Wethering the Storm (The Storm 2)

Just thinking of it makes my chest hurt again. I cross my arms, trying to compress the pain.

“Nice place you were coming from back there,” the driver says.

“Yes,” I reply, not wanting to get pulled into a conversation with him.

“Worth a lot of bucks, those houses. You live there?”

He keeps flicking glances at me in the rearview mirror.

Oh God, I hope he doesn’t recognise me.

“No. I was just visiting.” I turn my face away to stare out the window, letting him know I’m in no mood to talk.

Thankfully he gets the message.

Fifteen minutes later, I see the huge LAX sign. I’m so absolutely ready to get out of this cab and out of this goddamn city.

I just want to go home. I want my mama and daddy.

God, I can’t even begin to think how Mama will react when I tell her I’m pregnant and that Jake doesn’t want the baby. My dad will go ape. He’ll probably fly out here just so he can kick Jake into next week.

Crap.

This is all such a bloody mess.

“How much?” I ask when the driver pulls to the curb.

“Seventy-five bucks.”

Bloody hell. I’m sure he’s taking me for a ride, but I can’t be arsed to argue the point.

I pull two fifties out of my purse and tell him to keep the change. I know the fucker is ripping me off already, but I just want out of this cab, not to sit around waiting for change.

I climb out, wobbling on my heels, with the holdall on one shoulder and handbag on the other.

Glancing at the entrance, I take a deep breath.

Securing the strap on my shoulder, I walk toward the doors.

I hear the screeching tires of a car. Turning, I see the James Bond car pulling to a stop in the middle of the road. The driver’s door flies open and Jake jumps out.

Horns beep as cars pull around his abandoned car, but he doesn’t seem to care.

I see him scanning the area, and then he spots me, so I quickly turn on my heel and make for the door.

“Tru, wait!” he calls.

“Piss off!” I yell back.

I see people stopping to stare, and my face instantly flames.

I hear someone call out, “Hey, man, you can’t leave your car there!”

The next thing I know, Jake is in front of me, taking hold of my arms. “Just wait. I’m sorry, Tru. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. Don’t leave. Just hear me out, please.”

“I’m not interested in listening to a bloody thing you have to say!” I yell.

Okay, so maybe I don’t care too much that people are watching us right now. I guess I’m too hurt and angry to care.

I can feel tears welling in my eyes, but I refuse to cry. “I understood you loud and clear.”

“I fucked up. I panicked and I ran, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I have ever been in my life.” He shakes his head. Looking down, he blows out a breath. Lifting his head, he meets my eyes. “It’s no excuse, Tru, but I just didn’t know what to say or do. I couldn’t think straight. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!” I cry at him, his words touching a raw nerve in me. “I’m not your fuckin’ baby!”

“Yes, you are.” His tone is so low, so intense, that all I can do is stare at him. “You will always be mine, Tru. Always.”

“Hey, man, didn’t you hear me? I said you can’t just leave your car there!”

I tear my gaze away from Jake to see an airport employee walking toward us. Young guy, early twenties.

He eyes Jake, stopping in his tracks. “Hey, aren’t you…Jake Wethers?” he squints at Jake. “Holy fuck—you are! It’s you! Hey, it’s Jake Wethers!” he exclaims, gesturing to the people around, bringing all of their attention to us.

We’re out here alone, without Dave and Ben, surrounded by about twenty people who now recognise Jake.

Fuck.

I feel Jake tense, his grip tightening on my arms. He moves his eyes from me and says to the guy, “I’m not him.”

“You are,” he says, stepping closer. “I’d recognise you anywhere! Been to all your shows, man. Got all your albums. I’m one of your biggest fans! Fuckin’ love your music! Holy fuck, I can’t believe you’re here! Wait ’til Marie hears this! My girlfriend—she loves you almost as much as I do! When Jonny died, she cried for weeks. Oh man, I gotta get your autograph and a picture.” He starts moving closer, reaching into his pocket.

I can’t believe we’re in the middle of an argument and some überenthusiastic Jake fan wants an autograph and picture.

I hear the murmuring voices of the people around us, the excitement lifting their tones, and my heart starts to beat uneasily.

We’re going to get mobbed.

“We’re going now,” Jake orders in a quiet but firm voice, staring down at me.

I nod once, and then Jake grabs hold of my hand. As quick as lightning, we’re moving toward his car.

I hear people following us, voices calling.

“Don’t go, man!”

“Sign my T-shirt!”

“Can I get a picture with you?”

“Let me give you my number!”

Jake opens the passenger door and all but shoves me inside, closing it firmly behind me. I watch, uneasy, as he tries to manoeuvre his way to the driver side as people grab at him. Jake shoves people out of the way, the crowd suddenly much thicker than before.

Even if Jake wanted to stop and do autographs, the people are way too excited now, and there are way too many of them to control.

A person is rational. People are just plain crazy.

I’m scared and shaking at the crowding around the car, trapping me in.

Then Jake’s in the car. He revs the engine loudly in warning and pulls the car forward, getting us out of there.

Still trembling, I watch him make a call. He doesn’t put it on speaker but drives while on his phone. He never does that.

“There was an incident at LAX…I’ll tell you later…no, we got mobbed…yeah, we were arguing, people heard. It’ll make the news for sure, clean it up best you can…she’s fine, we’re both fine…no, I’m not being followed…I’m heading home right now…okay.” He hangs up. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod.

“Don’t run like that ever again. I know you’re pissed with me right now, but it was a stupid thing to do.”

Anger flashes through me. I let out a sharp laugh, turning in my seat to him. “Are you fucking kidding?”

“Do I look like I’m fuckin’ kidding?” The look he gives me is harsh enough to make me shrink in my seat. “You could have gotten hurt out there,” he says in a low voice. I’m not sure, but I think I see a shudder run through him.

Then I get angry again.

I wouldn’t have even been at the airport if he hadn’t pulled a Houdini on me. This is all his bloody fault!

I shoot him a look of disgust. “Like you would even care. This is all your fault!”

One hand on the steering wheel, he turns his head, firing such a weighted look at me that I fear I may splinter into tiny pieces under the force of it. “You think I wouldn’t care if something happened to you?” His jaw is gripped tight.

I give him a hard stare back and shake my head no.

His face tightens. I can even see a vein pulsing in his neck. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.

And it’s me who he’s angry with. Cheeky bastard.

That raises my hackles again. “Let me out of this goddamn car,” I demand through clenched teeth.

“No.”

“Did you just tell me no?”

“Sounded like it.”

“‘Sounded like it’! What the hell?” I seethe. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are? You’re an arrogant twat, Jake Wethers! I’m not one of your employees you can order around! God, you are just a big fat fucking arsehole!”

And I’m thirteen again, apparently.

“I deserve that,” he says. He actually looks like he’s holding back a smile, which pisses me off even more. “But I can’t let you out, Tru. It’s not safe.”

“What are you gonna do? Hold me hostage?”

“If I have to.”

He sounds so serious that I’m not wholly sure he’s kidding.

“I fuckin’ hate you,” I hiss.

Shit, where did that come from?

I see a flash of pain across his face. It doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel like a bitch.

“I deserve that as well.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Look, just let me get you safely home. Then give me ten minutes of your time, listen to what I have to say, and if you still want to leave, I’ll arrange for the jet to take you wherever you want to go. You just can’t be out there moving around alone without security. It’s not safe for you…or the baby.”

I sharp in a breath at the mention of the baby. Tears spring to my eyes, and then a sob escapes me. I clamp my hand to my mouth.

“Tru…” He reaches out to touch me.

I pull back from him. “Don’t touch me,” I whisper, my words watery with the tears.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Stop it!” I snap. “I don’t need your fucking pity or sympathy. Just leave me alone.”

Kicking off my shoes, I bring my feet up to rest on the edge of the seat. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I rest my cheek on my knee and stare out the window.

I hear his light exhalation of breath, but he doesn’t make another attempt to speak to me.

I hear the quiet sound of Linkin Park fade out in the background. The next thing I hear is Snow Patrol’s “Make This Go on Forever.”

Bastard.

Mother-crapping bastard.

I hate it when he does this. Plays a particular song to speak to me. To get my attention when I won’t listen to him.

But all he’s doing right now is just reminding me of how much he hurt me. How much he’s still hurting me.

I’m not playing his games. And I am most certainly not listening.

He can piss right off.

Lifting my weary head, I free an arm from around my leg and reach over and turn the music off.

Resuming my position, I spend the rest of the long, silent ride home trying to equal out the pain threatening to crush me to dust.

Jake pulls up on the drive outside our house and turns the engine off, leaving us with only the lights from the dash providing a small glow.

“Are you ready to hear me out, or do you need more time?” he asks quietly.

I lift my tired head and stare at him.

He looks torn and broken. I hate to see him this way. But I’m feeling torn and broken right now too.

“I’m listening,” I whisper, putting my feet to the floor, not wholly sure I am ready to hear what he’s got to say.

He turns his body toward me. “I’m so sorry for driving away and leaving you earlier.” His voice is soft, tentative. “My behaviour was cruel and stupid. Tru, I need you to know I would never hurt you on purpose.” He rubs his face roughly, driving his fingers into his hair. “God, the thought of you hurting—knowing I caused it—it’s like a knife through my fuckin’ heart. Believe me, if I could go back and have a do-over, tonight would go very differently.”