The Storm (The Storm #4) (8 page)

“He fed it his lunch ’cause he thought it looked hungry.”

I can’t contain the laughter anymore, and it bursts from me. “How in the hell does a goldfish look hungry?”

Tru’s eyes are shining, her lips trembling. “He said it was…skinny!”

Laughter erupts from her. By this point, I’m belly-laughing.

God, I fucking love my kids.

“Ah, fuck.” I press my hand to my stomach. “I miss you guys.”

“We miss you, too.” She wipes the tears of humor from her face. “But you’ll be home tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. If all goes well, I’ll be home tomorrow—hopefully, with good news that Storm’s gonna come live with us.” And that right there brings me back to the now.

Her face softens, all traces of playfulness gone. “It’ll be fine, Jake. He’ll just need time to adjust to the idea. But who wouldn’t want to come live with us? We’re awesome.” She smiles.

“And this is why I love you,” I tell her.

“The only reason?” She bites her lip again.

“Oh, no. I love you for a lot of other reasons, too—especially that amazing rack of yours. Now, take your top off, and show me your tits.” I grin.

She laughs, deep and throaty. “Perv.”

“Yeah, and you fucking love it.”

“Wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t.”

Then, she moves the phone back, so I can watch as she slowly starts to unbutton her shirt.

This is what I’m talking about.

My hand immediately goes to my dick over my jeans.

“Mama!” Belle yells out in the background.

For fucks sake!

I let out a groan of frustration, and Tru’s eyes lift to the heavens as she chuckles.

“Tomorrow,” she says. “And don’t worry about Storm, babe. Things will work out exactly the way they’re meant to.” She presses her lips to the screen, sending me a kiss. “I love you,” she whispers.

Then, she’s gone, and I’m back to being alone in Jonny’s bedroom, my hand on my dick.

I flop back on the bed. Lifting my arm, I look at my watch, seeing that it’s five p.m.

I sit back up and speed-dial Tom’s number. I’m hoping Denny’s with him, so Tom can put me on speaker, and I can tell them at the same time how things went with Storm.

I just want to get this conversation over with, then get showered and changed, and head back to Storm’s place, so I can try to actually spend some time with the kid.

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We’ve just left Bob’s house, and we are on our way to see Storm. The Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black” comes on the radio station.

Closing my eyes, I press my head back into the seat. I remember when Jonny used to play this rift on his guitar, and we’d jam to it. That was back in the earlier days before we started writing our own songs.

Opening my eyes, I turn my head to look at Bob. “I was thinking we could stop by the cemetery. I want to visit Jonny.”

“When?” he asks.

“Now.”

“Do we have time?” He glances at the clock on the dash.

“I won’t be long. I just…want to see him.”

His expression softens. “You don’t have to explain it to me, son. I know.” He pats my arm with his hand.

“Dave”—I lean forward in my seat—“change of plans. Woodlawn Cemetery first and then Queens.”

Nodding, Dave indicates his understanding, changing lanes.

It doesn’t take long to get to the cemetery. Dave parks the car, not far from where Jonny’s buried.

I remove my seat belt. Reaching for the handle, I see Bob’s not moving.

“Are you coming?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “I was here a few days ago. You go and have some one-on-one time with him.”

I give him a grateful smile.

Leaning forward, I say to Dave, “Stay here with Bob. I won’t be long.”

He looks back over his shoulder at me. His expression is one of concern, as it always is when I suggest solo trips. “I should come with you, just in case.”

“I’ll be fine. No one is around,” I assure him, nodding at the almost empty cemetery.

Only one guy is here, a good distance away, tending to the surrounding gardens.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” I pat his shoulder before getting out of the car.

I shut the door, and I get my ball cap from my jacket pocket and put it on. I pull the peak low, more out of habit than anything. I’m not exactly at risk of being mobbed here.

I walk the short distance down the tree-lined path, and then I cut across, heading for Jonny’s grave. I slow my pace as I approach, my eyes landing on his mother’s headstone.

Lyn is buried next to Jonny. Bob has the plot on the other side of Jonny for when he—

I don’t want to think about that right now.

Coming to a stop at the foot of Jonny’s grave, I crouch down, getting to my knees, and I press my hands to the grass. “Hey…so I met Storm earlier. God, I can’t believe you have a son, Jon, and you never even got to meet him. It just feels…wrong. But I’m gonna take care of him. You don’t have to worry. Your dad and I, Tom and Den, too—we’ve got his back. Anything he needs…”

Driving my hand through my hair, I blow out a breath.

“He’s so much like you…it…” I turn my eyes away from his headstone, my fingers curling into the grass. “It fucking hurt to look at him. How crazy is that? It hurt to look at a kid. And I know, if you could right now, you’d tell me to shut my pussy ass up, get the fuck out of here, and go see your kid.

“I just…I wanted to see you before I saw him again. I was kinda hoping you’d show me a sign or some shit at how to best handle this with Storm. He’s angry, Jon. He’s thirteen, and his mom is dying. He just found out about you being his dad, and he’s pissed.

“Honestly, I’m pissed for him. I’m…fucking mad at you for dying. I’ve always been mad at you for that—now, even more so. Why the fuck did you get in your car that night.” I grit my teeth, shaking my head. “I just wish…I wish you’d known about him, Jon. Maybe it would have changed things. Made you stop using drugs. Maybe you would never have gotten in your car that night—no, not maybe. You wouldn’t have. I have to believe that. I have to believe that, if you’d known about Storm, then you would have sorted your shit out and got clean for him.”

Shaking my head, I let out a humorless chuckle.

“Hindsight—it’s a motherfucker, ain’t it?”

I stare ahead at nothing for a moment. Then, I push up to my feet and put my hands in my pockets. I look at Jonny’s name etched deep into the headstone.

“I miss you, man.”

Then, I turn on my heel and head back to the car.

When we pull up in front of the bakery, it’s closed, but the lights are on.

Bob and I exit the car. Dave isn’t staying this time. He’s going to have dinner with an old friend and come back to pick us up in a few hours.

I knock on the glass door. A few seconds later, Marie appears. She unlocks the door, letting us in. She isn’t smiling at me, but she isn’t scowling either, so I take that as a good thing.

I hear Dave’s car pulling away as Marie closes the door behind us.

“Go on up,” she tells us.

I lead the way, and Bob follows me through the back and up the stairs. When I reach the landing, I knock on the apartment door.

I hear voices behind the door. Then, it opens, and Storm is standing on the other side.

Only a few hours ago, I saw him, but the sight of him is still a sucker-punch to the heart. I wonder if seeing him will ever stop hurting.

“Hey,” he says in a low tone, his eyes sweeping the floor. “Come in.”

He stands aside, so Bob and I walk in.

There’s an awkward moment where we’re all standing in the hallway with no clue about what to say.

“Mom’s already at the table,” he says.

He starts walking, so we follow him. He turns into a kitchen with a small table in the center. Tiffany is sitting at it. She doesn’t look well—not that she looked well earlier, but she seems a little worse now.

I start to wonder if we should be here. She looks like she needs rest.

“Hey,” I say to her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She gives me a bright smile, but I can tell it’s forced. “Sit, please.” She gestures to the empty chairs.

Storm sits opposite Tiffany, so Bob and I take the two seats opposite each other. Lasagna and salad are already on the table.

“Looks great.” I gesture to the food.

“I can’t take credit. Marie made it for us. I don’t get to cook much nowadays.” Her smile is forced again.

“I don’t cook ever.” I laugh.

“Yeah, you probably have a maid to do all that for you,” Storm mutters.

Okay…

I see a look transpire between Tiffany and Storm.

So, I chuckle and say, “Well, I wouldn’t call my wife a maid. I wouldn’t dare. She’d have my ass if I did.”

Even though Tru would look amazing in a maid’s uniform. Maybe I should buy her one—for bedroom purposes only, of course.

“You don’t have house staff?” Storm frowns at me.

“We do have a cleaner who comes in a once a week to help out, but we have three kids, and my wife works. That’s it though.”

He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me.

“I do have staff…people who work for me at the label.”

My eyes flicker to Bob, realizing what I’m talking about—the label that Jonny and I set up together. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.

“You know, when Jake and Jonny created TMS Records, they were the youngest people ever to own and run their own label,” Bob tells Storm.

My eyes come back to Bob, and he gives me a smile.

Picking up the bottle of water from the table, I pour some out before offering it to everyone else.

“So, who do you have signed to your label then?” Storm asks with a begrudging tone, but he’s talking to me. So, I run with it.

“We have The Devil’s Own, and of course, Vintage—”

“I love their music,” Tiffany says.

“Oh, and we’ve just signed Lennox,” I add.

“Lennox?” Storm’s eyes show immediate interest.

“Yeah. You like them?”

“
Like
is putting it mildly.” Tiffany laughs softly.

“Yeah, well, they’re awesome,” Storm says defensively, in only that way a teenager can.

“I can arrange for you to meet them sometime, if you’d like,” I tell him.

“Really?” His face is all lit up.

I know that I’m making some ground with him. Even if only a small amount, it’s a move in the right direction.

We spend the rest of dinner talking about bands we like. Storm tells us about songs he can play on his guitar. I ask him to get his guitar and play some for us, but he declines. He does that embarrassed look that my kids do when they don’t want to do something, so I don’t push it with Storm. There will be plenty of time to hear his abilities even though I am dying to see if he plays like Jonny did.

“That lasagna was amazing.” Bob presses his hand to his stomach. “Thank Marie for us.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear that you enjoyed it,” Tiffany says.

“Well, let us clean up since you fed us.” Bob stands, picking up his plate.

“No, it’s fine.” Tiffany waves him down.

But I know that there’s no way she can stand at the sink, washing dishes, with how sick she is.

“It’s no trouble. And my wife would have my ass if she knew I hadn’t offered to clean up.” I stand, collecting the rest of the plates. I take them over to the sink.

“Bob, why don’t you and Tiffany go sit in the living room, and Storm and I will do the dishes?”

Storm’s eyes flash to mine. For a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue, and then he seems to relent.

“Sure. You go rest, Mom.” He stands. Going over to the sink, he starts to fill it with water, adding dish washing liquid.

“I’ll wash,” I tell him, rolling up my sleeves. I have no clue where the dishes need to go, so it’ll be easier this way.

Storm brings the rest of the dishes over, and I start washing.

After I place the washed plate on the dish drainer, he picks it up and starts to dry it with a dish towel.

“Not very rock and roll,” he says. “Never thought I’d see the day when Jake Wethers was standing in my kitchen, washing the dishes. I almost feel like I should take a picture.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, don’t.” I laugh. “Tom and Den would never let me live it down.”