The Storm

“Will Storm live with Bob?” Denny asks me.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Everything has happened so fast. I just don’t know. And it’s not that Bob wouldn’t want him ’cause I know he would, but he’s old, and he’s not well. I don’t know if he could take on a teenager.”

“Then, he’ll come and live with one of us.”

My eyes go to Tom—not in surprise, but because he’s spoken the words that have been circling around in my mind since I found out Storm was Jonny’s.

“We’re not leaving Jonny’s kid to fend for himself,” Tom says, “or to have him end up in some goddamn foster home. No fucking way. He’s Jonny’s kid, and that makes him ours, too. Jonny would have wanted us to look after him. You know he would have.”

“I know, man. And we will. You’re not saying anything I haven’t been thinking myself.”

“Then, what do we do?” Denny asks. “This kid doesn’t know us. He’s about to lose his mother. He’s gonna be struggling. And him coming to live with a bunch of strange people…it’s not gonna be easy on him.”

Denny is always the voice of reason.

“None of this is gonna be easy for him. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the luxury of choice. Honestly, I don’t know what we can do.” I blow out a breath. “We can’t just charge in there like bulls and make demands or claims on him. But you are right. I guess…just let me go there tomorrow with Bob and meet the mother and Storm, and then we’ll go from there. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” they say in unison.

“How you doing?” I glance over at Bob, who is sitting beside me in the backseat of the black Mercedes that Dave hired to drive us in while we’re in New York.

We’re on our way to Queens to meet Tiffany. Well, I say meet, but, apparently, I met her a long time ago. But this will be Bob’s first time meeting her.

We don’t get to meet Storm yet. He’s at school at the moment. Tiffany wanted to speak to us before he gets home.

I get that. He’s her kid. She’ll want to protect him as best she can.

I’m itching to meet Storm. I want to know what he’s like—if he’s like Jonny, if he looks like his father, if he loves music. Does he play the guitar like Jonny did? I mean, it was in Jonny’s blood. For Jonny, playing the guitar was as easy as breathing. Did Storm inherit that?

I have so many questions floating around in my head, questions that can only be answered from meeting Storm.

Bob and I haven’t really talked about what’s going to happen when it comes to Storm’s living arrangements—not that we’ve had much time to talk. I flew from LA to New York, and then we picked up Bob from his house. Now, we’re driving to Astoria in Queens where Tiffany and Storm live in an apartment above a bakery.

Tiffany is receiving in-house care, and her best friend is helping take care of Storm.

Bob turns his head from the window to look at me. “I’m okay.” He shrugs. “I just…I wanna meet him, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” I breathe out the words.

“Thanks for coming with me, Jake.”

I slide my eyes to him. “You don’t have to thank me. I’d have come even if you didn’t want me to.”

I give him a small smile, and he chuckles.

Then, he turns his face forward and blows out a tired-sounding breath, linking his hands together. “I don’t know what to do, Jake.”

“’Bout what?”

He gives me a quick look before turning his eyes away. “Storm.”

The one word tells me everything he’s concerned about.

I knew Bob was sick. His heart is weak, and he’s old.

He’s aged so much since Lyn passed.

When I saw him half an hour ago, for the first time in a year, I felt guilty. I should have been around for him more. It’s easy to forget when I’m happy and busy with Tru and the kids. But seeing Bob now, I feel like I’ve failed Jonny again.

And it’s going to stop now.

“You don’t have to worry about anything or make any decisions right now. You just focus on meeting your grandson, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

He looks back to me, and I see the relief in his eyes.

Bob is a proud man, but he’s also a realist. He might not have to worry about money, due to Jonny’s trust, but taking care of a teenager is a whole other ball game.

And I pretty much have things worked out in my head. I just have to get everyone else to agree. I know I said to Denny and Tom that we needed to take this slowly, and I intend on doing that—well, kind of.

I’ve never been one to mess around. When I want something, I make sure it happens.

But this is delicate, and I have to consider other people—like my family, first and foremost.

Thankfully, I have the one person I need behind me—Tru. We sat down and talked last night before I left. Tru had known what I wanted to do before I even said it. I love that she just gets me. And I also love her for agreeing with my plan.

And my plan is to bring Jonny’s kid home with me.

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“We’re here,” Dave says from the front of the car as he brings us to a stop outside Marie’s Country Bakery.

I start to feel something I haven’t felt in a long time as I stare out the window at the bakery—nerves. Nerves are something I just don’t do. But this is Jonny’s kid. He’s important.

The store is nice, and it’s quiet from the looks of things.

I can see straight inside, thanks to the glass front, and I see shitloads of cakes and pastries.

Tru would be in heaven here. Maybe I should get something to take home for her and the kids.

First things first though…

I pull my ball cap and sunglasses from my jacket pockets and put them on. Right now is a time I could do without being recognized.

“You ready?” I ask Bob.

“As I’ll ever be.” He gives me a nod.

We all get out of the car at the same time. We don’t hang about in the street. We head straight inside. A bell dings as I push open the door. Bob and Dave follow behind me.

A red-haired woman is standing behind the counter with a smile on her face, but it quickly fades.

It’s not the usual response I get from women.

I’m guessing that she’s Marie. And I’m also guessing that she’s realized who we are.

Why she has any reason to be unhappy with us, I have no clue.

If anyone should be unhappy, it’s Bob. He’s missed out on thirteen years of his grandson’s life.

Then again, her best friend is dying. I can’t see that I would have a lot to be happy about, if it were me.

“I’m Jake Wethers,” I say as I step up to the counter. “And this is Bob Creed. We’re here to see Tiffany.”

“I know who you are.” She stares at me for a long moment. Then, she nods in the direction of my ball cap and sunglasses, as if telling me it’s an ineffective disguise.

I pull the cap and sunglasses off, putting them back in my pocket.

“I’m Marie, Tiffany’s best friend. Tiffany’s upstairs. Just let me close the shop, and I’ll take you upstairs to her.”