are quickly becoming my favorite thing, well second favorite.
“I bet it was great having siblings growing up, huh?” Tempest asks, her elbow resting on the window as she kicks back and enjoys the ride.
I laugh. “That’s something an only child would say.”
“Hey!” she protests. “I didn’t have a choice in the matter and I honestly can say I spent the better part of my life wishing I had someone to share the burden of being a Cassidy with. I mean, I never had anyone to split the chores or commiserate with when my mom was being overbearing or my dad was being a hardass… which they still do,” she mutters.
“Was it that bad?” I ask, glancing over at her and then back to the road. “Green Valley seems like a pretty good place to grow up.”
She sighs, sitting up a little straighter. “Home life wasn’t terrible. I always had food on the table and clean clothes to wear. My parents were involved in my schooling and activities… well, I didn’t have many of those, but they were always present… I had a good childhood.”
“But?” I ask, sensing there’s a flip side.
“School was rough. Thankfully, I had Cole. He was the big brother I never had, which is probably why we’re still so close. And then he started dating Anna and we became friends.”
Now I’m sitting up a little straighter in my seat, not liking the sound of this. “So, let me get this right… Cole and Anna were your only friends?” That’s how she’s making it sound, but I hope I’m wrong. The thought of Tempest being alone or lonely doesn’t settle well with me.
“I had friends, but they weren’t great ones,” she says. “They were the kind of friends who would turn on you at the drop of a hat, always swaying to play the side that benefited them the best.” For a second, she’s quiet—contemplative. “But,” she continues, fortifying her voice, “after I started dating Asher, things got better… at least on the surface, but looking back, I’m not so sure he did me any favors. My friends were his friends and after the divorce, I realized their loyalties always resided with him.”
That pisses me off.
“I think that’s why I felt like I was fighting for air those first couple months… I didn’t know what was up or down or sideways. When he was out of my life, I didn’t know where I stood. It was scary and I constantly felt like lashing out at everyone and everything… like my fight-or-flight mechanism kicked into high gear, and I chose fight.”
We sit in the quiet for a few miles, just the noises from the road filling the truck. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, but I’m trying to think about how I want to reply without telling her what a dick her ex-husband is and that’s she’s better off without him… and that I’m grateful for his mistake, the worst mistake of his life, because due to his stupidity, I get to sit here… with her.
“You know he doesn’t define you, right?” I start. “The only thing he did for you was provide life experience, which you’ve grown from and become a tougher person because of. That’s it.” When she doesn’t reply, I turn my head to see her brows furrowed and her lip between her teeth. “What?”
She shakes her head, but doesn’t look at me. “Nothing. It’s just that I was either dating or married to Asher for twelve years… it’s hard to move past that.”
“Do you still love him?” I want to grab the question out of the air and swallow it back down, but I can’t. It’s out there now and I’m not sure I want to hear her answer, but then she huffs a laugh.
“No,” she says with ferocity. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m hurt and pissed… actually, I’m neither of those anymore. I’m just… done… and definitely not in love with Asher.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, but try to hide it with a cough.
“And just for the record,” I add, needing to get one more thing out in the open. “You’re better than all of those people who chose Asher’s side after the divorce. They obviously don’t know what they’re missing out on by not having you in their lives… or they’re too stupid to realize.”
She laughs. “You have to say that.”
“Why?” I ask, incredulously.
“Because you’re my friend.” The way she draws out friend makes it a