The Mighty Storm (The Storm 1)

My heart is buzzing around my chest at his thoughtfulness. I walk past him and make my way down the stairs.

Jake is the only guy I know who would pick me up in an Aston Martin DBS then bring me to Pizza Hut. And that’s why I love him.

I mean, of course I don’t love him – love him. I just used to love him when I was younger.

Anyway, the Covent Garden one is a little smarter than the usual Pizza Huts’. Especially the one we used to go to in Manchester, at least from the outside. For starters, it’s underground and you have to take the stairs to reach it, but once you get inside it’s just a regular Pizza Hut and I love it.

I’m greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a waiter. The instant he sees Jake, nerves and awe light his eyes up.

I feel sorry for him, as it must be a shock when the biggest rock star in the world turns up unannounced in your place of work. I mean Pizza Hut is not where you’d usually expect to see Jake Wethers.

It’d pretty hard not to be overawed but I think he does okay overall. He doesn’t ask for Jake’s autograph which is a good start, because I totally would have.

As I glance around, I see the restaurant is empty.

Surprising, but lucky as I’m pretty sure Jake would have got hassled non-stop for autographs in here. Hopefully, it will stay quiet while we’re here.

The waiter shows us over to a booth table. I slide into my seat, Jake sits opposite me.

His legs are long under the table. I bump his leg with my foot.

“Sorry.”

He smiles at me.

It squirms its way through me. I feel like I’m a teenager all over again.

“Can I get you some drinks?” the waiter asks handing us our menus.

Jake looks at me.

“Beer,” I say.

“Two buds,” Jake orders.

The waiter disappears to get our drinks while I stare at Jake, surprised.

“What?” he asks, seeing my staring.

“Um … nothing.” My face flames.

“No, go on,” he urges, leaning forward, he rests his arms on the table.

“Well, I just thought you didn’t drink anymore – you know – rehab.” I say the word quietly, like it’s a really inappropriate word to be saying.

He lets out a laugh. “Drinking was never the problem, Tru.”

“Oh.”

He leans back in his seat. “That’s the press for you. But still, everything in moderation for me nowadays. Except drugs – they’re completely off the menu of course, but my cigarettes have increased.”

“When did you start smoking?” I ask, wondering if it was after he got clean as a replacement for the drugs, as he never was interested in smoking when we were teenagers.

He scrunches up his face in thought. “When I started in the band.”

A while then.

“Bad habit.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But not as bad as being an addict.”

I instantly tense.

He smiles. “Relax, Tru. It’s not the worst thing in the world I’ve ever said, and my drug counsellor says I’m supposed to be open about these things.”

Okay…

“Was it horrible?”

“What? Rehab.”

“No – but I can’t imagine that was a great place to be. I meant being an addict.”

How can he be so together and so successful, but have been a drug addict? It doesn’t feel like the two should go together. But somehow in him, they did. I guess everyone has a weakness.

He starts to drum his fingers on the table. “When it was good it was great, and when it was bad – it was really fuckin’ bad. I reached the point when all the highs – which were basically every day for me, were all bad. And that was when it was time to get clean.”

“I’m glad you’re clean,” I say.

“Me too,” he smiles.

The waiter comes over with our beers.

“Are you both ready to order, or do you need more time?”

“Oh, sorry, I haven’t even looked at my menu, yet,” I say opening it up.

“Give us another five minutes, man.”

“So what were you thinking?” I ask looking down at the menu.

“Pizza.”

I glance up at his smiling face.

“Ha, ha, funny. They do serve pasta and salad here as well you know.” I pull my tongue out at him.

“I remember.”

I get the impression he remembers so much more than I could have hoped.

“Do you want to share?” I ask.

“Are you still greedy?”

“I was never greedy!” I say feigning outrage.

“You ate like a guy,” he laughs.

“Are you saying I was fat, Jake Wethers?” I quirk my eyebrow at him.

“No. You were always a skinny little thing, I could never actually figure out where it all went.”

“My ass. It still does.”

“From what I remember of your ass it was always nice, I’ll have to check it out later – I’ll let you know what I think.”

“So you didn’t already check it out coming down the stairs?”

I can’t believe I just said that!

It’s him, he seems to bring out a new found flirty, naughty side of me.

He grins at me, it’s a sexy smile. My cheeks heat and so do other parts of my anatomy.

“So are we sharing or not?” I ask, looking back down at my menu.

“We’re sharing.”

Why do I always feel like there’s an undertone to everything he’s saying to me?

But he is a renowned womaniser, so flirting is probably just part of his genetic make-up nowadays.

“Okay, so we have the exotic choice of – Posh Pizzas, The Hut Classics or Make Our Own,” I say as I pour my eyes over the menu.

“I was thinking we could have our old favourite ...”

“Oh my god,” I look up at him laughing. “The Blazin’…

“Inferno,” he finishes.

“I haven’t had that pizza in years!” I’m still laughing.

“Me either,” he laughs. “So that’s what we’re having?”

“Definitely,” I beam.

I close my menu and that’s when I realise he’d never actually opened his.

He remembered the pizza without even seeing it on the menu.

I take a swig of my beer.

Jake signals the waiter over, who has been loitering by the doorway for the last few minutes, and he orders our pizza.

Jake picks his beer up and has a drink.

It’s still dead in here. Not one single person has turned up for a pizza.

“It’s good that it’s quiet in here tonight,” I say echoing my earlier thoughts. “No fans to hassle you.”

He smiles. “I paid for it to be quiet.”

“Huh?”

“I bought the place for the evening.”

“You bought Pizza Hut?”

“Not Pizza Hut as a whole, Tru,” he grins. “Just this one, rented, for the evening.”

“Why?”

“So we wouldn’t be interrupted.”

“Oh.”

I can’t believe he rented out the whole of Pizza Hut so we could have dinner together here, because it was, once upon a time long ago, our place.

I know he can afford it, easily, but still, it’s crazy sweet.

“Where did Stuart take the car to?” I ask, just thinking of it now, and actually why he was waiting outside to take it.

“He just took it back to the hotel. He’ll bring it back when we need it.”

“And your security guy?”

“He’ll be at the top of the stairs.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, do you remember those matching friendship bracelets you made us with that kit your mom bought you that one Christmas?” he says putting his beer down.

I wonder what made him think of that.

“Oh God, I really was lame.” I cover my face with my hands, my cheeks burning.

“I thought they were sweet.”

I stare at him surprised.

“Do you still have yours?” he asks.

I do. But if I tell him I always kept mine because it was just one of the many things that reminded me of him and I could never part with, might sound as lame as it actually is.

“I still have mine,” he says as if reading my thoughts.

“You do?” Now I’m surprised.

“Yes.”

“Where is it?” I look at his wrist.

“In LA at my house – so do you still have yours?”

“Yes.” My voice is lower.

“Where is it?”

“Here, in the UK, in my tiny flat.”

He laughs. “You’ll have to show it to me later.” His expression suddenly turns serious.

He wants to come in my flat? My stomach starts doing acrobats across the room.

“Okay.” I cough nervously, my face flaming.

“How are your Mom and Dad?” he asks.

“Good,” I smile. “They still live in Manchester, in the same house.”

“You’re kidding?” he grins.

I shake my head, no. “And my dad’s teaching music now to underprivileged kids.”

“He always was a good man. Is it a charity based organisation he works for?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it called?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to donate some money to it. If it wasn’t for your dad, I would have never picked up a guitar let alone learned how to play one, and I wouldn’t be where I am right now. I owe him a lot.”

I fill with pride for my dad. He is the best.

“It’s called Tuners for Youths.”

“Cool,” he says. “I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow.”

“My dad will be made up when I tell him.”

“You don’t need to tell him the donation was from me.”

I kink my eyebrow in confusion at him.

“I don’t want him thinking I’m being a flashy bastard.”

“He wouldn’t think that, he’s really proud of you.”

He looks up, surprised. “He is?”

I nod. “He follows your career, like I do. Probably more so – you know how he is about music.”

“I bet he wasn’t proud of the drugs … and women.” His lips turn down at the corners.

I have the urge to reach out and smooth my finger across them, but I don’t, instead I reach out and put my hand on his arm.

I see his eyes go to it, then he lifts them back to mine.

“He was worried about you, like I was. But he’s really proud of everything you’ve achieved. And to be honest, I think he was quite impressed with all the models and actresses you’ve been pictured with,” I laugh, trying to come off as light-hearted, but if anything my own words sting me.

Moving my arm away, I pick my beer up. “I bet your mum’s real proud of you.” I take a swig of my beer.

He shrugs. Glancing down at his beer, he starts to pick at the label. “She’s proud … sure, she just worries a lot – you know.”

“I know, but she’s your mum and it’s to be expected,” I say.

I know Susie feels like she let Jake down over the years. That she should have forced his dad out of their lives. Then what happened to Jake never would’ve happened.