Bad Storm (9 page)

“So, you’re sure you want to complete this? We need to bound
you to her tonight. I’m tired of all this indecision,” she said. Her voice
sounded snappy, as if impatient. I searched my mind desperately to figure out
where I had heard that voice before. Was it a collective thing? Was I drawing
on the pack’s experience so that I could recognize a potential threat?

“Yes,” the wolf-voice, also distinctly feminine, said. I
suddenly had a flash in my mind, coming over from Trent. It was an image of
Lola. I shook my head, completely unconvinced.

‘
We should be able to
sense her, right?
’

‘
We should…but it
sounds just like her.
’

The steps above us moved towards the shack and further away
from us. I heard someone mumble something, someone new and, it seemed, male,
and a loud noise, like that of an old, creaky door swinging open.

The door slammed shut and the voices quieted. I could feel
that the werewolf presence had moved into the shack, so I naturally assumed all
the others had moved in with her.

‘
Let’s get out of here
,’
Trent looked at me and I nodded. ‘
I want
to talk to Mac and Nick about this
.’

I would have normally expected Trent, who can be impetuous
and impulsive, to want to check things out, but for some reason his instinct to
inform the pack didn’t struck me as odd. It was like I could feel it too, this drive
to inform, to protect. I could feel the bond tightening inside of me, and if I
listened, if I became attuned to it, it was telling me what to do—to tell
the pack.

Trent took my hand and started walking up towards the parking
lot, but I pulled him back down for a second.

‘
Let’s pick up the
stuff. I don’t want there to be evidence we were here
.’

He nodded, and we scurried down the small sand dune to pick
up the blanket and pizza box before sneaking out from under the dock and up
towards the old wooden staircase in the tall palmetto grass that led up to the
parking lot.

The moment we got back to the pick-up truck, the rain began
to pour down, and I could do little but sit and stare out the front of the
windshield, the streetlights blending into a wash of green, yellows, and reds
before me as the questions reeled through my mind. I looked over to Trent and
could see that for him, it was the same.

The next few days was like a wash of emotion and anxiety. We
had only spent thirty minutes or so with Nick explaining what had happened. He
listened, but I couldn’t help but feel like it was little more than a bunch of
hemming and hawing. He had no more of an idea of what was going on than we did.
He did say, though, that I was under house arrest. I mean, those weren’t his
words exactly. He said something more to the effect of, “it would be best if
you left the house as little as possible. For your own safety.”

So even though Dan had called me and offered me the job, I
had to ask that we postpone my first shift for another week, having no idea if
I could actually work then or not by Nick’s vague standards. I was really lucky
that my barista skills were on point, or else I’d be shit out of luck.

Or rather, Trent would be shit out of luck. Because I was
doing all of this crap for him. And he wasn’t even around. In those three days I
hadn’t seen him for more than a collective twenty minutes. He wouldn’t tell me
exactly what they were up to, but I gathered that finding Lola was one of their
top priorities, because they feared we were under attack as a pack.

We
. Crap. I couldn’t even think about them now
without acknowledging that I was a part of the pack.

I was lounging around the apartment, reading a new series I
had heard about online (just after setting up a gynecological
appointment—I did feel a little guilty about my carelessness) three days
after the night at the beach when Sierra came barging in. I hadn’t seen her in
three days either, and I did my best not to think of the possibility that she
was sleeping over at my mother’s house. I had been avoiding my mother’s calls,
pretending I was super busy, just to avoid confronting the reality of it.

“Hey,” she said with a smile, and I looked up at her from my
reclined position on the couch. I lowered my book and forced a smile back.

“Hey.”

“They tell me at work you can’t start until next week
because of family issues…so what the hell does that mean?” she asked, pushing
my legs over so she could sit beside me on the sofa. I could tell she wasn’t
teasing for once.

“Well…I guess we haven’t really talked about…stuff.” I tried
to fight my urge to be vague, but I couldn’t help it. It was weird, talking
about werewolves and demons with someone who wasn’t in the pack.

“Yeah,” Sierra turned away for a moment. “Stuff.”

“Okay, okay. I know I’ve been weird lately, I just have no
idea what Nick told you, or really anything that’s going on with your life,” I
admitted, sitting up and pulling my knees to my chest. “I feel like so much has
gone on lately that I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Same here,” Sierra replied, biting her bottom lip and
turning her gaze back towards me.

“So…what do you know?” I asked, forcing myself to look her
straight in the eye.

“I know that they’re werewolves and Nick’s like…well, he
says he’s a
demon
, but he’s a good
one or something, and you’re Trent’s mate,” she laughed nervously at the last
bit. I forced a weak smile, but when she saw I wasn’t laughing back, I could
see a lump push down her throat. Clearly, I confirmed her fears.

“And that’s all?” I asked, my mouth and throat feeling dry.

“Well…basically. And that Aamir is part of some weird group
that doesn’t like werewolves.”

“Yeah. I mean, that pretty much covers it.” It felt weird,
talking about it so casually like we were talking about the weather. “I’m going
to make some coffee, want any?”

“Nah,” she said, “but I’ll join you in the kitchen for an
energy drink.”

I laughed a little, genuinely amused by Sierra’s gross
addiction. “Alright, let’s settle this weirdness over caffeine.”

She chuckled in return. “The preferred methods of
masochistic baristas.” She followed me into the tiny kitchen, and I as I set up
the coffee maker with a filter and ground coffee beans, she rummaged in the
fridge for a Red Bull. I knew her method by now even though I pretended to care
less—touch every can before deciding which was the coldest.

I flipped the red switch on the coffee machine just as she
popped the tab to her energy drink, taking a quick swig of the pungent, acidic
liquid before smiling my way.

“To bad this only gives me wings, because I’m pretty sure a
pair of those can’t do much for you if you’re in some kind of anti-werewolf
danger.”

I laughed, her joke actually warming me from the inside.
“You know, maybe they could. Maybe you could fly me out of a situation. And I’m
not a werewolf myself, you know,” I reminded her, giving her left shoulder a
playful push.

“I know,” she giggled, “at least, I think I know.”

Once our laughter subsided, I couldn’t help but continue on
with my string of burning questions. “So, I have to know, how is it that you
believe anything Nick told you? I mean, don’t you find all of this completely
insane?”

Sierra took another swig of her drink and nodded
thoughtfully. I could tell she was afraid to tell me something by the way her
eyes flitted back and forth nervously.

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t believe him at first. But then…well,
he gave me my memory back.”

I gulped, realizing she was aware that he had wiped her
memories. I hadn’t thought he would admit to that, since it was such a shady
act to begin with.

“Do you hate me for not telling you?” I winced.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “I mean, at first I was kinda
mad. I was hurt. But I get it. It’s not like you were the one who decided to do
this to me, and I know you’ve been figuring shit out too.”

I felt suddenly very ashamed about my outburst back in my
mother’s driveway. Here she was, understanding about my situation which
directly involved her and her memories, and I could hardly keep from screaming
at her when she was caught in a compromising situation. I cast my eyes down in
shame.

“Hey, don’t feel bad.” Sierra patted my forearm reassuringly.
“Nick said he wouldn’t have let you tell me anything anyway.”

“Well if that’s the case, why did he?”

Sierra hesitated. Again, there was something she didn’t want
to tell me. “I mean, he said he didn’t want to wipe my memory twice. That doing
that was something you do in extreme circumstances, and he figured I was around
enough that I was bound to run into something again. He made me swear not to
tell a soul, though.”

“And you agreed?”

She nodded earnestly, and I could see the sincerity glowing
from her hazel eyes. “Yeah. Nick trusts me. And I really wouldn’t compromise
your safety for anything Bailey. You’re my best friend.”

The words coming from her lips were so pure and sincere. I
could see her eyes rimming with some tears. I couldn’t help but throw my arms
around her and pull her into a big hug.

“I love you too, Sierra,” I murmured into her ear, and she
patted a hand on my back. When she pulled away, I saw a single tear roll down
her cheek before she dabbed it away in embarrassment.

“I just felt so guilty about everything with Tony. I mean, I
still do.”

“It’s okay,” I said quietly, even though it still stung when
she said it. “I just really want what’s best for you, and I…well you know about
Tony. He’s messed up, he’s not in a condition to be in a loving relationship.
Which is what you deserve.” I felt the pain of the admission well up inside of
me. It was like I was saying my brother didn’t deserve love, that he was broken
somehow.

It was terrible to realize what was what I truly thought of
him.

“I know how you feel, Bailey. And I never meant to hide it
from you, that’s why I tried to tell you in Atlanta, but so much came up and it
was…easier to let the information fall to the sidelines.”

I nodded, remembering the moments in which she had mentioned
something she needed to tell me. The truth was she had clearly tried, I was
just a self-absorbed dip-shit that didn’t have time to hear it.

“But the truth is,” and at this she took in a deep breath,
as if she were preparing herself to tell me something premeditated. I
involuntarily tensed. “Well, you don’t always know what’s best for people. Or
what they aren’t or are capable of.”

I relaxed. “I know that,” I said, almost wanting to laugh. But
Sierra’s face didn’t change. She still looked at me with eyes that were both
uncomfortable and pitying.

“I don’t think you do, Bailey. I’m the only one who can
decide who I should and shouldn’t be with. And you can’t decide for Tony what’s
possible for him either,” she spoke slowly and with consideration. I could tell
the way she said it, the way she had a hard time keeping eye contact, that
these words rung very true to her. And then I realized that they might actually
be true.

My first instinct was to fight back, to deny. But as my
mother had reminded me a million times, I was stubborn, and the most stubborn
when I knew I was wrong. So I stopped myself, shut my gapping mouth, and
nodded.

“What are you thinking?” Sierra asked me nervously.

“I’m thinking…that I’m sorry,” I admitted. “And that it’s
shitty to hear the truth, but if I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that the
truth is truth, whether I like it or not.”

She grimaced, and looked past me for a second. “Looks like
your coffee is ready.”

I turned towards the pot, now half-filled with black,
steaming liquid. I poured the coffee into my favorite mug, the one that Sierra
had bought me from the dollar store as a gag gift. It said, World’s Greatest
Roommate to match my World’s Greatest Dad shirt.

“I’m glad you’re not angry,” she said quietly. I set down
the mug on the counter before I could even take a sip.

“Hey.” I flashed her a look of concern. “If the first thing you
expect from me is anger, then that’s terrible. I’m a terrible friend.”

“You’re not terrible.” A genuine smile spread across her
face. “You’re wonderful. And sometimes your overbearing because you care.
That’s not the worst thing in the world.”

A small sense of ease came over me at her compliment.
“Thanks, I hope that’s true, but still. I’m going to work my hardest to stop
being so judgmental. To be a better friend from now on.”

“Thanks,” Sierra smiled. “Me too. I’m going to trust that
you won’t hate me, and be really honest with you from now on. No more secrets.
But still, I have to request some time to sort out my own feelings about things
before I spill all the beans. I have a few things I need to work out with
myself.”

“Fair enough,” I nodded, mixing in some sugar into my
coffee. I was eager to know about the weird tensions between her and Nick (and
of course, Tony), but I could give her the space she needed. “Want to go watch
that new reality show about hedgehog pageants? It’s supposed to be absolutely
insane.”

Sierra’s eyes widened with excitement. “Is that tonight? Oh
my god, yes please! I totally watched a clip of it on my phone yesterday at
work and I screamed! Dan had to come out from his office to tell me to shut up
because it was so loud! And you know I’m against you’re reality TV
obsession—but that show looks
too
good.”

I laughed and nodded, imaging how that situation went down.
“Yep, that’s on tonight, c’mon I think it’s on after House Wars.”

We went back to the living room and set our drinks on the
coffee table, spreading a comfy quilt over our thighs as we squealed excitedly
about the show.

I grabbed the remote from the floor that we had knocked down
in our excitement, and I turned on the TV. Images of whipping palms trees and
flooded streets filled the screen.

“Great,” I mumbled, knowing that the montage stock footage
could only mean one thing in South Florida.

“Maybe it’s just a tropical storm,” Sierra said, more
hopeful than certain.

“Tropical Storm Tyrone will be traveling up through the keys
through the southeastern coast setting it’s course towards Melbourne County on
the west,” A weatherman in a pressed suit said, pointing to the map of Florida
behind him where a orange and red fireball passed through the screen towards
Deston Beach. It was going to hit us Saturday night.

Brandon’s birthday night. The night of the show.

“UGH!” I shouted, tossing a throw pillow at the TV screen.

 
“My mom’s going
to want to rearrange the furniture for this,” Sierra groaned, sinking back into
the couch cushions and shutting her eyes. “Remember when a storm was the
coolest thing ever?” she said with a nostalgic sigh.

“Yeah,” I said grimly. “Because we got to stay home from
school. I don’t really think we cared about much else though. Man, if only my
biggest worry was whether or not I had to be in class.”

“Yeah, well, be grateful you don’t have to sit in a hard,
plastic seat attached to a tiny chipboard desk for seven hours a day anymore.”

“That’s true,” I said, watching the red swirl move up
through the islands and ocean towards Florida over and over again. I knew I
should be listening, should be absorbing all the awful details of Tyrone, but I
couldn’t help but still wish that I was an eight-year-old in that moment, where
a hurricane was like Christmas had come early.