True North

Chapter 46

Stormy was dragged reluctantly out of a deep, dreamless sleep by the morning news anchor, his blaring baritone seeming to reverberate off the walls around her. She struggled to sit up, her lower back reminding her of the consequence that comes of too little sleep on not enough support. She yawned fully, her eyelids still fused shut as she stretched her arms up high above her head.

"'Bout time you got your ass up."

Stormy opened her eyes, squinting through the morning sun to find her father sitting across the room in his recliner. She just shook her head and sank back against the cushions, not having the energy for a verbal sparring match today. Combing her fingers through her tousled mane, she noticed that she was still wearing the same clothes from the night before, and then the fog began to clear. She had arrived back here from Brian's house shortly after three a.m., and she had been so exhausted that climbing the stairs to her room had seemed an insurmountable task, so she had collapsed onto the couch instead, and that was the last thing she was aware of until now. A spot on the hem of her dress caught her eye, and as she fingered the stain, Stormy realized it was Brian's blood. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. 7:05. With all the medication he had in him, he would probably sleep most of the morning, or she hoped he would, anyhow. She didn't like to think of him being there alone in his condition, but it would have been weird for her to stay, right? She peeled herself up from the couch and headed for the kitchen to make coffee.

"Cat got your tongue?" he father prodded, standing in the doorway behind her.

"Late night," Stormy said through another yawn, wiping away the smudges of makeup that she instinctively knew were pooled beneath her eyes.

"So I see," Walter said. "Any particular reason why Brian Lozier's truck is blocking the driveway?"

"I borrowed it," Stormy said, scooping coffee grounds into the filter. She started the brew cycle, and then proceeded to fill her father in on the details of the previous evening, minus the part about them being on a 'date'.

"And you left him there alone?" Walter said incredulously when she had finished relating the tale.

"He was sleeping!" Stormy defended. "And it's only been a few hours; he's probably not even awake yet..."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Walter shrugged, and then shook his head ruefully. "Sure hope he didn't have a concussion or something—he could be in a coma by now..."

"He's not in a freaking coma, Dad!" Stormy scoffed, although the wheels in her head had already been set in motion. She removed the urn from the coffee maker and slipped her mug into its place in an attempt to speed up her impending caffeination. "Besides, the doctors would've known if he had a concussion." She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. "Right?"

"Oh, definitely," Walter nodded. "They never miss that kind of stuff." Dramatic pause. "Well...almost never."

Stormy rolled her eyes as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into her now-full mug of coffee. As she turned to get the milk from the fridge, she shot her father a long-suffering glance to show that she wasn't buying his line of bull. He simply arched an eyebrow at her and shrugged, then turned and shuffled back to his morning news program.

Stormy shook her head, smirking to herself as she watched the milk blend into her coffee. She put the carton back and leaned against the counter, sipping the hot liquid in eager anticipation of the caffeine rush that was soon to follow. She knew her father was just messing with her, trying to get a rise out of her, but what if he was right? Brian was fairly certain that he didn't hit his head, but what if he did, and just didn't remember doing it? And aren't you supposed to stay awake for something like twenty-four hours after a head injury to avoid going into a coma? Stormy was certain she had heard that somewhere before, and an uneasiness was building in the pit of her stomach. She gulped down most of her coffee and grabbed a granola bar from the pantry before racing out of the kitchen and up the stairs, in too much of a hurry to hear her father chuckling to himself in the room below.