The Storm

“Sure.”

Leading the way, I head out back with Marie following me.

I take a seat at the outdoor table where we eat a lot of our meals, and I place my glass on the table.

Marie takes the seat across from me. She briefly looks at me and then looks away, blowing out a breath.

The silence is bugging me. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I don’t really know how to start,” she says.

The nerves and uncertainty in her voice make the nape of my neck prickle. She looks like she’s having an internal battle with herself.

I sit up a little straighter, picking up my whiskey.

The movement catches her attention.

“I need to tell you something, something I should have told Tiffany, but I was afraid to tell her. I didn’t, and I’ve kept it in for all these years. Then, she got sick.”

Her eyes meet with mine, and I see a flash of tears and remorse in them.

“I didn’t want her to die hating me.”

“Why would she have hated you?” My mouth is dry, so I take another sip of whiskey, my hand tightening around the glass.

“I just…I can’t keep it in anymore. It’s been eating me up inside. If anyone deserves the truth, aside from Tiffany and Storm, it’s you.”

I swallow down. “What truth?”

“The night…that Jonny died.” She blows out a shallow breath through her teeth. “It was my fault…that he died.”

I slam my glass down on the table, making her jump.

“What do you mean, it was your fault?” My voice sounds harsh because I’m barely holding on to my restraint.

“The night he died, I spoke to him on the phone.”

“Why? How? Did you know him?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t know him. I have a friend, and he got me Jonny’s number. Tiffany…she had never told me who Storm’s father was.

“One night, when Storm was five, she went out with this guy she was dating. I was watching Storm for her. He was sleeping, and I was in my bedroom reading when she got in. I was surprised she was home, as it was early. I heard her in the living room, music playing, so I went to see how her date was. She was upset, crying. They’d broken up. She’d been drinking. She was listening to your music. Then, she just started talking. She told me all about her life before she came to Queens—how she was a groupie, how she spent a lot of time with The Mighty Storm, how you guys all lived your lives with the drugs, endless parties, and crazy sex. She said about her getting pregnant with Storm, her family kicking her out…and who Storm’s father was.”

She meets my eyes.

“Tiffany told me she’d been sleeping with both you and Jonny when she got pregnant. In the beginning, she wasn’t sure who his father was, but the older Storm got, she knew, without a doubt, that Jonny was his father. Storm looked too much like Jonny not to be his son. I tried to encourage her to get in contact with Jonny and tell him.

“I grew up without knowing my father, Jake. My mother kept his identity from me. And I know how hard it is, not knowing where you came from, always feeling like you’re missing a part of yourself. I didn’t want that for Storm. But Tiffany wouldn’t have it. She didn’t want Storm to be a part of the lifestyle you all led. We disagreed about it. But she told me it was none of my business. Then, she left, heading to bed.

“I didn’t agree, and I knew she was wrong. So…I called up my friend, who—well, it doesn’t matter who he was or how he got Jonny’s number. But he did.

“An hour later, I called Jonny’s cell. It was really late in Queens, around one a.m., but I knew Jonny lived in LA, and I figured he wasn’t the type of guy to go to bed early. I told him about Storm. He didn’t believe me at first. Then, he remembered Tiffany. He wanted to see a picture of Storm, so I texted him one. And after that, he…I think he realized that Storm was his. He demanded that I give him Tiffany’s address, said that he was coming to Queens, catching a flight out, and I couldn’t tell her, so I didn’t. I hung up with him, and I went to bed.

“When I woke up the next morning, Storm was in the kitchen, eating breakfast, and Tiffany was sitting in the living room, staring at the TV, crying. It was covered with pictures of Jonny’s crash.”

She swipes a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I knew it was my fault. He’d left his house that night and gotten in his car because of the phone call I’d made to him.”

I can’t breathe. I push up from my chair and stalk away, over to the outside bar. I refill my glass up to the top and down half of it. My hand is shaking.

When I turn around, Marie is standing by the table.

“He died because of me. But he died knowing he had a son.”

My eyes start to sting.

He knew.

He knew he had a son, and he was going to get Storm, to claim him.

A tear runs from the corner of my eye. I roughly brush it away.

The back door opens, and Tru steps out.

I can’t do anything but stare at her.

“Is everything okay out here?” Tru asks, glancing between Marie and me.

“I’m heading back to Queens today,” Marie says to me. “I understand that you’ll tell Storm. Just…tell him, I’m sorry.”

Then, she turns and brushes past Tru, walking back into my house.

I’m rooted to the ground.

“Babe?” Tru is advancing toward me. “What happened?”

Fumbling to put the glass down on the bar top, I lean against it as she stands before me, reaching for my hand.

“He knew. Jonny knew about Storm.” Another tear breaks free. “Right before he died…that’s why…that’s why he was out in his car. He was driving to the airport to catch a flight. He was going to see his son.” I press the heel of my hand against the ache in my chest. “How the hell am I supposed to tell Storm this? I don’t…” I roughly shake my head.

“Talk me through this, Jake. Tell me everything.” She guides me over to the seats. “We’ll figure this out together. It’s going to be okay.”

“Figure out what?” Tom says, coming through the open back door, pulling my eyes to him.

Denny is right behind him.

“You alone?” I ask them.

“Yeah.” Denny gives me a puzzled look.

“Good. You’re gonna want to sit down. I’ve got something to tell you.”

-Uploaded by Em's EORD-

Eight Years Ago

Jonny

My fingers strum over the strings of the guitar lying across my lap as I stare out at the glittering city below me from my castle in the sky.

For once, I’m alone.

I’m never alone. If I’m not with the guys, there’s always some chick ready to warm my bed.

But tonight, I wanted to be alone.

Recently, I’ve felt like something’s missing. There’s this emptiness inside me, and it’s growing, no matter how much I try to fill it with drugs and alcohol and empty one-night stands.

Picking up the bottle of whiskey from the table beside me, I lift it to my lips, taking a long drink.

My cell starts to ring on the table, pulling my eyes to it.

Unknown number.

I’m just about to ignore it when I realize the area code is in New York.