The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(18)

“Tate!”

He blinked up at her, his chin bobbing as if words would come if he only continued to move his mouth.

No, he wasn’t staring at her. He was staring at the rain-wrapped windstorm she stood in the center of.

Foster took a hesitant step toward him. Beneath her feet, the fresh section of cracked, dry earth swallowed the steadily falling rain.

“I think I know what’s happening!” She rushed to Tate, shrouding him in her cloak of rain and wind. Taking his hands in hers, she guided him to his feet.

“I’m glad one of us does.” Tate squinted, looking up at their patch of swirling gray sky.

“Breathe with me,” Foster said, releasing some of her anger with a long exhale.

“I’m always breathing.” Black hair flopped in wet clumps against his forehead as he shook his head. “If not, I’d be dead.”

“Can you, just for a second, try not to be so—” Foster caught herself before releasing another insult.

“Confused? Freaked? Worried? Pissed?” Water slid down Tate’s face like errant tears.

“Douchey,” she corrected.

Tate stiffened, recoiling slightly as if she’d pushed him … again.

“Relax. Don’t be so, I don’t know, squishy. Just listen to me. Now, inhale,” silently, Foster counted to five before instructing them to exhale. The raindrops slowed, turning from dive-bombing water warriors to a gentle, caressing mist. “It’s working!” Excitement lifted Foster to her tiptoes. So far, she was three for three. “Inhale again.”

Tate’s compression top stretched across his broad chest with another slow inhale.

“And exhale.” Foster tilted her chin to the sky. The wind and rain ceased, the sky clearing to its dusky orange glow. “It’s gone.”

“Whoa,” he paused, surveying the dissipating clouds. “That was amazing and we did it. We made it stop.” The corner of Tate’s lip quirked up in a half smile as he squeezed her hands.

Foster nodded her head and, realizing he still held her hands in his, yanked them away and stuffed them into her pockets. “Yep. We sure did.”

“Damn,” Tate groaned. “This means that this—all of this—has something to do with us.”

Foster couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough. “Jesus, god! Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time.”

“Ah, ah, ah. You can’t get mad at me.” He waggled his finger before pointing up at the sky. “’Cause, well, you know what’ll happen.”

With yet another deep inhale, Foster retied her matted, wet hair on top of her head and trudged back to the truck. “By the time this is all over, I’ll deserve some kind of deep-breathing award.”

“Yeah, well, what exactly is all of this?” Tate opened the door and, with a painful groan, slid onto the upholstered bench seat that they’d officially ruined. “I mean, whatever’s going on with us, the rain, the storms, the tornadoes. You have answers, right?”

Foster chewed the inside of her cheek. “Well, kind of. I mean, I have some, but I need help to figure the rest out.”

Tate fished the dry T-shirt out of the bag and wiped his face. “If we figure out how this is happening and stop it from happening to anyone else’s family, I’m in. Totally.”

“Okay,” Foster wrung out the bottom of her shirt one last time before joining him in the cab. “But that means no more freaking out on me or trying to jump out of the car.”

“Truck.” He winked. “Got it. And, hey”—Tate sobered—“I’m really sorry about your mom. I shouldn’t have acted like she wasn’t important to you. And, um, about your other parents and your adoptive dad, too. That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Foster’s chest tightened. “Thanks. And I’m sure you’re sorry about calling me a bitch as well.”

“Actually,” Tate stuck a wad of beef jerky in his mouth and flopped back against the seat. “I still stand by that one.”

Clenching her teeth, Foster took yet another deep inhale. “And Douchehawk strikes again.”





7


EVE


“Let me get this straight. Not one. Not two. But three—three adults—grown men who have the ability to control wind, water, and fire somehow couldn’t manage to control two teenagers? Do I have that right, Eve?”

Holding to calmness and serenity, Eve had hung back when they entered the beach home on Sunset Key, just a short boat ride from the private airport on Key West where their jet lived, always ready to take them to the mainland. She continued to keep her thoughts to herself, as she had on the quick trip from Missouri to the research island. Eve didn’t respond to the question, but remained very still in the shadows watching the man who was the center of her world pace back and forth in front of the three men she called brothers. Just let him talk, Eve prayed silently, hoping her brothers would’ve learned by now. Let him vent his anger and be rid of it—then we can try to reason with him.

“Father, there was more to it than that.”

Mark spoke up immediately, proving to Eve once again that prayers were never answered. There was nobody “up there” listening. The only religion in the room was science, and Doctor Rick Stewart was their only god.