Exclusive Cut Scene from
Above the Storm
How did Robyn's ex-husband, Kevin meet Raven Crawford the reporter from Blast off!? Here's the scene that didn't make it into the final version of Above the Storm, exclusively for my newsletter subscribers. Enjoy!
Anger seethed trough Kevin Donahue as he shoved the gearshift into park and turned off the car. A fucking alien. What was Robyn thinking? It was bad enough the few times she’d gone on dates with guys from their own planet, but this? Goddammit, this was not okay.
He glared through the windshield at the huge double front doors of the restaurant. It was just pure dumb luck he’d overheard where they were going.
Snodgrass’s. He’d taken her to Snodgrass’s more than once, before she’d left him. Ungrateful bitch.
A shadow flitted over the parking lot and he sidled down lower in the driver’s seat. A moment later, the winged freak landed on the walkway, still cradling Robyn in his arms.
“That’s my goddamn wife, you prick.” His wife in the guy’s arms. His wife laughing as the guy set her gently, feet first, on the walkway. His wife sashaying into the restaurant, arm-in-arm with the guy.
Kevin gave the door handle a hard yank and shoved the door open. He stepped from the car into the mild evening scented by the rose garden surrounding the restaurant. If he could, he’d go inside and beat the alien bastard with a baseball bat. But he had to play it cool, like he’d done with all the other guys she’d dated. Wait until he could get the guy alone, then making it very clear that Robyn was off limits.
But fuck, what he’d give to see what was going on inside the restaurant now. He let his gaze wander over the rose garden. If he walked around the building, maybe he could see them. It was creepy, and risky. But the probability of being caught made his heart thud in his chest.
Without further thought, he stepped onto one of the hard-packed dirt paths, shoving his hands in his pockets as though he was just out for a casual stroll.
Click, click, click.
Was that a camera shutter? He moved along the path.
Click, click.
There it was again, closer. He peered down a different path. Someone—a woman—was standing behind a rose bush, and she was taking pictures. Kevin followed the direction the lens was pointed, straight at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Click, click, click.
Well, fuck me. She’s taking pictures of Robyn and the winged freak.
But why? Robyn wasn’t anyone special…although her date might be, and that kind of information could be useful.
Kevin folded his arms over his chest and cleared his throat. The woman spun around, but the startled deer look faded away fast.
She gave him the once-over. “Okay, Boomer.”
God, the younger generation were a pain in the ass. “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?”
“Looks like you’re a petulant child doing something you’re not supposed to and trying not to get caught.”
“Hey, for an old dude you sure catch on fast.” She turned back and clicked off a couple more shots.
Fucking little girl. Time to change tactics. He moved closer. “Which one are you after? Her?”
“Nah.”
Click, click.
“So, it’s the alien than.”
“That’s right. The off-worlder.”
Yeah, because “alien” was considered insulting somehow. Like they didn’t belong here. Wah, wah, wah. They didn’t belong here.
He glanced down at her camera bag. Black with an embossed white emblem of the globe with a lightning bolt going through it. “You’re with Blast off!?”
The premier gossip rag had launched ten years ago and focused on the who’s who of off-worlders.
The girl glared at him. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is if you want an exclusive.”
“Whaddya mean?”
Kevin gave his head a nod in the direction of the restaurant. “That woman in there, she’s my ex-wife.”
~*~
Raven nearly dropped her camera in the dirt. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Prove it. What’s her name?”
“Robyn Donahue.” He smirked. “She was married to me, Kevin Donahue, for thirty-five years, and we have three kids. Two girls and a boy.”
He wasn’t fuckin’ kidding. She’d done her research on the broad, and what he said matched up. Geez, this could be the break she needed to get her own column in the paper, instead of hiding in the bushes and taking only photo creds for her work.
“Well, your ex-wife seems to be moving up in the galaxy, Mr. Donahue.”
He narrowed his blue eyes. “How so?”
“That alien is one of the four monarchs of Bezchi.”
Donahue’s face turned so red he seemed to be danger of combusting. Good, she’d hooked him, now to reel him in.
She propped her left hand on her shoulder, balancing the camera next to her ear, and reached back with her right and pulled her business card out of her butt pocket. “Raven Crawford. Good to meet you, Mr. Donahue. Blast off! pays its sources well, and I personally will make sure you know exactly where they are together.”
Fwump, fwump, fwump.
The air stirred her hair, and the weight of her camera abruptly disappeared from her shoulder hand. “What the—”
She craned her head back and met the laughing gaze of that black-winged Bezchian hovering over the rose bush. “You again.”
That pain in the ass had been dogging her all day, ever since the aviary.
“Good evening, Ms. Crawford. Or, may I call you Raven, now?”
So, he’d overheard who she was. “You don’t get to call me anything. I want my camera back, you thief.”
“I am sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. “But you know where to find me, and your photographic equipment.”
He flapped his giant black wings and moved backward, over the restaurant’s rose garden until he disappeared into the twilight.
“Bastard.” That was the third time today he’d gotten the drop on her, and it’d be the last. Next time she’d be ready for him. “I hope you fly into a Cessna!”
The bird-man didn’t reappear, of course. No matter how hard she’d tried to goad him, it hadn’t worked. The guy was too cocky and full of himself.
A snort from behind her drew her attention back to Donahue. The old fart was smirking.
He flicked her card toward her and it fluttered to the ground. “Seems like you have a problem, Ms. Crawford.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Doesn’t look that way.”
Her mouth twitched, ready to spew the witty comeback that her brain couldn’t supply.
Donahue turned away.
Dammit, he was leaving. “Hey, where are ya going?”
“Away.”
“But…but…what about our deal? You promised me an exclusive.”
He stopped and turned partway around and shrugged. “Changed my mind. Good night, Ms. Crawford.”
All she could do was stare at his retreating back as her mouth hung open. Shit on a shingle. There went her big scoop, disappearing into the darkness…kinda like her camera.
“Argh.” She bent and picked up her lighter-than-usual camera bag and hung it over her shoulder. That damn black bird wasn’t going to wait around at the aviary’s arch for her all night.
He glared through the windshield at the huge double front doors of the restaurant. It was just pure dumb luck he’d overheard where they were going.
Snodgrass’s. He’d taken her to Snodgrass’s more than once, before she’d left him. Ungrateful bitch.
A shadow flitted over the parking lot and he sidled down lower in the driver’s seat. A moment later, the winged freak landed on the walkway, still cradling Robyn in his arms.
“That’s my goddamn wife, you prick.” His wife in the guy’s arms. His wife laughing as the guy set her gently, feet first, on the walkway. His wife sashaying into the restaurant, arm-in-arm with the guy.
Kevin gave the door handle a hard yank and shoved the door open. He stepped from the car into the mild evening scented by the rose garden surrounding the restaurant. If he could, he’d go inside and beat the alien bastard with a baseball bat. But he had to play it cool, like he’d done with all the other guys she’d dated. Wait until he could get the guy alone, then making it very clear that Robyn was off limits.
But fuck, what he’d give to see what was going on inside the restaurant now. He let his gaze wander over the rose garden. If he walked around the building, maybe he could see them. It was creepy, and risky. But the probability of being caught made his heart thud in his chest.
Without further thought, he stepped onto one of the hard-packed dirt paths, shoving his hands in his pockets as though he was just out for a casual stroll.
Click, click, click.
Was that a camera shutter? He moved along the path.
Click, click.
There it was again, closer. He peered down a different path. Someone—a woman—was standing behind a rose bush, and she was taking pictures. Kevin followed the direction the lens was pointed, straight at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Click, click, click.
Well, fuck me. She’s taking pictures of Robyn and the winged freak.
But why? Robyn wasn’t anyone special…although her date might be, and that kind of information could be useful.
Kevin folded his arms over his chest and cleared his throat. The woman spun around, but the startled deer look faded away fast.
She gave him the once-over. “Okay, Boomer.”
God, the younger generation were a pain in the ass. “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?”
“Looks like you’re a petulant child doing something you’re not supposed to and trying not to get caught.”
“Hey, for an old dude you sure catch on fast.” She turned back and clicked off a couple more shots.
Fucking little girl. Time to change tactics. He moved closer. “Which one are you after? Her?”
“Nah.”
Click, click.
“So, it’s the alien than.”
“That’s right. The off-worlder.”
Yeah, because “alien” was considered insulting somehow. Like they didn’t belong here. Wah, wah, wah. They didn’t belong here.
He glanced down at her camera bag. Black with an embossed white emblem of the globe with a lightning bolt going through it. “You’re with Blast off!?”
The premier gossip rag had launched ten years ago and focused on the who’s who of off-worlders.
The girl glared at him. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is if you want an exclusive.”
“Whaddya mean?”
Kevin gave his head a nod in the direction of the restaurant. “That woman in there, she’s my ex-wife.”
~*~
Raven nearly dropped her camera in the dirt. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Prove it. What’s her name?”
“Robyn Donahue.” He smirked. “She was married to me, Kevin Donahue, for thirty-five years, and we have three kids. Two girls and a boy.”
He wasn’t fuckin’ kidding. She’d done her research on the broad, and what he said matched up. Geez, this could be the break she needed to get her own column in the paper, instead of hiding in the bushes and taking only photo creds for her work.
“Well, your ex-wife seems to be moving up in the galaxy, Mr. Donahue.”
He narrowed his blue eyes. “How so?”
“That alien is one of the four monarchs of Bezchi.”
Donahue’s face turned so red he seemed to be danger of combusting. Good, she’d hooked him, now to reel him in.
She propped her left hand on her shoulder, balancing the camera next to her ear, and reached back with her right and pulled her business card out of her butt pocket. “Raven Crawford. Good to meet you, Mr. Donahue. Blast off! pays its sources well, and I personally will make sure you know exactly where they are together.”
Fwump, fwump, fwump.
The air stirred her hair, and the weight of her camera abruptly disappeared from her shoulder hand. “What the—”
She craned her head back and met the laughing gaze of that black-winged Bezchian hovering over the rose bush. “You again.”
That pain in the ass had been dogging her all day, ever since the aviary.
“Good evening, Ms. Crawford. Or, may I call you Raven, now?”
So, he’d overheard who she was. “You don’t get to call me anything. I want my camera back, you thief.”
“I am sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. “But you know where to find me, and your photographic equipment.”
He flapped his giant black wings and moved backward, over the restaurant’s rose garden until he disappeared into the twilight.
“Bastard.” That was the third time today he’d gotten the drop on her, and it’d be the last. Next time she’d be ready for him. “I hope you fly into a Cessna!”
The bird-man didn’t reappear, of course. No matter how hard she’d tried to goad him, it hadn’t worked. The guy was too cocky and full of himself.
A snort from behind her drew her attention back to Donahue. The old fart was smirking.
He flicked her card toward her and it fluttered to the ground. “Seems like you have a problem, Ms. Crawford.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Doesn’t look that way.”
Her mouth twitched, ready to spew the witty comeback that her brain couldn’t supply.
Donahue turned away.
Dammit, he was leaving. “Hey, where are ya going?”
“Away.”
“But…but…what about our deal? You promised me an exclusive.”
He stopped and turned partway around and shrugged. “Changed my mind. Good night, Ms. Crawford.”
All she could do was stare at his retreating back as her mouth hung open. Shit on a shingle. There went her big scoop, disappearing into the darkness…kinda like her camera.
“Argh.” She bent and picked up her lighter-than-usual camera bag and hung it over her shoulder. That damn black bird wasn’t going to wait around at the aviary’s arch for her all night.