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He nods, sagging in relief. “Yeah. They do.”
“They’re relatives of yours?”
He opens his mouth, closes it again. Then his lips twitch. “Ray… The house is mine.”
“Yours?” I squint at him. Yeah, he’s still the guy I saw trimming the hedge, tanned and tattooed, his hair too long and his hands callused from manual work. “You’re kidding me.”
“It was my uncle’s. He left it to me in his will when he died.”
No way. “You’re totally shitting me.”
He says nothing. Silence settles over us, filling the car.
Jesus frigging Christ. He’s not joking.
I push my hair out of my face, twist it at the back of my neck. “Okay, you own the house. Your uncle owned a mansion in Boca Raton. Fine. I believe you.”
He’s observing me. Watching me put the pieces together.
“So he was rich. Like, very rich.”
“Something like that,” Storm says, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“And you think this has to do with the accidents?”
He blinks. “You think someone is trying to kill me to get this house?”
“Man, I’ve known people killed for a cell phone. For that house?” I tsk. “Absolutely.”
He shakes his head, laughs.
“What?”
“I’m telling you my uncle left me a mansion and that’s your first thought?”
I fold my arms over my breasts. “Why, what should have been my first thought? Go on, tell me. I bet you’re dying to.”
“Come on, Ray. I’m rich. I can pay off your dad’s debt. I know that was your first thought.”
“Fuck you.”
He shrugs, his mouth twisting. “It would have been my first thought, too.”
“You’re a bastard.” My heart thumps hard. “I wouldn’t ask this of you. It’s your house.”
“Ray.” His voice is low and flat. “You think a fucking house is more important to me than your life?”
I have no answer to this. Because if my family thinks money is more important than me, why would Storm, perfect Storm whom I barely know, do that for me? I look away, press my forehead to the window.
My anger is gone, pushed aside by sadness. There’s only so much space inside my heart.
“Your life matters,” he whispers, and his voice softens. “You matter. To me.”
I bow my head, my eyes burning. He takes my chin in his hand, turns my face toward him.
“I’d never ask you for this,” I say. “I wouldn’t want you to—”
“Shh.” His thumb caresses my cheek. “I’d give all I have for you. But don’t you see, Ray? Haven’t you connected the dots?”
