Edge of Chaos (Love on the Edge #1)

by Molly E. Lee

  “Not this time, Justin.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  I glanced down. “If you have to ask, then it’s not even worth explaining.”

  “I had to sell my watch for you!” he snapped.

  I flinched, as if he’d physically stunned me. “What? You sold it to get your truck back.”

  “But I wouldn’t have had to do that if I hadn’t just bought you those Blue October tickets.”

  My heart sank. I stood there, floundering in my own guilt for a few moments, contemplating pulling out all the extra cash I had and shoving it into his hands. Then I saw the games he held and the guilt turned to a burning anger. “No. I don’t buy that, Justin. You could’ve easily sold your collection of video games and Xbox to get your truck back. Hell, you could’ve sold that big-ass TV, too, or even asked me then to borrow money. But you didn’t. You made the choice, so don’t you dare put something like that on me.”

  His eyes popped before narrowing. I saw the shock. It’d been too long since I’d called him on his bullshit. He stomped off without saying a word to contradict me.

  Normally I would’ve followed him and given him the money just to avoid the fight, and being left behind without a ride—which he’d done to me twice in the past.

  Not today. I grabbed my cell phone again.

  Can you pick me up at the bookstore in the mall? I shot Dash another text, my fingers shaking with adrenaline. Justin blew up all the time, but today it struck a new chord, like a tap to a freshly exposed nerve.

  Of course. I know a great Mexican place a block away from there. See you in ten.

  An hour and a half later, I set my napkin on my half-cleaned plate and leaned back in food defeat.

  Dash sat across from me and shoveled another chip with a heaping pile of salsa on it into his mouth. The restaurant smelled of peppers and fried chips, and the food, of course, had been delicious.

  “Did he say anything when you left?” Dash asked after taking a gulp of iced tea.

  “I didn’t wait around to hear it this time,” I said, still shocked I’d walked away from Justin in the video game store. I’d told him I found another ride home and just . . . left. Never, in our entire relationship, had I had the nerve to do that. I glanced across the table at Dash, knowing our friendship contributed to my new boldness.

  “Good job. That was a jerk move, even by guy standards.”

  “Thank you.” I sighed, the relief of being understood was so intense it was almost unnerving. I hadn’t been able to unload my fights with Justin on anyone before—Mom, the only other person I really talked to, didn’t care for him and would never hear me out.

  “Does he do that a lot?”

  “What? Act like he’s doing something for me and then I realize it’s really about him? Or ask me for money?” I fiddled with the sugar packets on the table.

  “Both.”

  I brought my gaze back to him.

  He leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “Can’t help you there. Lindsay has got more money than she knows what to do with.”

  “It’s all right. You help just by listening. Sorry I talk your ear off all the time,” I said. How much personal history had we covered in the past week? Nearly all of it, I realized. Talking to Dash was just so easy. He listened and actually tuned in, like no one else existed outside of our conversation. A stab of jealousy hit me, thinking this is how he must treat Lindsay all the time.

  “I enjoy it. Honestly, who else could keep up with me about storms and Blue October? And that’s not even mentioning our similar taste in movies.”

  “You’ve got a point,” I said. Yesterday we’d had an hour-long conversation about why The Departed deserved to be in the top ten best movies of all time list. And then a thought that hadn’t occurred to me popped into my head. “Do you talk to Lindsay about us?”

  His eyes widened.

  “That came out wrong.” My cheeks flushed. “I meant, does she get upset about the time you spend with me?” I rubbed my hands together underneath the table, wondering if he had to hide our friendship as well.

  “No. We’re friends and we have nearly the same career plans; of course we’re going to spend time together.” Dash nodded at the waitress at the table across from us.

  “Oh.”

  “Does he give you a hard time about it?”

  I broke our gaze, staring down at the table. “I haven’t told him.”

  He stayed silent so long I finally glanced up. Damn it, he looked at me with pity in his eyes. I never wanted to see that from him. “I’ve gathered, from the stories you’ve told, and what little I heard from him that first day I hid in your room, that he is the kind of man who wouldn’t approve of us getting close. Regardless of us just being friends?”

  “It’d be a battle, and I’m so tired of fighting. Do you think I’m an awful person for hiding this? Is it . . . crazy?” The more I thought about it the more it felt like I was having an affair minus the whole sex part.

  “You’re an amazing person, Blake. Never think otherwise. You know him better than anyone. And if you need me to pop the brakes I can—”

  “No.” I cut him off, hoping he didn’t hear the desperation in my voice. My happiness had increased tenfold since he’d come into my life. “This is all on me. It would be fine. I’m just not ready to have that argument yet.”

  Dash bit the corner of his lip. “Sounds like he gives you too much grief over everything. Do you want to talk about it?”

  I did. “No. It’s just me. Over analyzing is what I do.” I paired my answer with a full smile, trying to shrug off the serious turn the conversation took.

  “Well, you do have a talent for it.” He leaned a little closer over the table. “But if you ever do want to talk, about anything, you know I’m here, right?”

  I nodded because I was afraid my voice would crack if I responded. A warmth soothed the confusion and guilt that bit my insides.

  The waitress set down the check and cleared our plates, completely breaking the tension that I had brought to lunch. I reached for the paper, but Dash snatched it from me.

  “It’s my turn.” I tried to grab it from him.

  He held it out of my reach. “I know, but you’ve already had one man hitting you up for money today. I will not be the second.” He winked at me.

  Heat rushed through my core and kick-started my heart. “This is different. It’s lunch, not a stack of video games.”

  Dash dug in his back pocket for his wallet, the corded muscle in his forearm flexing with the motion. I grabbed my iced tea and took a good long drink.

  “I’m well aware of that, Blake,” he said, planting his green eyes on mine and daring me to argue. “Just consider it my attempt to show you not all men are self-centered video game addicts.” He handed his credit card and the check to the waitress who’d returned to our table.

  My eyebrows shot up at his not so backhanded rip on Justin.

  “Thank you.” I hoped Dash knew I encompassed his kindness and mad listening skills within the phrase.

  I’D WATCHED COUNTLESS thunderstorms from my back porch and seen clips on Dash’s site, but I knew neither of those things could prepare me for a real chase.

  My eyes darted between Dash behind the wheel of his truck and the gray sky that filled his windshield. I had a hard time choosing whether to focus on the gathering storm or Dash weaving in and out of traffic.

  My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline pumping to each of my nerve endings. Dash had shown up at my place a little over an hour ago, offering my first chance at a chase. A severe thunderstorm with tornado-producing capabilities was accumulating just an hour outside of town, and when he prompted me to get ready in a hurry, I leaped into action.

  “Where’s my exit, John?” Dash spoke into a black walkie-talkie, his voice tight.

  “Three miles. Exit and then head southeast,” John’s voice blared from the device. I glanced behind me, easily finding the Tracker Jacker—a beat-up nineties model
Toyota 4x4 with long antennas sticking out of the top and two large yellow lights attached to the back corners.

  Dash set the walkie-talkie down, and I raised my eyebrows at him when he snuck a glance my way.

  “What?” he asked, returning his eyes to the road.

  “That’s the extent of planning?” I asked.

  “We’ve got tons of routes mapped out already from the grueling prep work we did in the winter, but you can only plan so much before you have to make the call yourself.”

  “So you don’t depend solely on the radar?” I asked, shocked that he hadn’t checked one station model before picking this location.

  “No. I catch a lot of flak for it, but I use it more like a guideline. Once I set eyes on the storm . . .” His eyes sharpened, focusing on the dark clouds gathering in the distance.

  I loved when he got lost in the thoughts of a storm. It proved I wasn’t the only crazy one who found beauty in chaos.

  “What?” I finally urged him to continue.

  “It’s hard to explain. I just get a sense of where it’ll tighten into something bigger and head that direction.”

  “Why do people give you crap about it?” I asked, remembering how Professor Ackren had it out for him and the guys since day one. He always harped on them about the technical and scientific side of weather. I tried to answer most of the questions as quick as I could to take the heat off them.

  Dash shrugged. “I use more instinct than science, and to some people that’s reckless. Also, I’ve got more up-close images than some veteran chasers, and despite us working toward the same goal, it irks them. Some chasers say I’m only in it for the thrill and for selling my shots.”

  “I see,” I said, but it was hard to really grasp his lifestyle. “Does it bother you?”

  “Not really. I mean, sometimes it’s annoying because we take the same measurements others do. And next season we’ll have the probes to deploy, which will increase the data.” He changed lanes to pass another car. “Plus, the most useful area of study is where the tornado touches the ground, and because so many people are afraid to get that close, I’m one of the only people getting that information. If another chaser wanted the data collected from it, it’s not like I’d charge him for it. But I can’t deny the rush I get from capturing a storm, and I’m not ashamed of the money I make for it, either.”

  “Good, you shouldn’t.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. I’d always assumed from Dash’s shots he’d just had an expensive camera with an excellent zoom option. From his words, I had been sorely mistaken.

  “Thanks, but can I be honest about something?” he asked, glancing at me for a moment.

  “Always,” I said, focusing on him.

  “It would give our group a lot more credit if you became a stable part of it.”

  “Me? How?” I asked, shocked. “You all have way more experience than I do.”

  “You always sell yourself short, Blake. The way you interpret data in half the time it takes even me to do it, paired with the natural instinct you have when the sky darkens? It’s incredible. And the fact that you are more prone to check the science and use it to back your predictions like any good meteorologist would do could garner us more respect from those in our field that continue to question my tactics. We’d make a great team.”

  I swallowed hard, a flush dusting my cheeks. I smiled, not exactly sure how to convey the importance of his words to me. “Thank you. I’d love to be more involved,” I said and for a split-second thought about how much more involved I could be with him.

  Heat rushed to my cheeks and I quickly glanced out the window, wondering where in the hell that had come from. I took a deep breath and assured myself it was due to the gratitude swelling in my chest. Though he’d continuously noticed my abilities with storms and my passion for them, I was still getting used to being recognized for my talents, let alone praised for them.

  “Check it out.” He pointed at a gray wall cloud to the right. He took the next exit faster than I could blink. Once I laid eyes on the full expanse of the supercell—thick tufts of black cloud with the sun blinding behind it—I was hooked. The power of the storm drew me in, the potential written all over the dark, churning mass.

  I pressed my fingertip to the window, pointing at the lower right side of the cloud. “There is rapid circulation,” I blurted out, thrilled with the catch. If I hadn’t been looking for it I may not have seen it, the solid color made it hard to see the movement.

  Dash squinted, zeroing in on where I pointed. “You’re right.” He grabbed the walkie-talkie. “Blake spotted some rotation in the western portion of the cell. I’m heading that way.”

  A few seconds later John’s voice crackled over the radio. “Nice. Follow this road and take the third right. That should give us the best vantage point.”

  “On it,” Dash said. “Good eyes, Blake.”

  The compliment added to my already-pumping heart. I forced myself to focus solely on the storm. Lightning crackled, followed by the roar of thunder, loud enough to vibrate my chest. I jumped slightly, admiring Dash’s calm and unflinching control of the truck. The closer we got, the stronger the winds pushed against the vehicle, threatening to throw us off the road. Rain pelted the windshield, and the splattering bursts made visibility of the developing funnel difficult.

  “Dash,” I gasped, as if I chased the storm on foot. “It’s transitioning into lower rotation. See the funnel?”

  Dash slowed the truck on the rural road leading us closer to the storm. He set eyes on it and nodded. “It has potential. Here, take the wheel,” he said, as if he were asking me to hold his phone.

  I gaped for a moment, but then blinked twice and reached over him, wrapping my fingers around the steering wheel. He kept his foot steady on the gas as he shifted in the driver’s seat, reaching behind him. The motion made his hard chest graze against my bare arm, and another flush raked across my skin. I swallowed and focused on the rain-soaked road ahead of us.

  The minute felt like an eternity until he finally righted himself. With a video camera in his right hand, he retook the wheel with his left, and I scooted back to my seat.

  Dash turned on the camera and pointed it at the developing funnel in front of us. Judging from the length of road and the growing mass ahead of us, it was only a mile away now. “It’s organizing!” Dash hollered as if we weren’t sitting right next to each other, and my heart leaped into my throat.

  Another crack of lightning struck the ground underneath the cloud, the bright light leaving an impression on the back of my eyelids. Thunder roared even louder than the first time. The hair standing on the back of my neck confirmed we were well under it now.

  “The tail is lowering,” Dash shouted into the walkie-talkie. “Paul, I will throat punch you if you miss these shots!”

  I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been so focused on the fact that Dash had just confirmed the tail of the funnel was about to touch down, causing a mixture of ice-cold panic and pure excitement to shoot up my spine.

  “I already gave him my camera!” John shouted back, grounding me.

  The energy was high in both vehicles; I could hear it in their tense voices through the line. My heart raced and the adrenaline expanded within me, begging for release.

  A thicker string of cloud snaked out of the rotating portion of the storm, creating a more threatening funnel. Ice filled my veins. I’d never been this close to a tornado before, and despite the slender size, if it touched down, it would be powerful enough to rip trees from their roots. For a split second I had the urge to take the wheel again and spin us in the opposite direction, instinct shouting at me to flee, but it passed in a blink.

  An exhilarating thrill sped through me, replacing the momentary fear, like reaching the top of a roller coaster just before making the first drop.

  The grayish-white cloud churned and snaked horizontally to the left, like a long bone-white finger reaching to press a button. The wisps of cloud spiraled in and out of
focus, switching from semisolid to see-through, revealing the thundering sky behind it.

  “Come on!” Dash yelled at the sky, his impatience with the funnel’s horizontal trend evident in his tone.

  Static crackled from the walkie-talkie before Paul’s voice sounded in the cab of Dash’s truck.

  “It’s roping out,” Paul said, his voice dejected. I glanced behind me, seeing the Tracker Jacker and Paul’s eyes on his laptop opened before him.

  I whipped back around, focusing on the storm again. He was right. The spinning cloud slowly dissipated little by little, shedding pieces of atmosphere like sloughs of snakeskin. The broken sections of cloud wouldn’t reconfigure, not with the predominant cloud breaking apart, too.

  My stomach sank, the disappointment heavy. We’d been so close to seeing a tornado on the ground I could taste it, but the potential was gone now. My building anticipation shattered, like I’d shown up late to a concert and missed my favorite band. We’d gotten to the top of the roller coaster but weren’t allowed to fly down it.

  “Damn it!” Dash yelled, finally setting his video camera in the space between us.

  We both sighed and then then truck filled with silence.

  “We had the perfect vantage point,” John said after a few minutes, the disappointment clear in his tone as well.

  Dash took a deep breath before pushing the button on the walkie-talkie. “You’re right. We couldn’t have asked for a more prime spot. Just wish we could’ve gotten ahead of it in time to pull off-road and film better. Paul, anything on Doppler?”

  “Nothing, man,” Paul shouted across the line. “A strong gust of cold air must have just blasted through here, killing all potential.”

  Dash set the radio down. We didn’t need Doppler to tell us that, not for this location anyway. I could easily tell just by looking at the broken clouds in the sky and the lessening rain that this storm cell was done.

  My hands trembled from the adrenaline slowly leaving my body. “I know that was probably nothing for you, but I’ve never seen something so incredible.”