“Record. Everything. And you threw the cameras out the fucking window.” Charles sat back with a weary sigh. “What were you thinking?”
“I was angry. This isn’t freedom. You’ve put a noose around our necks. You’ve ruined a good thing. This many people can’t make decisions.”
“It makes for good television.”
“What good is a show about tornado chasers if we never see a tornado?”
“But you did.” Charles leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. “I’m not asking you to get along. In fact, I love that you don’t. I love it even more when you don’t do as you’re told. What I don’t love is you shutting off the fucking camera. My people can’t follow you on chases. My insurance won’t cover that level of danger.”
“Fine. I’m sorry. I was angry.”
“It’s okay. You’re forgiven. Like I said. I’m not mad. I can work with what you gave me. What I need is some live-action tornadoes, and we haven’t gotten much of that.”
“That’s the nature of chasing. For every ten runs, you may only see one.”
“Will I get one this season?”
“Probably. It’s early yet, and I usually catch at least two or three.”
“Good. Will you record it next time?”
“Yeah.”
Our food arrived, and Charles spread a napkin on his lap. “Be as defiant as you want, Oz. In fact, stir the shit pot. You’re going to lead Stormz Rising.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Unless you’re rigging the votes, I have to win the audience.”
Charles smirked. “Oh, you will. I’ll tell you a secret. It comes down to editing. The audience sees what I want them to see. I build the narrative. I decide who looks good on camera and who doesn’t. They’re going to love you.”
I should have been excited. Charles was all but telling me I had a spot on the show, but I wasn’t sure anymore if this was the answer to my problems… especially if he broke up my team.
We had another run that night. The system was farther north than before, taking us an hour and a half outside city limits. Since I’d slept like crap, I spent most of the day in bed, avoiding people and confrontation, shivering the entire time. I hadn’t been able to warm up since waking on the hood of the car that morning, and my mother’s voice rang in my head.You’re sick. You’re sick. You’re sick.
When I insisted that Gale drive, he peered at me skeptically. When I leaned my head against the window and dozed as he followed Olivia’s car out of the city, I felt the burning heat of his attention on my face more than once. I couldn’t stop shivering and cranked the heat.
“You’re sick.”
My spine stiffened. “No, I’m not.”
We hadn’t had a moment to chat all day. By the time I crawled out of bed, everyone was busy preparing for the run, and Olivia had kept Gale occupied—likely on purpose.
Hugh, Arty, and Becca were everywhere, filming every moment like their lives depended on it. I imagined Charles had ripped them a new one as well, even when they weren’t at fault.
Tempers were raw.
A new dashcam had been installed in my car, and it recorded everything, so we didn’t even have privacy on our drive.
“You don’t look well,” Gale said after a few more miles.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Are you fevered? You’re shivering.” He reached across the console to touch my head, and I swatted his hand.
“Goddammit, I said I’m fine. Lay off. I’m not fucking sick.”
Gale shrank. “I’m sorry.”
I pinched my eyes closed, instantly regretting my reaction and animosity. Taking inventory of all my symptoms, I deduced that I was indeed fevered and probably should have taken Tylenol or something before hitting the road. Yes, I was sick, but Gale didn’t get it. I’d spent a lifetime being told how I felt. It made me inordinately defensive when other people pointed it out, even when he spoke the truth.
