Hurricane Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 1)

I nodded. “Yeah, I found some drugs.” Holding Winter’s phone out to him, I said, “King called. He wants you to call him straight back. Said it’s important.”

Winter stood and took the phone. “You sure you’re feeling better?”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “Yes.”

He nodded at Max. “Stay. Keep him company while I call King.”

I took Winter’s seat and watched him walk towards the front doors of the hotel, the phone already to his ear.

“He’s going to come around, Birdie,” Max said, drawing my attention to him. “He just needs time.”

Max always had been the sensitive one. Where Winter was the take-charge one of them, the arrogantly masculine one, Max sensed emotions more. They were both very observant by nature, but Max felt his way while Winter had a tendency to force his way. It meant Max read people in a way Winter sometimes didn’t. This wasn’t the first time he’d talked me through problems with his brother.

“How is he?” I asked, hating that I even had to. Hating that the distance between Winter and me created that need.

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nbsp; “I think he’s lost. Between Dad’s death and what’s going on between the two of you, plus the stuff he and I have had come up, I think he’s struggling because he’s out there trying to cope with his grief, and his anger, and his confusion on his own. I spent last night talking with him, letting him get stuff out, and while I think it helped, he needs to talk some more.” He gave me a knowing smile. “We both know, though, that Matt isn’t the kind of guy to want to do much talking.”

I gave him a knowing smile. “That trait runs in the Morrison men.” I pulled my feet up under me on the seat to get more comfortable. “Because Winter and I haven’t been talking, I’m not up with what’s going on between you guys. Has something else happened since the day you read the will? I mean, I don’t expect you to give me a blow-by-blow; I’m just wanting to understand what else Winter has going on his mind.”

Max drained his glass of whisky and leaned back into his seat. Exhaling heavily, he said, “We had a blow-up on Sunday. Over Mel. I shared some stuff about my marriage with him and he told me what he thought of my choice to fight for it. Nothing was said that we both weren’t aware the other was thinking, but I told him if he can’t support me, I don’t want him in my life.” As I stared at him with surprise, he added, “All my life, I’ve felt the weight of Matt’s expectation and high standards. And Dad’s. I can’t do it anymore, Birdie. I won’t do it.”

Oh, Max. I’d forgotten just how much I adored Winter’s brother. Max was the son more influenced by his mother, while Winter had been heavily influenced by his father. I’d watched over the years as they’d each done inner battle over their differences, and how their similarities had always brought them back together. And how they’d held tightly to the other because of their fierce family loyalty.

“You know he only has those standards and expectations because he wants the very best for you, don’t you?”

His chest rose and fell as he inhaled deeply. “Yes, but what he has to understand is he can’t force his wishes for me onto me. I want what I want in life, and Matt needs to stop demanding more or different from me. Unconditional love has no conditions. No limitations. No expectations.”

He was right. I’d watched him and Winter struggle because of Winter’s rigid expectations. My man was exactly like his father—stubborn, opinionated, and demanding. They both challenged those they loved to be better and to do better, but Max wasn’t wrong when he said Winter had been a little too hard-line at times. That was something he’d learned from his father.

“So I’m taking it you two have talked this out,” I said.

A smile played on his lips. “You said it yourself; neither of us are big talkers, but yes, we found our way.”

“I’m glad. I hated seeing you guys going head to head.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, thoughtfully. “Dad would have hated it, too.”

A sharp pain of shared sorrow hit me. A death always reminded me of how both the big and little things could trigger the “Dad would have hated that” or “Mum would have wanted this for me” kind of thoughts. Winter’s dad would have wanted us to put our differences aside over what happened five years ago and get on with loving each other. I wondered if Winter was grappling with those thoughts. If I knew my man, he would be, because like he’d said at the funeral, his father’s lessons were ingrained in him.

Max’s gaze shifted past me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Winter said. His whisky-soaked voice hit me right as his eyes met mine. My belly filled with flutters at what I saw in his eyes. He was still mad, but the edge was gone. I wasn’t sure what emotions were there now, but he wasn’t looking at me like he had last night.

I kicked my legs out from under me and stood. Eyeing Max, I said, “Thanks for the talk.”

Then, to Winter, I said softly, “I’ll let you two get back to your conversation.”

As I took a step to move past him, he wrapped his hand around my wrist. “Stay. We’re just reminiscing.”

We were so close I could smell the whisky on his breath, and the scent of his that I loved. Winter smelled like leather and the woody cologne I’d introduced to him about eight years ago. It both surprised and delighted me that he still wore it all these years later.

I nodded and sat back down while he asked Max if he wanted another drink. He then looked at me again. “Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m good.” God, we’re being so fucking formal with each other.

Max and I discussed his kids while Winter was getting drinks. He caught me up on how they were going with school and sport. When Winter rejoined us, he sat next to me, taking a sip of whisky before placing his glass on the low table between Max and us. We all turned silent, the tension between Winter and me taking over the conversation.