The Storm Before the Calm

Readers love

C
ATE
A
SHWOOD

Thirty Things

“
Thirty Things
is a no angst, low tension, feel-good story”

—My Fiction Nook

“The story flowed well from beginning to end… a steady pace growing gradually as did my anticipation… Definitely a must read!”

—MM Good Book Reviews

“…for those times you need characters you can’t help but love and a satisfying happy ending,
Thirty Things
is a good one to have on your shelf.”

—Prism Book Alliance

Five Ways a Boy Can Break Your Heart
(w/ Skylar M. Cates)

“I really liked this book. I don’t think there was a minute of it I wasn’t all in with these MCs.”

—Live Your Life, Buy the Booik

Riding the Board

“It… felt intriguing. Overall an adorable story full of potential.”

—Gay List Book Reviews

“This is a short, but sweet romance; it's well-written with great characters… Thank you, Cate, for the great read.”

—Rainbow Book Reviews

By
C
ATE
A
SHWOOD

With Skylar M. Cates:
Five Ways a Boy Can Break Your Heart

Keeping Sweets

Piece Us Back Together (Multiple Author Anthology)

Riding the Board

The Storm Before the Calm

Thirty Things

H
OPE
C
OVE

Brokenhearted

Wholehearted

Ironhearted

Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Copyright

Published by

D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886  USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Storm Before the Calm

© 2015 Cate Ashwood.

Cover Art

© 2015 Anna Sikorska.

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

ISBN: 978-1-63476-085-0

Digital ISBN: 978-1-63476-086-7

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015902243

First Edition June 2015

Printed in the United States of America

This paper meets the requirements of

ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

Chapter One

“R
ISE
AND
shine, baby,” my mom said, pressing a kiss to my temple.

I smiled against my pillow and, for a few seconds longer, delayed opening my eyes to the light spilling in through my window.

“I made you pancakes.”

I reluctantly looked up, squinting against the brightness of my bedroom. Mom rarely made pancakes for breakfast, mostly because she was never home for breakfast. “Thanks, Mom,” I said, stretching my arms up over my head and pointing my toes. My muscles shook with the stretch. I didn’t want to get up, but the smell of bacon from downstairs was enough to get me mobile.

Mornings are the worst. It’s not that I’m not a morning person. I don’t actually mind being up early. It’s that mornings invariably lead to the rest of the day, which for me usually include high school, or at least the last couple of weeks of it. And a couple of weeks were almost more than I could stand to get through.

She brushed back my hair. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

As I pushed the covers off, the cold air from my room rushed over me. I stumbled to the bathroom, my muscles stiff with that dull ache from overuse the night before. Leaning with one hand against the wall behind the toilet, I quickly emptied my bladder before turning on the shower. I grabbed my toothbrush on the way in, expediting the process. I wasn’t anxious to get to school, but I wanted to be able to spend as much time with my mom as I could before I left.

Most nineteen-year-old boys would rather keep company with pretty much anyone else other than their moms, but my mom was different. It had always been just the two of us since I was a baby—her and me against the world—and I never wanted to lose that.

Steam filled the tiny room down the hall from my bedroom. The tiles were old but spotless, and the pipes made a strange clunking sound as the water heated. I washed quickly, the soap stinging the raw skin over my ribs, then turned off the water and stepped out. Water pooled around my feet, soaking through the sky blue bath mat. I wrapped a towel around my waist, stepped over to the pedestal sink, and wiped the condensation from the mirror in a large enough circle to keep from cutting myself while I shaved.

After rinsing the shaving cream from my jaw, I padded back into my room and pulled on the first clean set of clothes I could find before heading downstairs.

“That smells amazing,” I said, hugging my mom around the waist as she stirred the hash browns in the frying pan. The table was already set. Two matching yellow plates sat atop the good place mats, a glass of orange juice placed to the side of each setting. I sat down at the table and watched her cook. Because she was always working, it had been a long time since we’d had breakfast together.

This week had been the exception. It was the last two weeks of school, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought she was trying to cram in as much time together as possible before I left home. Except I wasn’t leaving. There was nowhere to go. I was not college bound, having never been all that great at academics. My only passion was dance. I’d spoken with my instructor, Carol, about a teaching job after graduation, but she had been sufficiently vague about whether or not she needed someone.

I figured if I couldn’t work for Carol, I could always get a job at the sporting goods store. They perpetually had a help wanted sign in their window. It would do until I could figure out what I wanted, and it would help with the bills. Mom had been adamant I not work while I was in school. I think she understood how difficult the schoolwork had been for me and wanted me to be able to concentrate on putting in enough time and effort to keep from flunking out.

I stood and walked over to the fridge, pulled the syrup out, and warmed it under hot water from the tap. My mother carried the pan across the kitchen with one oven-mitted hand and dished out the steaming potatoes. I carried the platter with the stacks of fluffy pancakes and placed it in the middle of the table. She added extra slices of bacon to one of the plates, carried the last pan back, and added it to the pile in the sink.

“Thank you for making me breakfast,” I said, digging in with gusto. “You keep this up, though, and you’re going to make me fat.”

My mom laughed. “Maybe I have an ulterior motive. You’re too skinny.”

“I’m not skinny. I’m fit. I have a dancer’s body. I need it for the jumps.”

She smiled. “No one jumps like you do, baby boy. I’m sorry I won’t be there tonight.”

“It’s just the dress rehearsal,” I assured her. “No one’s parents come to dress rehearsals.”

“I know, but I hate missing any time you’re on stage,” she said, sadness tingeing her voice. “You’re breathtaking up there.”

“Nah, I’m just up there to make the girls look good. I do all the heavy lifting.”

“No one is looking at the girls when you’re on stage.”

“You only think that because you’re my mom. You have to think I’m spectacular. I think it’s a requirement of parenthood.”

“Maybe for most parents, but for me, it’s true. No one can take their eyes off you when you’re performing. You shine.”

I blushed a little, even though it was my mom complimenting me and I knew she was more than a little biased. My mom had always supported me, especially with my dancing. I knew the lessons and the costumes and the fees were not cheap, but she had not once mentioned the cost. I’d carried a lot of guilt about it, but the one time I’d mentioned quitting, she’d looked so devastated that I hadn’t brought it up again. I knew she understood how much it meant to me. What she didn’t know was that it had saved my life more than once. So even though I felt the weight of the financial burden I created for her, I accepted the gift for what it was and never once took it for granted.

We finished up our breakfast, the salty sweetness of the pancakes and bacon settling into a pleasant fullness in my belly. I reluctantly glanced at the clock, knowing I likely only had a few minutes left until it was time to make the trip to school.

I carried my plate to the sink while I drank the last sips of orange juice from my glass. After rinsing the plate under hot water until the syrup had mostly melted away, I put it in the dishwasher and closed the door.