"But you rolled in with your hair in the wind

Baby without warning.

I was doin' alright but just your sight

Had me stormin'"

"Hurricane"- Luke Combs

Six years and seven months.

That's how long it'd been since he'd last spoken to Clarice the summer after high school. Since the day he told her he was enlisting and their screaming match had dissolved into tears as she'd confessed that she couldn't be with him. That she couldn't live with the constant worry and fear that he would die and leave her alone ("I've had enough fear to last a lifetime").

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying goodbye."

The words had hurt, but he'd understood… because he remembered the toll this life had taken on his own mother, the day she'd collapsed with a choked sob still vivid despite the fact he'd only been eight when his father had died. John bore the pain of her leaving like he did everything else. Even if it killed a part of him.

So he'd let her go and buried the heartbreak in the deserts of Afghanistan in the years that followed, focusing on mission after mission. He shoved everything down. Compartmentalized because it was better than the alternative.

Then an IED had ended his military career, leaving him with a body covered in scars and a mind in ruins. Everything that had been shoved down for years had overflown. The pain in his chest had been a raw nerve, as fresh as the day she'd looked at him with tears shining in her eyes. It had sent him spiraling.

The year after that had been a blur of days spent in physical therapy and psychiatrists' offices and nights spent screaming at Lorna and Marcos to leave him the hell alone, that they didn't know anything. Nights where popping pills and picking fights were better than facing the demons in his head or being forced to acknowledge the gaping hole in his chest…

Lorna and Marcos had gotten him through it all somehow, dragging him kicking and screaming into sobriety. Neither had flinched at the cruel words he'd flung at them, at the weak points he'd jabbed over and over again because if he had to suffer then so did they.

He was glad Clarice had left him before she ever saw that side of him.

John wasn't sure he wouldn't have been able to live if he'd turned that anger on her because, despite the fact that she'd left him, he only felt sadness and longing when he thought about her. He knew her leaving him was painful for them both and saw no need to kick her while she was down because he didn't blame her for anything that had happened.

They'd both built their walls.

It wasn't her fault his had crumbled.

"Why so serious, brother?"

He blinked, pulled from his thoughts as Marcos leaned against the wall.

His friend eyed him with clear concern.

"It's nothing, Marcos." He walked around the pool table until he found a doable shot and leaned down to line up the angle. John smirked, "Just thinking about how I'm going to kick your ass two games in a row."

Marcos laughed, "Oh really?"

"Really. Ten to the right corner pocket." He struck the cue ball, grinning as the striped ball sunk into the named pocket. He found another shot easily, once again leaning down, "Fifteen to the center pocket."

"Eight ball to the left corner pocket."

Thunk.

Marcos let out a colorful string of Spanish.

John chuckled, "You're such a sore loser."

"Keep laughing, Proudstar. See how much you like losing when it's Lorna's turn to play you."

"Where is your fiancé anyways?" he finished off the rest of his water, fishing quarters out of his pockets and pushing them into the designated slots to ready another game. "Aren't you two attached at the hip or something?"

"She's just at the bar."

"Still?" He set the triangle on the table, setting the balls in and rolling it back and forth without looking up. Straightening, he set the triangle down next to his empty glass and turned to smile at his friend, "And you're not with her?"

Marcos just shook his head. "She's perfectly capable of getting us drinks."

"Best three out of five then? I'll go easy on you this time."

He finished off his beer, "No you won't."

"C'mon." John handed him his cue stick, "You can even break."

"You know, you're a horrible liar."

"You're hiding something from me, John."

He looked down at the woman lying across his chest, brushing damp hair away from her flushed face with a small smile as he let his fingers linger on the inked vines and lilies that started behind her ear and crawled down her throat. "About what?"

"There's something you're not telling me."

"What makes you think I'm hiding something from you?"

She propped herself up, drawing him into a long, languid kiss, almost grinning as he chased her mouth. "I know how much you hate lying and that you would rather stay silent than say anything untrue. So tell me, John…" Clarice brushed her thumb over his lips with an almost sad expression, like she knew whatever he told her was going to hurt, "What is it?"

John shook the memory aside, smiling at Marcos, "So I've been told."

Marcos just laughed, "Ah, what the hell?"

The game hadn't started out too badly in his friend's favor, Marcos putting four balls into the pockets before John had put in even one. It was not for lack of trying, though. His friend had managed a couple of lucky shots that had seemed to surprise even him (to John's amusement) all the while blocking John.

John had just leaned over to line up another shot when he heard Lorna's voice.

"Such focus." She teased, setting down their drinks, "Is he beating you?"

"Five to the left corner pocket." He smiled as it dropped in, "Not for long."

"And he calls me a sore loser," Marcos muttered.

"I haven't lost yet. Seven to the center pocket." He eyed the table, lining up the shot, and frowned as the ball stopped just short of the pocket. "Damn."

Lorna chuckled, "Would you like some help?"

"I'm good, thanks." He opened the can of Sprite, "How was the bar?"

She drank her own beer, "Visiting the bar alone is always a pleasure."

John smiled. "At least you didn't punch anyone this time."

Marcos snorted.

"That jackass grabbed me after I specifically told him to not to." She shrugged, leaning back against the pool table, her rings clanking against the long neck of the bottle. "He's lucky I didn't have my knives…or either of you."

John and Marcos glanced at each other, before saying in unison, "Fair enough."

"Now are you going keep playing or…?"

"John?"

He went rigid for a split second, a million different memories washing over him at once and he turned to find Clarice Fong standing with a glass of amber liquid in her hand and a slightly shocked expression. "Clarice?"

Lorna smirked, "You two know each other?"

John opened his mouth, but it was like her very presence sucked all oxygen from his lungs and trapped all the words in his throat. He felt like he was back in high school again like no time had passed, and it was frustrating as hell.

Clarice was the first one to recover, "Yeah, we uh…we dated in high school."

Marcos was looking at him now with a thoughtful expression.

John knew the two were owed an explanation, as he'd known them for nearly five years and had never mentioned Clarice. Early on, just the thought of bringing her up had hurt too much and he didn't want his broken heart coloring their view of her and by the time he finally felt comfortable enough to talk, too much time had gone by…

Lorna's smile widened as she glanced at John, "Really?"

Clarice's cheeks darkened, but she had never been one to let new people see her sweat. She ran a hand through her hair, now a light shade of lavender instead of a deep violet, and smiled as she held out a hand. "Well, as John so eloquently put it, I'm Clarice."

Lorna took her hand, "Lorna. This is my fiancé, Marcos."

He drank his Sprite, wishing for something a lot stronger but he knew any move to the bar would not end well. If Lorna didn't flat out tackle him first, the reasons he remained sober would definitely do it. Maybe the gym was still open…

He set down the can, tightening his grip on the cue stick as he tried to focus on the smooth wood in his hands or the game of pool that he was currently losing… or really anything other than the woman who'd come crashing back into his life like a desert thunderstorm. Appearing suddenly and without warning.

But gods, he'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was, even dressed casually in ripped skinny jeans and fitted black V-neck tee with matching ankle boots. The outfit accentuated her curves and his fingers itched to follow every line, see if her skin was still as soft as it had been all those years ago-

Marcos nudged his shoulder, forcing his eyes away before Clarice noticed.

John clenched his jaw.

"Is there a reason you didn't tell us or…"

He turned away, facing the pool table. "Our break-up was mutual but…painful. I had just enlisted and she just…couldn't be a relationship with someone who could leave her alone and die in a war a world away."

Marcos hummed. "You still love her."

John said nothing, staring intently at the cue balls and trying to formulate a shot but all he could focus on was the fact that she was here now. His stomach clenched as her laughter rang out and he knew if he turned, she'd be wearing that breathtaking smile.

If he kissed her, would she still taste the same?

"Wanna keep playing? Focus on something else?"

Don't know how well it's going to work. He managed a small smile. "Sure."

Marcos motioned to the table, "Your turn."

The game went about as well as expected, John only getting three of his balls in before Marcos sank the eight ball and he waved off another game. He was struggling enough not to look over his shoulder every time she spoke…any game would go exactly the same.

"Hey babe, wanna go a round?"

"Sounds fun." Lorna looked at John then at Clarice before taking another drink of her beer with a grin that was not at all subtle. She leaned in as she grabbed his cue stick. "If it helps you at all, that girl has been undressing you all night."

He nearly groaned, face darkening. "Lorna…"

"Go get her, soldier."

Clarice watched their exchange with a raised brow and crooked smile, her lavender hair and vibrant green eyes splashes of color in the dimly light bar. "I was wondering when you were finally going to stop ignoring me."

"I could never ignore you, shiyá'ái háyáá." The endearment slipped out, pulled from deep in his self-conscious and he just barely stopped himself from reaching up to brush her hair back, still the color of an Arizona sunrise…he curled his hand into a fist at his side.

They weren't in high school anymore, he had to remind himself. This wasn't a whispered late night conversation under the sheets with slow kisses and even slower hands. They weren't together anymore…hadn't been for almost seven years. Surely, he'd lost the right to call her anything more than her name the moment they'd split…

She laughed, "Really? Even though I changed the color?"

Something akin to hope rose up in him at the observation that she hadn't been upset by his words or even embarrassed. She was teasing him like no time had passed, smiling that crooked smile with that spark of wildness in her eyes that had first drawn him to her all those years ago, like a mischievous spirit urging him to let go of whatever kept him grounded.

The freedom that he'd found with her was something he could never replicate and he wanted so much to be swept back into her orbit. His body, so beaten and broken and heavy with all it had endured, craved that release, that weightlessness that came when she was in his arms…

He smiled instead, reaching for his drink, "Yes, even though you changed the color."

She hummed, glancing at Lorna and Marcos before looking into her glass for a long moment then back up at him. Clarice sipped the amber liquid before she pursed her lips and asked, "So, John…how have you been?"

His smile slipped for a moment before Lorna laughed as Marcos whispered something in her ear and she jabbed him in the stomach. "It's…the last couple of years have been rough, but those two got me through it."

Clarice nodded, her fingers finding one of his (many) scars and following the pale line that curled around his left forearm. Her expression was unreadable, but for a moment, her eyes seemed to harden…

He pulled his arm back, trying to shift her attention onto something else for both their sakes. His skin tingled from her touch and he hoped she didn't notice how he was straining himself in an effort not to pull her back, "What about you?"

She blinked, not looking too hurt by his abrupt movement and the distance he'd put between them. "I'm uh…I'm working on my Master's Degree in Social Work right now. Once I finish, I'll be able to apply for a license."

"A social worker." He smiled, "It suits you."

She shrugged, her cheeks pink, "I'm not one yet."

"You'll get there." He finished his Sprite, setting the can aside, "I know it."

She drained her drink, "Still so blindly optimistic, huh?"

"It's not blind." He held her gaze, "I know you'll get whatever you set your mind to."

Clarice looked over at Lorna and Marcos, the latter with his arms wrapped around Lorna from behind and kissing her on the cheek, and the teasing air seemed to melt into something he hadn't seen from her until that fateful day: uncertainty.

He forced his own (similar) feelings down and waited for her to speak.

She turned to him and took his hand in hers, slender fingers sliding between his. "And if I said I still wanted you, what would you say then? Would I still get what I want?" Clarice ran her gaze over his face, trying to find…something, "Or would you turn me away as I did to you that summer."

John frowned, "You didn't turn me away, Clarice."

"Didn't I?" She looked down at their hands, "I knew how much being a soldier meant to you back then, knew how much you wanted to protect others and I…I punished you for it. I left you alone to go fight in a war and then never talked to you again." Green eyes filled with tears, "You got hurt. You could've died and I wasn't there for you. I abandoned you."

He shook his head, "I let you go, Clarice."

"And that makes it okay?"

John smiled, reaching up to cup her jaw, and his heart skipped a beat as she leaned into it without hesitation, "I could've tried to make you stay, but I knew that if I tried to force you when you clearly felt trapped, it would poison our relationship and turn it into something it was never supposed to be."

She sucked in a sharp breath, "John…"

His thumb brushed over her cheek, "Leave the past in the past, shiyá'ái háyáá."

"Does that include you?"

"Only if you want it to."

That mischievous spark was back in her eyes as she glanced over at Marcos and Lorna engulfed in their game before turning back to him. She tugged at his hand with a cheeky grin, pulling him to her with no resistance, "Then I don't want to."

He stopped, her lips were hairsbreadths away from his. She was right there, right in front of him with those eyes and that smile and he suddenly felt like a teenager all over again, fighting the urge to let go of the last threads of his self-control and damn propriety.

So he did.

She tasted of tequila and something sweet, something so irrevocably her. Her hands slid up his neck and into his hair, nails raking along his scalp while his arm wrapped around her waist. She smiled at the small groan that slipped out, teeth catching his bottom lip.

He replied as soon as he could catch his breath, "My place."

She grinned, "Your place it is."

He didn't remember anything of the trip back to his apartment complex, but he knew he would never forget the feel of her skin under his hands and the sound of her laugh as they stumbled down the hallway and into bed.

All the years faded away as clothing was shed, Clarice's hands mapping every new scar with her hands and her mouth with his fingers sliding through her hair and he watched as the lamplight flooding in from the street turned her hair silver.

She pushed him back onto the mattress with a wicked smile as she climbed atop him, hands following every dip and swell as they moved up his chest and all coherent thought fled as he sank into her body, English completely failing him as she began to move.

He'd almost thought the whole thing a dream when he woke the next morning to an empty bed and he'd almost cursed himself for being so stupid…that is until she walked in wearing nothing but his shirt and holding a mug of black coffee. "Beautiful."

"English!" She grinned, handing the mug, "I thought I'd broken you for sure."

He set it on the bedside table, pulling her down on the bed.

She let out a squeal of laughter that was only silenced as he kissed her.

"Good morning, shiyá'ái háyáá." He said as he brushed back her hair, lips moving along her jaw and following the vines down her neck and he smiled as her breath caught. One hand slid up her thigh and under his shirt while the other followed the curve of her spine…

She gasped as he nipped at her pulse, hands gliding up her sides as he pushed up the shirt to expose all that beautiful golden skin to his eyes, pulling her back down onto him as he threw the shirt aside.

And for the first time since that summer day so many years ago, he finally felt whole.

Free.

Happy.