The Storm Inside by Alexis Anne

that’s bullshit. Your problems are your problems, and I want to know all about them.”
    I sighed and burrowed into the comfort of his chest. It was my favorite place in the world. “It was brutal. It didn’t stop the whole hour. I think they asked me about every single aspect of the project. They delved into my background research and my projections. By the time I was done I just wanted to run away and cry.”
    He stroked my hair softly, over and over as we lay in the driveway between our cars. “So cry. You just accomplished something that took you a hell of a lot of time and effort. You should be proud. And it is alright to be overwhelmed and exhausted, baby.”
    The tears trickled out of the corner of my eyes and onto his bare chest. His hand kept moving through my hair and up and down my back. His deft movements were the only thing that ever brought me that kind of peace. I had never thought of myself as a particularly tactile person before Jake, but he loved to touch and feel so much that I quickly discovered how much I loved it too. At least when it was Jake.
    He comforted me, then I comforted him. He left the Bronco in pieces while we went inside and got lost inside each other.
    I hated how unfair life was to Jake. I hated life had torn us apart.
    Reality was stupid.
    I watched Jake handle the Orange Beast as we glided down the interstate. I struggled to rectify the boy I knew with the man sitting beside me. I knew him, but I didn’t. I wanted him, and I wanted nothing to do with him. Every minute near him I felt my heart breaking all over again.
    It was heart breaking because I still loved him. I would always love Jake, I knew that. It didn’t mean I could ever be in love with him, though. Those were two totally different things.
    He glanced at me sideways and smiled, “Get out of your head, darlin’. Ask me something else.”
    I asked him question after question, slowly getting to know the man Jake had become. He answered everything without hesitation. Somewhere along the way I began to feel comfortable, like I’d slipped on an old t-shirt.
    It was that easy, false comfort that lead to my demise.
     
    ***
     
    We made the beautiful drive over the causeway from Fort Myers to Sanibel Island, the pelicans diving as we passed, the boats lazily drifting beneath us in no hurry to get anywhere. This was my home. Time moved at a different pace here. When you drove through the tollbooth, transitioning from mainland to island, you left the real world behind.
    The air was different, the light was different, the sounds were different… I always felt the strangest sense of calm wash over me as we turned off the causeway onto the main drag and glided under the tree canopy. Hurricane Charley had done it’s best to ruin that, but time moves forward even if you can’t feel it; the trees growing back and erasing the scars of Mother Nature. We enjoyed the ride down the island in silence making the slight transition from Sanibel to Captiva. The beaches here were white sand and the waves were low. Because of the unusual orientation of the islands, high tide would leave behind treasure troves of seashells and there always seemed to be a slight breeze.
    Our house was on the backside of the island—it was even calmer there. A large main house sat back from the shore, but four smaller houses lined the edge of the beach.
    The four smaller guesthouses were assigned to my sisters and our friends. It was there my friends and I would be staying this weekend. We were not allowed inside my parent’s home unless it was absolutely necessary, it was their line of privacy and one I rarely crossed.
    Behind the main house was a massive outdoor kitchen and patio that gave way to the wide, white sand beach and the dock that stretched out into the shallow water. Two boats and two jet skis were moored to the dock and we’d be on those in less than an hour. I could barely contain my desire to be out on the water. It was a raw need at this