Storm

Chpater Three

CHAPTER 3

Chris lay in the dark and listened to the rain strike the house. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. He didn't bother to strip the wet clothes from his body, and he'd left his windows open so he could inhale the dampness in the air. The rain called to him, each drop begging him to join the downpour, whispering promises he didn't quite understand yet.

But the house was quiet. His brothers were quiet. Solitude and silence were precious things, and he'd cling to them as long as possible. Experience told him it wouldn't be long.

Rain came through the screen, droplets collecting on the wood surface of his desk.

An invitation.

"Later," he said.

God, was that his voice? He sounded like a ninety-year-old chain-smoker.

His doorknob turned slowly, and Chris sighed, listening to each click of the knob until the door swung open. A triangle of light from the hallway arced across the back wall of his bedroom, but he didn't bother to turn his head.

He knew it was Michael before his brother spoke. "I thought you might have fallen asleep."

Chris didn't say anything. He stared at the ceiling and waited for the reprimand that was sure to come. For the fight, for using his abilities, for helping Becky.

Becca. He smiled.

"What are you smiling at?"

That killed it. "Nothing." Chris lifted a hand. "Say your piece and get out."

Michael hesitated.

Chris hated this. This distance, this parental posturing. He could still remember the summer he'd turned nine, when Michael had just gotten his driver's license. His brother hadn't taken friends for his first drive, he hadn't taken the twins, who were older and sharper and got everything they wanted. He'd taken Chris. They'd driven fast, clinging to curves on the back roads all the way to Annapolis. Then they'd sat on the hood of Dad's truck and drunk sodas and watched boats on the Severn River.

He used to think Michael walked on water.

Now he mostly thought he was an ass**le.

His brother stepped into the room. Chris felt him move close, but he kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. When Michael wound up for a lecture, it was usually agonizing. Maybe he'd actually sit on the corner of the bed or something, just for effect.

But Michael remained standing, and his voice was low. "You want to sit out back for a while?"

Chris swung his head to the side and his vision swam for a moment. When his eyes decided to focus, they looked up at his brother. With the light at his back, Michael's face was in shadow, his brown eyes very dark, the way their mother's had been. The rest of them had blue eyes, like their father.

When their parents died, Chris hated waking in the middle of the night, wanting his mother, finding no comfort in his older brother. He'd resented seeing those eyes in Michael's face, and finding nothing he needed in them.

Michael was still waiting for an answer. "Come on," he said. "I'll sit with you."

The rain had formed a puddle along the edge of the desk. Pleading.

Chris nodded. "All right."

The twins sat in the kitchen, textbooks scattered across the table. Nick was working, while Gabriel rocked back in a chair, eating cookies and heckling his brother.

When they came through the kitchen doorway, Gabriel stopped short. The legs of his chair hit the ground.

"That son of a bitch," he said. Lightning flashed in the panels of sky visible through the window over the sink.