"So, when and where do you want to meet?" I ask Frank, our contact.

Nate and I sit opposite of him at a picnic table in the park. The park is an ideal place to meet with clients. It's public (so there's less of a chance we'll be shot) and private (no one's really nosey). We are discussing our next job. Well, Frank and I are. Nate keeps glancing up at the grey sky distractedly. Thunder rolls in the distance and he taps my shoulder. "Sully, can we go inside? I think it's gonna rain."

"No, I think we have some time until that happens. The thunder sounded far off," I respond, then I turn to Frank. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Yeah, how 'bout-" Frank starts, but is quickly interrupted.

"Sully, please?" Nate asks.

I sigh. "I'm sorry, Frank, just give us a moment." He smiles and nods, amused. "No, Nate. We're staying here."

"But-"

"No means no."

"But if you'd just-"

"Nate!" He closes his mouth. "I said no."

He looks up at the sky nervously. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I've-I've gotta go." Nate springs to his feet and takes off running.

"Nate. Nate!" I call after him. He doesn't stop and continues to head towards the car. I groan and get up. "Sorry, Frank, he's, uh... I've got to go... You know-"

"Go get your boy. We'll talk later," Frank says. "I've got a son of my own at home. I understand."

"Thanks, Frank." I sprint down the path past a woman roller skating with her dog and a few children playing frisbee. Nate's just ahead of me. He's fast, but I have longer legs, so I catch up quickly. He gets delayed when he waits for cars to pass so he can cross the street. I grab his arm before he can get away. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where do you think you're going, little man?"

"What do you care?" he says. His voice sounds gruff like he means it, but, once again, his eyes give him away. They're wide with fear.

"Don't talk to me like that, kid. You're already living on the edge after the crap you just pulled."

"You can't tell me what to do. You're not my father!"

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're right. I'm not your father. But you're living under my roof, so you've got to follow my rules. 'Kay?" He looks at the ground. I've only lived with him for a few months, but I already know that's a tell for when he's trying to cover something up. "Just tell me what's wrong, Nate."

"Can we have this conversation in the car?" He's visibly getting paler.

"Not until you tell me what's up." Nate scratches the back of his head, but keeps his lips firmly pressed together. I sigh and look at my watch. "It's not gonna work, kid. I can tell you right now, you're not going to out-wait me."

Nate looks at the grey clouds and bites his bottom lip. I've never seen him so worked up before. Finally, he says, "I'm afraid of thunderstorms, okay?"

That was not the answer I was expecting. I guess this showed on my face, because he turns away and tries to run off again. I catch him before he can get too far. I keep a tight hold on his arm this time. "I knew this would happen if I told you," he groans.

"What would happen?"

"You're judging me."

"No, I'm not. It's just... a little surprising is all. I've never met someone afraid of storms before."

"Oh, so now I'm a freak?"

"Come on, Nate, give me a break. I'm trying to-" Thunder cracks above us and Nate flinches hard. "You know what? Let's get to the car. We'll finish the conversation there." He nods his head vigorously. "Okay, let's go, kid."

I take his hand and we run across the street into the car. Nate's shaking in his seat. It's obvious this isn't the sort of fear that comes naturally. Someone caused this. "Can we go home?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, of course."

It doesn't start raining until we get into the apartment. "Perfect timing," I say, smiling at Nate. He gives me a small smile, but it falls quickly.

While he bundles himself up in a blanket on the couch, I make hot chocolate for him and coffee for myself. "Thanks, Sully," Nate says, taking the mug from me.

"So, I thought you liked the rain," I say, sitting next to him.

"It's not the rain I'm afraid of, it's the thunder."

"How come I've never seen you like this during a storm?"

"They've only been at night so far. I usually hide under the blankets. It muffles the sound."

"Ah, I see." I wait for him to finish his sip of hot chocolate. "Why are you afraid?"

Nate clears his throat and shifts in his seat. "I'd rather not talk about that."

"Why not?"

"I just don't, okay?"

Another thing I've learned about Nate is not to press him for information he doesn't want to give. He gets all defensive and it just pushes him away. He has to want to tell me. Nate is a force of nature. You can't make him to do anything. He's too goddamn stubborn.

"Alright, alright. You don't need to tell me anything. It's your history. You have the right to tell or not tell, but we need to fix this storm thing, don't we?" He shrugs. "Okay, every time there's a storm, we're going to hang out. We're gonna associate thunderstorms with good memories. Sound like a plan?"

"Sure," Nate says quietly. He looks ashamed of himself.

"Kid, it's okay to be afraid. Everyone's scared of something."

"So what are you afraid of?"

"Uh, rollercoasters."

For the first time since the storm began, Nate actually smiles. "Really? Rollercoasters?"

"Yeah. It's just not natural to be flung around like that."

"I've never been on one before."

"Maybe I'll take you some time." He nods, but then shudders when thunder booms outside. He glances up at me apologetically. I rub his back soothingly. "It's okay, Nate."

He scoots closer to me, careful not to spill his drink. "I know."

I smile down at him, then grab the remote and turn on the TV. I flip through the channels, but nothing catches our interest. "There's never anything good on. How 'bout a movie?"

"Yeah."

I walk over to the bookshelf where my large collection of movies is housed. "The Godfather?"

"Nah, we just saw it."

"Okay, what about... Oh, you're gonna love this one, Nate. Around the World in Eighty Days."

"What's it about?"

"It's in the title, kid. They go around the world in eighty days."

"Okay, let's-" Thunder rattles the windows and Nate's hands clench into fists. He takes a shaky breath then continues, "Let's watch that one."

I nod reassuringly, then I lean back and hit play. This way I have a discreet view of Nate. Showing any kind of concern for his well being usually turns him into your average, moody teenager. Let's hope my "therapy" doesn't drive him away for good. The damn kid's already gotten under my skin.