The Weight of Rain (18 page)

I hate that I find that so entrancing. He’s right; people view lost pennies as a sign of good fortune, a chance to right a wrong, karma’s nod of approval.

“Let’s get something to eat. You guys need to warm up,” Kash says.

“That’s alright. I think I’m just going to head home,” I object.

“No way. We’re going to go get a drink after that,” Summer says. I turn to her, another excuse already lined up, and she shakes her head, pursing her lips. “Don’t even try it. Get in the car.”

“I’m going to drive your ride,” Kash says.

“What? It’s not like he broke it! He just fucked up my bumper.”

“Yeah, but if something happened—”

“Don’t feed me that line of bullshit! You just like my truck better than yours.”

There’s a collective laugh as though this has been discussed previously.

“I’ve got my bike in the back. Since it’s raining and I don’t have my top on, we need to get out of here. Where’d you park, Lo?” she asks.

“I rode the bus.”

All of them turn to look at me with a similar look of confusion that dissipates as the rain picks up. “Come on, Lo. You can ride with us,” Parker says.

Kash tosses a small wad of keys across the space that Parker picks out of the air. “Don’t let King drive. He’s got a target on his ass.”

King grumbles an objection but moves to the passenger door.

“Wait!” Kash shouts. He moves to the back of the car and lowers to a knee, looking under the vehicle. “We’re leaking something.”

King changes direction and gets down to look beside Kash. The two confer for a few minutes before Summer lets out a frustrated growl and the three move back over to us with Kash carrying her bike. He deposits it into the bed and then collects his keys from Parker and opens the driver’s door. Summer slides into the passenger seat while Parker gets in the back. I stand on the sidewalk and release a deep breath before stepping past where King is holding the back passenger door open expectantly.

“How in the hell did you guys get here so fast?” Summer asks, turning in her seat to face Kash.

“I was calling to tell you we were coming and you didn’t answer, so I called Lo. She said something about a situation and I heard that bastard yelling,” Kash explains.

“He was a bastard,” Summer says quietly in agreement. “But you should have seen Lo! Seriously! My mind is blown!”

“We saw,” Parker says from beside me. “You were completely chill as you stood there. He was pissed you weren’t intimidated.”

“He was just trying to act tough,” I say dismissively.

“Seriously though, you looked like you were ready to throw down with him.” Summer turns in her seat to face me. “Like you wanted him to try something so you could hit him back.”

A soft laugh breaks through my lips. “I prefer to go into situations like that with a pair of steel-toed boots. I knew this wasn’t going to be anything.”

“What?” she shrieks, giggling as her head falls back. “Don’t tell me you know how to kick a guy’s ass.”

I smile in reply and then voice an honest
no
when they all turn, seeking an answer. “I’ve been known to stare too long when I people-watch. He was slow, in a suit which restricts movement and reactions, and his hands were super soft. There’s no way he works out.” I shrug. “He wasn’t a big threat.”

“You knew that from looking at him for like ten seconds?”

“Some people are easy to read.”

“Have you kicked someone with steel-toed boots before?” Parker’s voice is anxious with anticipation.

“No.” I quietly laugh once more. “That was a joke.”

Parker looks genuinely disappointed by my response and then moves his attention forward and questions Kash about Summer’s truck.

“What’s that?” King’s voice is so soft it takes me by surprise. His index finger brushes against the blue ink staining my skin.

I look up at him, noting too many details in the few seconds of silence shared between us. “His plates.”

King licks the pad of his right thumb and wraps his fingers around my wrist, bringing my arm to the small space between our legs. His thumb rubs across the sensitive area with an obvious intention, but it’s gentle and slow in an attempt to not irritate the area. The friction he creates is warm and distracts me from everything being said and done around us. He rubs until his thumb and my wrist are both dry, the numbers slightly faded. I glance up at him when his thumb hovers over the most prominent of the characters remaining, and his eyelids lower, reflecting a pain that I don’t understand. His thumb settles against my wrist with the slightest pressure. I work to remain casual and unaffected, but I’m sure he knows otherwise. I’m certain he can feel just how much he affects me while my heart thrums under his touch. Voices are light, joking as we go. I can tell based on the tones, but that’s all that registers. I’m obsessing over why King is touching me, and if he would be if the shadows of our legs and night weren’t cloaking so much.

As King opens the rear passenger door, his hand slides from my wrist and his body turns away without glancing back at me. He’s out of the car in a second and slamming the door closed within the next. Why did I let him touch me? Why did I come back here? I already know the answer—it’s because as much as I want to dislike, hate, even loathe King, I can’t, and that’s slowly making me despise myself.

S
EVERAL HOURS
later I’m sitting at my easel, wearing an old tattered sweatshirt and drawing King’s hand holding my wrist, erasing that guy from my skin. Thoughts of his reaction to me for the rest of the night are intermingling with those moments, creating an ugly mixture of shades to be present.

Being ignored by King is nothing new, but it’s beginning to hurt more and more.

“I
DON’T
understand why you’re working so hard to change for some guy you don’t even like.”

My eyebrows crash down as I rear my head back from Kenzie’s verbal slap. It’s a weekend, and for the first time in many weeks, she’s here at the studio, filling the space with unease. I don’t know that many others would consider what I’m doing to be ‘cooking.’ I’m attempting to make a breakfast burrito and I’ve burnt the eggs, so they’re now a rubbery consistency and no longer smell recognizable. “I’m not trying to change anything.”

“You’ve never cooked, so why do you care now?”

I return her stare while considering her words. I care because of Mercedes. Because
he
posed a challenge and I loathe defeat. I’m learning because I can’t eat boxed dinners for the rest of my life. Do I care what King thinks? Maybe. Probably. More than I wish I did.

She raises her eyebrows, recognizing my awareness.

T
ODAY HAS
been one of those days that I wish I could have a free pass to erase and do over again. Nothing has gone as planned. I missed the bus to school. I was sprayed by mostly dirt from a car. Mercedes was in a mood that rivaled my own, bringing out an uglier side of both of us. And Charleigh has stood me up for the second time now to go out with a guy.

I head to the bus stop, avoiding the puddles with my ballet flats that I am hoping will return to their shimmery golden tan color. The rain has been one of my favorite things about Oregon, but today it’s just annoying. The dark clouds in the sky are annoying. The puddles are annoying. The sound of tires splashing through said puddles is even more annoying because it forces me to move to the far side of the narrow road and brush up against the fir tree branches that I swear are reaching for me as they soak my leg from thigh to ankle.

The car stops beside me, and I look over my shoulder to see the tinted window of a silver SUV slide down, revealing King.

“What are you doing out here?”

I look ahead and then back to him as though the answer is obvious.

“Where’s your car?” he demands.

“I don’t have a car.”

“You walk here? Every day?”

“Until they can figure out that whole teleporting idea.”

“Get in.”

“That’s okay. I’m all wet and it’s not that much farther.” I turn to look down the road again and then back to the interior of the SUV, where King is looking at me with rounded eyes.

“Get in the car.” His tone is calm and relaxed like this is merely a friendly suggestion, but the intense look he’s giving me says he’s going to follow alongside me until I get in.

I sigh deeply and reach for the handle of the passenger door. The warmth inside the vehicle makes my damp skin prickle as I slide in, the leather squeaking protests against my wet jeans, bringing King’s attention to my lap.

“You’re soaked.”

“It adds to the conditioning. You know how swimmers go in with all of their clothes on to build resistance? I find this improves my calf workout.”

“Why don’t you ever ask for a ride?” he asks, dismissing my joke.

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s dark and pouring down rain.”

“It’s not that bad,” I lie. “I just have to get to the end of the road, and then the bus stop is a couple of blocks West.”

“How did we not know you don’t have a car?”

I look at King and raise my eyebrows. “Why
would
you?”

“Because you shouldn’t be walking this every night.”

“King, you’re my employer. I’m not going to ask you or Kash to drive me to the bus stop. That would be unprofessional.”

“No, what it would be is smart. And I’m not your employer.” My mouth opens to retort and then I pause, watching him shake his head. “I don’t understand why you’re trying to avoid me. I’m not going to tell anyone about what happened.”

I want to contest both of his points since he works just as valiantly to avoid me, but my mouth opens before my thoughts are done forming. “You already did.”

King’s gaze cuts to me so fast, it makes me nearly lose my focus. His eyes quickly move to each of mine, searching for what all I know. He drops his stare before looking out the windshield as though he’s embarrassed. “I told Summer I met someone, way back in September. I never told her you’re the same person.”

“I know. She figured it out a few weeks ago when we met to discuss the work for the shop.”

King closes his eyes and raises a hand to his face where he pinches the slight bridge in his nose. “Why didn’t one of you tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say? I’m so confused by everything that involves you. Most of the time you act like a dick and completely ignore me. Other times you act like a nice guy. I didn’t even know that night meant anything to you after I didn’t hear from you. Then I found out your name isn’t Bentley, and I was positive it meant nothing to you.”

King drops his hand and opens his eyes to stare at me for several long seconds as the windshield wipers echo in the silence. “Most people around here know who I am. I tell people my name is Bentley because sometimes it’s nice to just hang out and be me.” He squeezes his right fist with his left, creating a symphony of pops. “I lost my phone that night. I had no idea where it went and your name wasn’t in my backups.” He swallows, his hands stretching, reflecting there’s something more. “I asked everyone I knew at that party about you.”

“I only knew my roommate and her friend.”

We stare at one another for too long, each of us weighing thoughts and questions that feel louder than actual conversation. I break eye contact first, moving my gaze to the windshield to watch the rain in order to gain the strength I need to ask the question I’ve been agonizing over for months. I press my lips firmly together and turn back to him. King’s eyes are wide, his mouth set in a grim line like he knows what I’m about to ask. “Did you want to be found?”