The Storm Between Us

The hotel bar in Orlando was mostly empty, just the hum of ice machines and distant thunder rolling through the glass doors. Elena swirled her orange juice—she'd stopped drinking three years ago, around the time her marriage stopped breathing—and watched Marcus approach.

"You're still here," he said, sliding onto the stool beside her. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, the first two buttons of his shirt undone. The conference had drained them both.

"Flight's cancelled. Storm's grounding everything until morning."

"Me too." He signaled the bartender. "Just water for me. I've got a headache that's been three days in the making."

Elena noticed the small bottle on the bar next to him. Vitamin D. The kind her mother took religiously, along with calcium and something for her blood pressure, all lined up in a weekly dispenser like a tiny pharmacy for the slow march toward death.

"My mother takes those," she said.

"Forty-five next month. My doctor says my bones are going to hate me if I don't start now." Marcus laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Jesus, we used to pull all-nighters in college like they were nothing. Now it's vitamins and cancelled flights and drinking orange juice at a hotel bar."

A flash of lightning cracked across the windows, illuminating the tired lines around his eyes. Something shifted—electric, sudden, like the air before a storm.

"Marcus," she said, turning toward him.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever wonder if we made the wrong choices?"

He went still. The bar chatter faded to background noise. Outside, rain began to sheet against the glass.

"All the time," he said softly. Then, almost reflexively, he reached out, his palm pressing against hers on the lacquered wood between their glasses. His hand was warm, his fingers long. The touch sent something through her—sharp, undeniable, terrifying.

They'd known each other seven years. Work colleagues, friends, never anything more. She'd watched his marriage dissolve from a distance. He'd listened to her talk about her ex-husband's new girlfriend.

"Your flight is cancelled," he said. "My flight is cancelled. We're here. We're—"

"Forty-five next month," she finished.

"Right."

The lightning flashed again, closer this time. His palm was still against hers, his thumb barely grazing her wrist. She could feel her pulse hammering against his skin.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she said.

"Neither do I."

They left their drinks untouched—the juice, the water—and walked toward the elevators, their hands still touching, the storm outside nothing compared to the one between them.