The Storm (The Storm #4) (12 page)

“And the first thing you do is call me? Some friend you are.”

“I am being her friend,” she says defensively. “She kept Storm from you because of the life you lead. But she struggles every day. She works her ass off to put food on the table for that boy. And I believe that every child should know both of their parents.”

I look down and realize my hand is shaking. I clench it into a fist. “You honestly believe this kid is mine?” I know she does, I can hear it in her voice.

“Yes. I honestly do.”

I can barely believe I’m having this conversation, but something is pulling on the fringes of my subconscious.

There’s always been something missing. Maybe this is it.

Taking a deep breath, I blow it out. “Do you have a picture of him?” I ask quietly.

“I have one on my cell. It was taken the other day.”

“Send it to me now. I want to see him.”

“I’ll have to disconnect the call to send it.”

“I don’t care. Just send me the fucking picture.”

I hang up the call and wait.

It seems to take forever before my cell beeps with a text.

I take a fortifying breath.

This is stupid. I’m being stupid. This kid isn’t mine. She’s just some psycho chick making crank calls.

But…what if she’s not?

Decision made, I open the text, click on the picture, and stare at my screen, waiting for it to load.

Then, it does.

Holy fuck.

I can’t breathe. Staring back at me is a blue-eyed little boy with dirty-blond hair and a smile that could bring the sun down, and he looks exactly like me.

But how can I be sure? He might just be a kid who looks like me.

Looks a lot like me.

His eyes…he has my eyes.

I race into my bedroom, into the closet, and I pull down a shoebox that contains some old photos.

I drop to the floor, opening up the box. I search through the family photos, some of me and Jake from high school, and then I find what I’ve been looking for—a picture of me from the first grade.

I hold my phone with the picture next to the photo of me at the same age.

Jesus Christ.

We look like twins.

My heart starts to pump as my cell starts to ring in my hand.

I answer, pressing the phone to my ear, my hand shaking.

“You got the picture?” she says before I get chance to speak.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And you know he looks like me. What exactly do you want from me? Money?”

“I don’t want money.” She sounds appalled that I even suggested it.

I guess that’s when the final nail sinks into the coffin.

“I want Storm to have a chance to know his dad. That’s all. Tiffany will never tell you herself. But I think Storm has a right to know who his father is.”

Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose, a sudden headache coming on.

I push to my feet, walking out of the closet, heading for my bathroom. “Does Tiffany still live in New York?” I ask.

“No, she lives in Queens.”

“Give me her address.”

There’s a pause. I grab some aspirin out of the cabinet and swallow down two.

“Why?” she asks in a tentative voice.

“Why do you think?” I say impatiently. “You called me for a reason. That reason is so my son can know me, right?”

“Yes…” she says slowly.

“Then, give me her fucking address.”

“Maybe you should call her first.”

“And scare her away? No fucking way. Address now.”

There’s a pause, then, she says, “It’s the apartment above Marie’s Country Bakery on North Street in Queens.”

“Got it. I’m catching a flight out tonight. Don’t you dare tell her I’m coming. I don’t want her running off again.”

“I won’t tell,” she says softly.

I hang up the phone. My heart pounding, I grip the edge of the sink and stare at myself in the mirror.

I don’t like what’s staring back at me. I look a mess. My eyes are dark and hollow.

I have a son.

Jesus, I can’t take care of myself, let alone another human being.

But I have to because I have a kid…a child that’s mine.

I’m not afraid to admit that I’m fucking terrified though.

Maybe I should call Dad? Ask for his advice.

No. I want to be sure that this kid’s mine before I tell my parents. Once I see him, I’ll know for sure.

Who am I kidding? I already know for sure.

That kid looks exactly like me.

I could call Jake and get him to come with me.

But if I do, I know he’ll talk me out of going to see Storm. He’ll tell me to do it the legal way—to get my lawyer to contact the mother, get DNA tests and all that shit done first.

And I will do that.

But first, I need to see him with my own eyes.

I just need to meet him.

I need to meet my son.

Walking back into my bedroom, I click back to the picture, staring into my own blue eyes reflecting back at me, as I sit down on the edge of my bed.

I have a son. And he’s beautiful.

My heart starts to race, and I notice my hands are shaking again. Worse this time.

I eye the bottle of Diazepam on my nightstand.

Just a couple to take the edge off.

Grabbing the bottle, I shake out two and then changing my mind, I increase it to four.

Walking over to my dresser, I pick up an already open half-drunk bottle of gin. Unscrewing the cap, I put the pills in my mouth and take a long drink of gin, swallowing them down.

I place the bottle back on the dresser and just stare out the window, running a hand through my hair.

I need to go to Queens, now.

Getting my phone, I check the times for a direct flight from LAX to JFK. There’s a red-eye going out in a few hours.

Perfect.

Leaving my bedroom, I jog downstairs. I grab my jacket off the coat hook and my wallet and car keys off the hallway stand. Leaving my house, I lock up and head for my car parked in the driveway.

Unlocking my car, I climb in and fire her up. The headlights automatically come on in the dark. I shift the car into drive and open my security gate with the remote I keep in my car. As I pull out onto the deserted road, the gate starts to close behind me.

I press my foot on the gas, propelling me forward.

Speed—one of the things I love.

The rush of adrenaline it brings does it for me.

But if this kid is mine—
he’s mine
—then I’m going to have to change things, especially the way I live.

The drugs have to go. The drinking has to stop.

I’ll get clean.

Go into rehab if I have to. Do whatever is necessary.

I feel a rush of excitement, something I never thought I could feel at the thought of having a child.

Johnny Cash’s “You Are My Sunshine” comes on the radio. Turning it up loud, I hum along, my fingers tapping on the wheel.

This is it. Right here, my life is going to change. I’m going to change everything for him.

Storm is my reason to be a better man.

God, Mom and Dad are going to be so excited when they find out they have a grandson.

I bring my cell to life, looking at Storm’s picture again. I rest my cell on the top of the steering wheel, staring at him.

Screw not calling Jake.

I’m on my way to the airport. It’s not like he can stop me anyway. I have to talk to him about this. I need to tell someone, and he’s always the first person I want to tell the good stuff to.

Clicking off Storm’s picture, I bring up Jake’s number. I’m just about to hit dial when I see a flash of something up ahead in my peripheral vision.

A dog.

Fuck.

It all happens so quickly. Hitting my breaks, I swerve to miss the dog. My tires lock up and I clip the curb. My car spins out, hitting the barrier, and I go straight through.

Fuck no.

The car feels like it’s flying.

Then, down.

Down.

And I know this is it.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to fucking die.

I’ll never get to meet my son.

I never got to tell Jake or my folks about him.

I never got to meet my son.

A tear rolls down my face as I watch the ground coming fast toward me.

I shut my eyes—

When I finished writing
Taming the Storm
, I knew I wasn’t ready to let go of the Storm gang, especially Jake, but I wasn’t sure why. I always knew there was something missing, this loose thread that needed tying up, but I wasn’t quite sure what it was. Then, I realized that thread was Jonny. Jonny was pivotal to The Mighty Storm. Woven throughout all the Storm books, from the very beginning, he was there with Jake, Tom, and Denny—not in body but in mind and spirit. This story was my chance—
Jonny’s
chance—to tell his story. This book might have been Jake’s, but it was Jonny’s, too. And Jonny’s ending might not have been the HEA that you’re used to from me, but it was one that I needed to tell—that Jonny and Jake needed to tell—so please don’t yell at me for the tears!

While I’m here, I want to say thank you to all you Storm and Jake fans out there. Without you, none of this would have been possible. Your love for Jake and Tru has and continues to be awe-inspiring.

My amazing and patient husband—You always support me, always listen to me, never judge me. I love you.

And my children—Thank you for simply being
you
.

I have to say, the soccer conversation between Jake and JJ in the book comes from many similar conversations I’ve had with my soccer-mad son. And the conversation between Belle and Jake regarding Belle’s “marriage” to Creed Carter, that little golden nugget came from a story my daughter told us about her “marriage” to a boy at school.

I keep my work circle small but filled with awesome people. And I’m fortunate to be able to call those awesome people friends. Trishy, Sali, Jovana, Naj, and Christine—Thank you for helping to make my books the best they can be.

Lauren, my agent, who wholeheartedly supports whichever direction I decide to take with my work—Thank you.

Bloggers—You are amazing! Thank you for everything you do.

And my readers—I have the best and most supportive readers an author could wish for. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

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SAMANTHA TOWLE is a
New York Times, USA Today
,
and
Wall Street Journal
bestselling author. She began her first novel in 2008 while on maternity leave. She completed the manuscript five months later and hasn't stopped writing since.

She is the author of contemporary romances
The Mighty Storm, Wethering the Storm, Taming the Storm, Trouble, Revved, Revived
,
and
When I Was Yours.
She has also written paranormal romances
The Bringer
and The Alexandra Jones Series. All have been penned to tunes of The Killers, Kings of Leon, Adele, The Doors, Oasis, Fleetwood Mac, Lana Del Rey, and more of her favorite musicians.

A native of Hull and a graduate of Salford University, she lives with her husband, Craig, and their son and daughter in East Yorkshire.