The Protective Storm Chaser - Page 2

In his defense, I think he’d have been fine with me punching the guy—if not for all the blood. There was enough of it to require shutting down the restaurant for the rest of the night to properly clean and sterilize the salad bar.

Suddenly unemployed, I considered my options. I could stay in Cincinnati, the city where my heart had been crushed time and time again by everyone from my parents—one dead and the other a deadbeat—to a string of disappointing exes. Or I could pack my bags and start a new life somewhere else. Why work at a shitty diner in a landlocked state when you can work at a shitty diner somewhere in Florida?

Which town in Florida? No idea. I’ll figure it out when I get there.

Another bolt of lightning forks across the sky. This time, the crack of thunder is loud enough to make Pepper yelp. A big gust of wind slams into the car, making it hard to keep the car on the road. Leaves and twigs fall all around me. Then the storm hits with the ferocity of a raging rhinoceros. Sheets of rain pour from the sky, dumping water so quickly that the windshield wipers can’t keep up.

Pepper whimpers in the passenger seat.

“Don’t worry, girl. Everything will be just fine.” I clamp a hand over my mouth. Shit. There I go tempting fate again.

A minute later, the radio stops working. Then the display lights on the car’s dash go berserk, flickering on and off like strobe lights at a rave. What the hell?

Before I can so much as tap the brakes, the car dies.

“Noooo,” I wail. “No, no, no, no.”

I turn the key in the ignition, pumping the brake, pumping the gas, trying every single thing I can think of to get the car to start. But it’s no use. It’s dead. We’re stuck in the middle of road, and I have no clue what to do.

The rain and wind pound the car so hard that it feels like I’m driving through a carwash. Visibility through the windows is zero. I punch the button for the car’s caution lights. If someone drives up behind us, hopefully they’ll be able to see the lights through the storm and avoid rear-ending me at full speed.

Pepper whimpers again, and I pull her into my lap. I whisper soothing words to her as the storm rages, patting myself on the back for keeping my shit together. More or less. It’s just a storm. It’s not worth crying about. Once it passes, I’ll figure out what to do.

Then the hail starts. As large chunks of ice crash against the car like they’re being hurled by an MLB pitcher, I curl my body around Pepper. My poor dog is trembling. A sob bubbles up in my throat. So much for keeping your shit together, Edie.

Chapter 2

Nate

I need to burn off some steam. Outrun my demons.

I drop to the mat in my garage to do fifty pushups on my knuckles. I’ve already lifted weights, skipped rope, and run on the treadmill. But what the hell? Why not add some pushups into the mix?

Some days, physical exercise is enough to do the trick. If I exhaust myself—or distract myself—enough, I can push out the constant stream of thoughts that run through my mind. I can almost, never completely, forget my last mission as a Navy S.E.A.L. I can block out the sound of my S.E.A.L. brothers scream as the exploding landmine mortally wounded them. I can forget the warmth of my best friend’s blood gushing through my fingers as I tried to stanch the bleeding from the wound in his neck.

I can forget the pieces of shrapnel still embedded in my own back, and how I was wounded just enough for an honorable discharge from the Navy, but not enough to greet my friends in death.

I do another round of fifty pushups on my knuckles, but it’s no use. Today, my demons have caught up with me—and they’re not letting go.

The sound of thunder in the distance catches my ear. Yes! Chasing a storm is exactly what I need.

Not the way I chase storms when I’m on the clock, giving tours to college kids with a death wish or businessmen with money to burn. For Mercury Ridge Storm Chaser Tours customers, I play it safe. I give the customers what they want: excitement at a distance.

Some of them say they want to get close to the show, but they don’t. They want to see the whole tornado, stretching from the sky to the ground. They don’t realize that when shit gets real, you can’t see a damn thing. You shut your eyes to keep debris from gouging out your eyeballs. You hold on for dear life and hope the storm doesn’t take you.

It’s moments like those when I’m reminded that I didn’t die with my brothers. My life’s not over. I even want to live.

Few people understand that. My bosses do. Or they used to. Colby and Oz aren’t victims of war. But they were two of the biggest daredevils in the business, back in the day. Now, they’re family men with too much to lose to risk their lives.

But they hang back, avoiding dangerous situations, for their families. Not for themselves.

And me? I’ve got nothing to lose.

I’m not alone. I’ve still got some damn good friends. I have a sister who lives nearby, too. But they’d be okay if I wasn’t around. They’d miss me, sure. But no one relies on me. No one needs me.

There’s another rumble of thunder, louder now. Oh, yeah. That’s big enough to chase.

I dash into the house to throw on jeans, a flannel shirt, and boots. Then I run back to the garage, jump in my 4×4 truck, and go in search of the storm.