another lie that kept me quiet, another falsehood that made me think we were a happy family when we weren’t.
I bit my lip, tempted not to answer. If he was calling now, that could mean he was going to cancel.
God, Cyan was going to be a nightmare if he didn’t come over for dinner.
He hadn’t done it before, but maybe six weeks was the period of grace? Maybe now, this was when the real Storm would show his true colors?
Tears pricked my eyes, based on fatigue, loaded with misery. I swiped my hand over them, tempted to toss the hummus and shitty sweet-potato tortilla chips all over the goddamn place just to mimic the chaos raging inside me.
A storm that was shaped like one man.
My ex-husband.
The man I craved. The man I missed. The man who’d ruined me and who’d broken me…
The man who, despite it all, I still loved.
What a moron I was.
My jaw clenched as I stared at the cell, at that picture, that goddamn smile. His devotion to Cyan was clear. It always had been.
Toward the end, before we’d broken up, that was when I’d known something was going on—he’d been distant.
He’d been skipping time at home, disappearing for weeks on end when the man, before, had only not slept in our bed when he was on a run.
That was why I’d gone hunting for answers, and Kendra, that bitch, had given them to me.
I reached for my cellphone, my hand aching as I clenched down on it. The desire to slam that into the kitchen counter was even stronger than the one that made me want to toss hummus everywhere. But the memories, the rage, the hurt, shored up my attitude like nothing else could.
So what, I didn’t know anyone here in Coshocton. So what, I was floundering, wondering what to do here. That didn’t take away from who and what I was.
A woman who deserved respect.
A woman who deserved to be loved.
A woman who deserved a faithful man.
Nostrils flaring after reading myself the riot act, I hit the connect button, and before I could say a word, before I could snap at him in self-righteous anger, he rumbled, "Keira, I need your help."
If I hadn’t just been working myself up like a pro athlete before the big game, I’d have sighed at his voice.
That rumble.
That fucking rasp.
Everything about him was designed to make me weak at the knees. That streak of silver in his hair, the soft strands on his chest that my fingers tangled with as I traced the ‘Cyan’ tattoo on his pec, that voice that could convince a saint to sin.
"Keira? You there, baby girl?"
My brows lifted even as I squirmed at the endearment. He hadn’t called me that in ages, and I missed it.
Jerk.
Bastard.
Lying, cheating, disease-ridden, padlocked-dick prick!
Don’t you dare forget, Keira. I won’t let you!! He was getting blowjobs when you were bedridden. Yeah. BED. RIDDEN. Don’t you dare forget. Don’t you dare—
"What kind of help?" I preempted his reply with a growled, "I’m not telling Cyan you’re not making it for dinner. If that’s why you’re calling—"
"Keira!"
"—you can do your own dirty work," I finished, ignoring his bark of my name.
"I wasn’t asking for that. Of course, I’ll be there for dinner."
Even as relief sank into my bones, a relief that wasn’t just for my kid, I snarked, "I’ll make sure it’s veggie burgers then."
‘Of course, I’ll be there for dinner.’
Like we were his priority.
If only we’d been that before.
He groaned. "You’re a cruel woman. When’s she going to get out of this phase? I miss beef."
God, so did I. I couldn’t even bitch at him about that. I was so sick of meat substitutes.
"I think it started with Katina and Lodestar, you know they’re both vegan, but Dr. Janowicz does say it’s a way for Cyan to control her environment. Better this than bulimia," I reminded him softly of what our therapist had said, even as panic whirred in my brain.
How was it Cyan was at a risk for this stuff? How had my life derailed so much? She was eleven, not seventeen!
He heaved a sigh. "Of course, it is. It’s just those burgers are fucking gross."
My lips formed a half-grimace, and a half-smile—I understood his pain entirely.
Rather than commiserate with the adulterous bastard, I demanded instead, "Okay, what is it? What do you need help with?"
"You know MaryCat?"
Surprised, I tilted my head to the side. "Yeah?"
MaryCat, or her nickname MC, was one of the West Orange Old Ladies. I’d never really gotten to know her.
From the start, I’d fitted in badly with them, the differences between my upbringing and most of the Old Ladies had been too stark, and when I’d made no attempt to get to know them, Storm hadn’t forced the issue. Especially when I’d allowed Rene into our lives. She and Bear had been the only ones I’d really opened up to.
"She’s here."
"She’s here? In Coshocton?" I frowned. "Thought she was in Manhattan. Didn’t she give birth there?" I lifted my hood up, covering my hair with it, trying to hide from the fact that I wished to hell I was in Manhattan and not Ohio.
You knew your homesickness was bad when you actually frickin’ missed Manhattan.
I’d begun to fit in with the new wave of Old Ladies, and despite the move, I was still included in their group chat. There, Tiffany, MaryCat’s sister-in-law, had sent us a photo of mother and baby in a fancy clinic in the city.
"She did, but she’s here now. She ran away."
"Ran away? She’s a little old for that, isn’t she?" I teased, thinking he was joking.
"Something to do with her mom trying to steal the kid or something," he muttered, then he made this hushing sound, a sound that made my ovaries twinge because I remembered it.
"You’re holding the baby, aren’t you?" I whispered, reaching up and rubbing at my forehead.
He fell silent. "How the hell did you know that?"
Because that sound was reminiscent of the times he’d put Cyan to bed. When she’d been a baby, he’d been all in. Every night, apart from when he was on a run, he’d danced her to sleep.