We lay on a bared mattress, me too drained to move and JC squirming, restless. Our power knocked out eons ago by the storm, the room just got hotter, muggier, more stifling with each passing moment.

"I can't sleep, Joey."

JC never could sleep during storms. They filled him with a kinetic energy that left him edgy, impossible to be with.

Crossing the room, he opened his laptop, sticking audibly to his leather chair when he sat. Then he just let the words pour out, the only way we knew to let out the matching storm that raged inside him.