Love Storm (19 page)

Chapter 15: Drained

Zack

"I feel so out of place," Winter muttered restlessly.

I glanced at her sideways. Reassuring words wanted to escape my lips, but my throat didn't allow it. I choked slightly and gave up trying to speak. It felt like I was suffocating, like someone had taken a firm grasp around my throat and wasn't thinking about letting go anytime soon. My heart was thumping out an erratic rhythm in my chest, and there was an odd, faraway ringing in my ears.

Yet somehow, through all this, my senses seemed sharper than usual. My ears caught on to strands of conversation even through the ringing, and they were still conveying detailed messages to my brain – I knew the college student, standing next to Winter and chatting away on her cell phone, was waiting for her boyfriend who was at some Italian art school studying abroad, that the family behind me was waiting for grandparents, and that the two business men to the far right were expecting an important customer. My eyes darted around San Francisco Airport's international arrival exit, absorbing totally irrelevant details – a bamboo plant display in the corner, a frayed edge of the grey nylon cord roping off the exit, the missing C on the yellow warning cone that read (in Spanish) "Cuidado – piso mojado." Caution – wet floor. Had I not been so distracted, the quirkiness of the situation wouldn't have escaped me – I was subconsciously making Spanish translations. I'm sure my Spanish 3-4 teacher would have been proud.

"Zack?"

I looked at Winter helplessly, feeling more and more like a caged animal with each passing second.

"You okay?" she asked, concerned, dark eyes searching mine. Suddenly she shook her head – "Stupid question, of course you're not alright," she muttered, slipping her hand into my elbow and leading me away from the exit area. We sat down in two grey plastic chairs.

"Shouldn't we go back?" I asked, blinking. My voice sounded haggard and rough even to my own ears – it was a product of the sleepless nights I had suffered through for the past four days or so.

"Their plane just landed, Zack," Winter said gently. "They won't be out for a while. Relax."

"I can't," I groaned, panicky now at the mention of my parents. "I can't do this, Winter – do you have any idea – " I broke off. "God, I can't believe I'm actually doing this," I breathed, burying my face in my hands and hunching over in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Oh, Zack," Winter said sadly, rubbing small circles on my back.

I was glad she didn't hold me, even though my mind was screaming out for her embrace, because if she did, I knew I would lose it for sure. In the back of my mind, I realized she knew this as well, and knew also that breaking down was not something I could afford at the moment.

A couple minutes later I rubbed my eyes tiredly and emerged from behind my hands, sitting up straight. I felt Winter's hand leave my back.

I glanced sideways at her. I wasn't sure if she had done it on purpose or not, but her clothes were a little less casual than usual – she was wearing a pair of nice jeans and a grey cable knitted sweater. Under the sweater she had on a long-sleeved white blouse – the collar and sleeve cuffs peeked out from underneath; over the sweater and blouse she was wearing a corduroy jacket. But when I looked at her outfit carefully, there were parts of it that made it decidedly
her
– she had put earrings in all five piercings, the buttons on her sleeve cuffs and collar were undone, and her choice of shoes brought a wry smile to my face. It was a pair of beat-up black Converses. Leave it to Winter to complete an otherwise fairly formal outfit (for her, at least) with the oldest pair of shoes she owned.

"You ready to head on back?" she asked, giving me a ghost of an encouraging smile.

I nodded, and stood up first, not even realizing I had offered Winter a hand until her weight was pulling gently on it.

"A gentleman even in a crisis," she murmured, prompting the a weak chuckle from me. "Relax," she repeated her earlier instructions as we headed back to the exit area. "You'll be fine."

I only nodded in response. My throat had closed up again.

Somehow we managed to push our way to the front of the crowd waiting for people to come out. Winter checked the time on her cell phone nervously as the first people began to trickle out.

"They'll probably be some of the first passengers coming out," she said quietly.

"How do you know?" I asked. Miraculously my voice had re-gained its ability to work for a split second.

"They're flying first class," Winter replied, running a hand through her auburn hair distractedly. I could tell she was as nervous as I was.

My eyes glued themselves to the door through which my parents would be coming out. I saw one beautiful young Italian lady, an American college student, four business men in expensive business suits, and a grandmother and grandfather come out before I saw my parents.

Winter

Zack tensed alarmingly quickly next to me – I glanced at him and saw that his eyes were trained on a couple coming out. Sighing and realizing he would never be able to call them over, I waved
at the middle aged couple and called out, "Mr. Crowne! Mrs. Crowne!" It caught their attention almost immediately. As soon as I had spoken though, Zack's hand had found mine and was gripping it so tightly I thought my blood circulation would cut off – but I didn't stop him. Instead, as his parents rolled their luggage over, I gently loosened his hand and shifted so our fingers would be laced together. Our eyes connected for a second, and in the depths of his beautiful eyes I saw a kind of desperation I had never seen before. It made my heart ache.

But the next moment, Zack changed so drastically it made me blink. They were minute changes, but it altered his demeanor completely – his posture became ram rod straight, his jaw tightened, his lips were drawn into a thin line, and lastly, his eyes closed off. The latter was the most difficult one for me to endure. In all the time I had known him, his eyes had never once been so detached and cold, so… unfeeling. The words '
human defense mechanism
' came to mind.

Suddenly we were moving towards them – or, rather, I suddenly found myself being pulled along by Zack at a fast pace. I didn't have time to think.

"Hello Father," he said to the man. His voice too, had changed. His tone was now a cool indifference. But he said, with a tiny bit more warmth, "
Pomeriggio buono
," and this was directed at his mother. Or perhaps it was the fact that he was speaking Italian that made the tone seem less cold; I didn't know.

His mother smiled and hugged him gently, murmuring some smooth Italian words in his ear. Zack gave his mom a tight smile. I stood back, melting into the background (as much as I could without forcing Zack to let go of my hand).

"And who's this, Zackary?" his father asked. His voice gave me a start – it sounded much like his son's, just as low, just as calm, just as smooth, almost as sexy (I took back this thought as soon it came into existence; thinking of Zack's
father
's voice as being sexy caused me to feel slightly queasy), but there was a coldness, a rigidity to it that Zack's had never possessed. I sent a quiet prayer out into the universe that Zack's voice would never have that kind of insensitive quality. Other than the voice, Zack had no physical similarities to his father at all. Mr. Crowne stood slightly shorter than his son, had straight light brown hair, a fair complexion, blue eyes, and a more muscular build – I remembered that Zack had told me that his father had once been a jock extraordinaire. Now I could believe it. Mr. Crowne looked all-American, and his features told a story of a young, carefree, handsome boy years ago.

Zack's mother was a completely different story. Every time I glanced at her (and I did this often), I was stunned by her beauty. I could easily see where Zack got his good looks; he and his mother looked
very
much alike. His mother had the same light tan skin, golden eyes, curly dark brown hair, and slender, graceful build, but Zack was still taller. Another thing that struck me about his parents was that they were both young – younger than my own parents by a long shot, I would wager. They couldn't have been much older than 35 or so, from the looks of it.

I was pulled out of my analytical thoughts when I heard Zack's voice. "This is Winter Bruin." My eyes snapped up to his. Oh, right. Introductions. His eyes never left mine as he said in a softer voice, "Winter, this is my mom and dad. Cascata Pastorelli-Crowne and Joshua Crowne." I
broke our gaze to smile at both of them, not missing the glance that had passed between his parents when they saw our intertwined fingers. Zack didn't miss it either, and moved closer to me, snaking an arm around me possessively when his father raised his eyebrows.

"Nice to meet you," I said with as much confidence as I could muster, wondering what Zack was doing. I had put this comment out to both of them, but Mrs. Crowne was the one who smiled at me, though she said nothing. I gently disentangled myself from Zack to help them with their luggage, giving him an encouraging nod when he did the same.

We walked to the parking garage in relative silence, but on the car Mr. Crowne spoke to Zack.

"How is Victoria?" he asked.

Mrs. Crowne and I were both sitting in the back of Zack's Nissan sedan, and I could tell she was listening as carefully as I was to his response.

"She's good," he said quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the road. "Same as always."

"I suppose she's been taking good care of you, then?"

Zack nodded shortly.

Mrs. Crowne glanced at me, and a wistful expression passed over her face before she said to
me
softly, "Do you know who Victoria is?" Her English was nearly perfect; there was a slight European accent to it that made me smile in delight, despite the obvious tension in the car.

"Yes," I replied conversationally after the initial surprise that she was addressing me. "I've met her once before." I paused, then said, "Was your flight tiring?"

She laughed quietly, a melodious laugh. In spite of myself I was beginning to feel a slight pull towards her, even though I knew Zack and his parents had not had the smoothest of relationships. It wasn't quite a liking of her, but more a tiny desire to hear what she had to say. "Very. It has been a long time since I last flew to America."

Throughout the rest of the car ride she and I made small talk, while Zack and his father sat in the front in silence, listening to us converse. Cascata Pastorelli-Crowne had the same wonderful, subtle charisma that her son had.

Zack

Winter was making light conversation with my mother, and I felt gratitude towards her. I didn't even want to begin to imagine what this situation would have been like had she not been here. I grimaced. This was the weirdest situation I had ever been in. Picking up your parents who you haven't seen for six years is not something you do everyday.

We made it back to the house, and I managed to avoid saying a single word until after Winter and I had hauled their baggage upstairs and left them in their bedroom to settle in.

"Zack," she said as we trudged downstairs. "I think I should leave –"

I didn't even let her finish her sentence. "Please don't," I said, and the quiet desperation I heard in my voice startled me. "Please… just don't leave me here by myself." I looked away, realizing how pathetic this situation really was.

"Hey," Winter said softly, touching my shoulder. She had stopped in her tracks, and I did the same. She was a step above me, and gently turned my shoulders so we would be facing one another. I looked down at the carpeting; she didn't force me to look into her eyes, but said, "I'm always here. If you ever need anything, I'm here for you." It wasn't said aloud, but there was another underlying message as well. She was telling me that it wasn't a sign of weakness to ask for help. That it was never too late to ask her to do something for me. I understood, and finally met her eyes. Though she was standing on a step higher than me, I still had to look down about half an inch to catch her gaze.

"Thanks," I said in a low voice, truly meaning it. I don't know what compelled me to do it, but I reached out and touched her cheek. Unconsciously I stroked her skin, then ran my thumb over her bottom lip. My eyes met hers again, and in them I saw a mixture of emotions that I couldn't pick out very clearly, yet it completely swept me away. Suddenly I was aware of a lot of things that I hadn't noticed before – that our bodies were much closer than I had previously thought, that her hand was on my arm, that her lips looked so inviting I just couldn't help myself. Purely on impulse I leaned forward, my eyes closing of their own accord as Winter tilted her head up just a fraction. Our lips were less than a millimeter apart –

"Zack!"

We sprung away from each other instantaneously. Heart hammering, I peered over the edge of the railing.

It was Victoria.

"Zack!" she said again, crossly. "I've been shouting your name from the kitchen for the past two minutes. Would you get down here already? I can't set up the fine silverware for your mother and father by myself." She sniffed irritably and I was reminded again that she, too, had treated the return of my parents with nothing but scorn and anger that was just under the surface. Lately her naturally serene disposition had been traded for a highly unpredictable temper.