Break the Sky (Spiral of Bliss Spin Off) (21 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

KELSEY

“THANKS FOR COMING, MR. CLEMENT.”
I pushed away from the computer in the lab and went to greet Harold Clement of Edison Power. “Sorry I didn’t get your message sooner, or I’d have come to your office again.”

“That’s all right.” He gave me a warm smile as we shook hands. “I wanted to see your department anyway. I’ve always been fascinated by atmospheric sciences.”

“Hence the tie?” I asked, glancing at his necktie, which was patterned with lightning bolts.

“Better than a hula-dancer tie, right?”

I chuckled. “Much better. Classier, too.”

“So this is the lab for the entire department?” He glanced around at the computers and equipment. “I’d expected King’s would have bigger facilities.”

“It’s a thorn in our side,” I admitted. “We need upgraded equipment, even another lab entirely, but the university doesn’t have the money right now. We’re submitting a new proposal for it, though. Can I show you around?”

“Another day,” he said. “I know you need to leave soon, but I wanted to talk to you in person again.”

I nodded, and we went to the conference room. I kept my outward composure, though I’d been nervous since he’d called yesterday, asking to meet with me early this morning.

He hadn’t said why, so my mind had been spinning all night. Did he want to invite me to give my presentation to the head brass at Edison Power? Did he need more data? Did he have more questions? Did he want to return something I’d left in his office?

“I always think it’s more respectful to talk to people face-to-face, if you get a chance,” Harold said as we sat at the conference table.

“I agree.”

“So rather than send you an email, I wanted to tell you personally,” he continued, and the expression on his face indicated he wasn’t about to deliver good news.

I steeled my spine.

“I’m afraid the Edison board of directors doesn’t think the Spiral Project is the kind of program we’re looking to support at this time,” Harold said.

I absorbed the rush of disappointment, reminding myself I’d half expected a rejection.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I admitted, glad that my voice remained steady.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you,” Harold replied, his forehead creasing with regret. “I think your project is extraordinary, but Edison wants a program the community can get better involved with and that will help the Edison brand. Tornado research is so specialized, not to mention the board thinks the Spiral Project is too expensive and risky…”

He went on, but I stopped listening. I’d heard similar things from other agencies. Different music, same lyrics.

“I’m genuinely sorry, Professor March,” Harold continued as I walked with him to the elevators. “If it were up to me, Edison would throw a bunch of money at you. It’s an ambitious project, and I’d love to see you succeed with it.”

“You and me both.”

“Do let me know if there’s ever anything I can do to help you.”

I shook his hand and thanked him for his time. After he was gone, I returned to my office, gathered all the project data, and stuffed it in the desk drawer.

I glanced at the clock. Colton had said he would be on campus around nine. I called him to see if he was waiting for me, then grabbed my satchel and went downstairs.

Though Edison’s decision wasn’t unexpected, the rejection still hurt. Every rejection hurt, especially one that might have been
another way
.

The Spiral proposal was still with the National Science Foundation, and while I had a hard time mustering any hope that they would approve funding, they hadn’t yet said no. At least that was something.

I walked to the university parking lot, where Colton was taking some crates out of the back of his van.

“You’re good to go.” He slammed the van doors and handed me the keys. “I’ll call if I see anything promising on the Doppler.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back by Tuesday at the latest. Tess is taking over my classes on Monday.”

Colton nodded. “I’ll give her a hand with grading. Good luck.”

He waved as I got into the driver’s seat. Even before I pulled out of the campus parking lot, my heart started to race. I gripped the steering wheel as I drove to the Butterfly House. I parked by the front porch and let myself inside.

A radio blared. I found Archer in the front room, sexy as heaven and hell in his faded jeans and dirty white T-shirt, his head bent in concentration as he measured a slat of hardwood.

I turned down the radio. He looked up.

“Hi,” I said.

He straightened, his gaze sliding over me. “Hi, yourself.”

“It looks good,” I said, gesturing to the hardwood floor.

“Sure does.” He kept his eyes on me.

I smiled. I was wearing a silk-lined navy suit, a silk blouse, and navy pumps, an ensemble I was accustomed to, and one that made me feel in command. Like I’d been the day I met Archer in Dean’s office. I hadn’t felt quite so
in command
since then, but I liked that he appreciated how I dressed and looked in real life.

Which meant this thing with him was… what? A fantasy life? That was the only way I could think of it, even though everything about Archer West was more real, raw, and earthy than anything or anyone I’d ever encountered before.

He watched me. Little pinpoints of light glowed in his dark eyes. I tried to muster up my courage, knowing that once the invitation was out there, I couldn’t take it back. I wouldn’t.

“The model forecast is showing some activity moving into western Kansas,” I said, the words coming out fast. “Instability, lift, wind shear. I borrowed Colton’s van. I have a travel bag, food, my cell, a camcorder, an emergency kit, laptop, weather radio and scanner, and a full tank of gas. I need to make one detour, but if we leave now and drive through the night, we could be in Kansas by tomorrow morning.”

My heart pounded fast and frantically, like a moth fluttering wildly around a hot light bulb.

“Give me ten minutes,” Archer said. “And we’ll be on the road.”

I swerved my gaze to him, my breath catching. The light in his eyes burned brighter. I felt it in him too, that rush in his blood at the thought of getting out there, navigating through the darkness with only a scant idea of where we were going or what we’d find once we got there. Pulled by a storm.

We went outside, and I stopped at the van to grab a change of clothes while Archer locked up the Butterfly House. On our way to the trailer, I told him about the meeting with Harold Clement.

“I’m sorry.” Archer gave the back of my neck a gentle squeeze. “But maybe it’ll be the next one.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I guess it’s fall seven times, get up eight. That’s what Liv and Allie always say.”

Not all that easy to do, though, when your ass was bruised from hitting the ground so many times.

Archer stopped and wrapped me in his arms, hugging the disappointment right out of me. I couldn’t be disappointed when I was about to embark on a storm-chasing adventure with the man I… really, really liked. A lot.

In the trailer, Archer took a shower while I changed into jeans and a knit shirt. He threw his stuff into a duffel bag and picked up his worn notebook from the counter.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I’m ready,” I said, pushing to my feet. “Let’s do this.”

We went back outside and headed toward the van.

Archer extended his hand. I tightened my fingers around the car keys. We stared each other down for a second before I held out the keys. I dangled them over his outstretched hand.

“For the record,” I said firmly, “I’m ordering you to drive.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Message received.”

“And I’m in charge of the playlist.”

“I order you to be in charge of the playlist.”

I dropped the keys into his hand. We got into the van and started out of Mirror Lake. It was close to ten as we entered the highway heading south. I plugged my phone into the stereo and turned it on.

“So what’s the detour?” Archer asked.

I looked out the window. I was sort of knotted up inside about this, but again there was no turning back.

“I need to drop something off at my mother’s near Chicago.”

I felt his glance of surprise. “We’re going to your mother’s?”

“Just for a few hours. It’s not on the way, but I mapped out a route.” I forced myself to look at him and gauge his response.

He was silent for a minute, as if trying to unravel all the reasons why I’d even suggest that he visit my mother with me. I wasn’t sure of them myself.

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“Not for me,” he said. “I assume she knows we’re coming.”

“Of course.” It was only a half lie. She knew I was coming, but I hadn’t yet told her about Archer in case he’d balked.

When we stopped for gas, I stepped around the side of the building to call my mother and tell her I wasn’t coming alone. Thankfully she didn’t interrogate me about Archer aside from asking how I knew him. When I told her he was Dean’s brother, she made a noise of happy surprise that caused a rustle of unease in me. Soon she’d find out that Archer and Dean were nothing alike.

My stomach tensed the longer we drove. I busied myself with a forecasting model so I wouldn’t have to think too much about the fact that Archer was the complete opposite of the type of man my mother always wanted me to be with.

Several hours later, Archer pulled the van into the driveway of a one-story ranch house in a tranquil, Highland Park neighborhood. My mother came out of the front door before Archer had even stopped the engine.

In a tailored, navy dress with her graying hair pulled back into an elegant chignon, she looked achingly familiar and reassuring. Just the sight of her flooded me with relief.

I hurried out of the van and went to hug her. “Hi, Mama.”

“So happy to see you,” she said, tightening her arms around me. “
Dochenka
.”

I breathed in her tea-rose scent, welcoming the hard embrace that put the world back into balance. No unpredictable storms here—only solid ground and stability.

My mother pulled back to look at me, giving me the once-over before taking my face in her hands.

“You look tired,” she said. “Beautiful as always, but tired.”

“It’s just been such a busy semester.” I eased away from her to turn toward Archer. “Mama, this is Archer West, the man I told you about.”

I saw her gaze flicker over his faded jeans and leather jacket, but her smile didn’t waver as she extended her hand to greet him.

“Come in, come in,” she said, waving us toward the house. “I have tea and cookies. You must be tired after the drive.”

Inside the house, my anxiety eased further. I’d bought the house for my mother a few years ago, and it contained all the things that I’d grown up with in our two-bedroom Chicago apartment and, later, the tiny house my parents had bought when I was a teenager. A few icons hung on the walls, embroidered shawls were tossed over the chairs, and well-worn books lined the shelves. Even though I’d never lived here, it still felt like home.

The scent of black tea and walnut cookies filled the air. If I’d been vaguely worried about any awkwardness, my concerns were allayed the moment we sat down.

Archer was easy company—polite, gracious, and entirely comfortable carrying on a conversation with my mother about her house, her shop, even her life in Russia and experiences immigrating to the US. He drank three cups of tea and ate about a dozen tea cookies, which pleased my mother to no end.

“I like a man who eats well,” she remarked, patting him on the shoulder and pushing the plate of cookies toward him again. “My cooking I learned from my mother years and years ago. But Kseniya never had interest in cooking. She was more interested in watching The Weather Channel with her father.”

“She told me.” Archer glanced at me, his eyes warm.

My mother reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “He was a good man, Alexei. Strong-willed and stubborn, but good. So determined to learn English, be a worthy American. Such a hard worker.”

I stood to gather the empty plates and cups. “I brought you a box of
pysanky
for the shop. I thought we could stop by before we leave.”

“Of course.” A faint worry darkened her eyes. “You be careful on this trip. It’s been a long time since you’ve done such a thing.”

Didn’t I know it. “We’ll be fine. Archer is a great driver.”

My mother glanced at Archer. “What work do you do, Archer?”

“I repair motorcycles at a garage,” he said. “Cars, too. Right now I’m helping my brother finish work on his house.”

“You remember I told you about Liv and Dean’s new place,” I said to my mother. “Archer is installing the hardwood floor, among other things.”

I sounded like I was trying to prove he did more than just repair bikes. Irritated with myself, I brought the dishes into the kitchen.

I heard my mother and Archer talking as they left through the back door. I went to the living-room windows that overlooked the garden. They walked along the flagstone paths, Archer matching his stride to my mother’s slower one as she pointed out all the plants and flowers.