Follow the River (River of Rain Book 1) Read online

  “With all that said, it should come as no surprise that I usually get what I want,” he taunts, removing his mouth from my ear and pulls back to look at me. “And what I want is to not feel like a fucking prick on Thanksgiving while I eat with my family, fully knowing you’re spending it by yourself.”

  He shoves off me, stepping back and starts heading down the stairs.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at four. Don’t make me wait.”

  “I thought I told you I didn’t want your fucking pity invite?” The snarl in my throat is evident as River pushes me aside to let himself in my apartment. “And how the fuck did you find my apartment?”

  It’s exactly three minutes after four and true to his word, River’s here to pick me up and take me to family Thanksgiving.

  Like a fucking date or some shit.

  River slams the door to my apartment behind him, stepping into the entry. “Coach,” he says simply. “And I thought I told you I don’t take no for an answer,” he snaps, taking in the apartment for a brief moment before his glare lands on me. “And that I didn’t want to wait.”

  “I’m not going,” I growl, but that was the wrong move.

  River is on me in an instant, gripping me by the collar of my shirt and practically drags my ass to the door like he pulled me out of class that day.

  “Put your goddamn shoes on and get in my car, Grady.”

  I don’t even attempt to erase the scowl from my face as he throws my shoes at me.

  Well, at least I’m Grady again and not Rain.

  Once we’re in his Range Rover, he pulls out onto the streets of Boulder, heading back in the direction of campus. We pass by familiar sights of the city in silence, my gaze locked out the window on the infamous Flatirons in the distance.

  It must only be ten minutes before we pull into the driveway of a two story craftsman style home in an upper middle class neighborhood. It’s nice, white and slate grey with a large, covered front porch, complete with those signature white columns. Truly, it's nothing ostentatious, but the area of town tells me it must have cost a pretty penny.

  I know River comes from some form of money, seeing as he went to Summit Academy with the Benson twins and Coach Scott’s son. But from the looks of it, he was probably one of the least wealthy kids who went to his prep school.

  Which is saying something, because he drives a fucking Range Rover.

  Grinding my teeth, I yank the door handle and push the car door open with unnecessary force. I round the car and start heading to the door, River hot on my heels.

  He doesn’t knock on the door after we climb the steps, just walks in. The aroma I distinctly recall from the past as the scent of Thanksgiving hits me hard, causing my chest to ache. Before I can stop it, thoughts of the few Thanksgivings with my father prior to when he died come rushing back to me.

  Mom was never a good cook. Honestly, she sucked at it, much like she sucks at life in general these days. But when she and dad were married, it didn’t matter. He could cook well enough for the both of them, so naturally, he made everything for our Thanksgiving dinner every year.

  I remember one year, he woke up at three in the morning to start prepping the turkey for cooking. He had decided to buy the biggest damn turkey I’d ever seen that year. That was the last year he was alive, I was almost eight.

  We played football in the backyard after dinner every year, just the two of us, while Mom sipped a glass of wine on the deck and watched. He’s the reason I grew to love football, though his love for it made no sense because he was from Ireland. But I played for him, even though I was more drawn to art from an extremely young age. I gave it a shot. He was even coaching my peewee team when I caught my very first pass in a game, and from that day on, I loved it too. The way it bonded us.

  When he died in Afghanistan during his deployment, I kept playing.

  It was the only way I continued to feel close to him.

  Grief catches in my throat and I do the best to shake the thoughts away as we enter the kitchen after passing through the foyer and then the living area.

  I find a tall, thin blonde woman, maybe about fifty, in the kitchen, looking like the typical Stepford housewife, complete with frilly dress, hair dolled up, and…heels.

  In her own house.

  “Mom,” River says behind me, sliding past to catch her in a hug as she floats around the kitchen with ease. She pauses with a pan of rolls in her hand, startled, before spinning around with a huge grin on her face.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she exclaims, setting the pan on the island before wrapping her slender arms around River’s neck. She plants a kiss on his cheek and something like…jealousy floods through my veins.

  I know I shouldn’t feel it. Of course his mother adores him. Any sane mother loves and dotes on their child. Even when they mess up.

  But my mother was never like this, warm and affectionate, not after my father died. The day two men in military uniforms came to our front door to tell us my father had been killed in action, it was almost as if both my parents died.

  Little did I know the death of my father would be the turning point in my life entirely.

  “And who is this?” River’s mom says, snapping me from my thoughts. She gives me a warm smile as she releases River.

  “Yeah, uh,” River rubs the back of his neck, clearly anxious. “Mom this is Rain. Rain, this is my mom, Kathleen.”

  “Hi, Rain. It’s so nice to meet you. River didn’t tell me he was bringing someone home for Thanksgiving.” She glances over her shoulder at River and I try not to wince at the phrase home for Thanksgiving like it holds some sort of romantic connotation. She gives me another smile before stepping into my space and wrapping her arms around me in a similar fashion she did with her son.

  And my heart fucking clenches, knowing it’s anything but normal to hug a complete stranger and somehow finding yourself feeling at home in their arms.

  But I’m also livid. Because he didn’t even tell them I was coming today.

  “It’s actually Ciaráin, ma’am. But it wasn’t exactly planned for me to be here until last night, so I’m sorry to have caught you by surprise.”

  “Oh, nonsense, Ciaráin. You’re more than welcome. We have plenty of food to go around.” She releases me and turns back to place the rolls in the oven. “Dinner will be ready in less than ten, so you’re welcome to head into the dining room and grab a seat.” Glancing up at River, she nods over to the counter. “Can you set another place for your friend, sweetie? And call up to Willow and let her know it’s almost time to eat? Your father should be arriving shortly so it’s best we’re all ready to go when he gets here.”

  “Sure, Mom,” River smiles, seemingly forced, and kisses her on the cheek before grabbing a plate and utensils from the cabinets and heads across the hall into a formal dining room. I follow behind closely, taking my place at the seat he just set out and glance up at him.

  “What the fuck, River? You didn’t tell her I was coming for Thanksgiving dinner? Are you nuts?” I grind through my teeth, my blood boiling.

  He glares down at me, fire in his eyes and I’m honestly a little surprised. “Don’t fuck with me right now. I didn’t have the chance to tell her, and to be frank, it is better this way.” The sound of the door opening from the front of the house signals that his father must be home. I watch as a vein in River’s forehead makes an appearance before he grips the back of my chair and the one next to it, leaning down into my personal space. “Just do us both a favor by sitting here and looking pretty, okay? I’m sure that should be easy enough for you.”

  “I’m not going to pretend to be your boyfriend at your fucking family Thanksgiving.” I practically spit the words at him, I’m so pissed.

  Who the fuck does he think he is right now?

  “Believe me, Rain. The last thing I fucking want is my family thinking you are my boyfriend.” His growled words sting a helluva lot more than they should as he stands back up and heads out of the dining room, pro
bably to greet his father or call for his sister per his mother’s request.

  Fuck him.

  I didn’t want to come here, he forced me into it. And now he’s going to act like that? Make me sit here and act like some piece of eye candy during his family dinner to look like a goddamn saint for bringing in a stray? So I can sit here and let their perfect little family life eat me alive on the inside because I haven’t had or seen one in years?

  Yeah, fuck that.

  Fuck. Him.

  I’m halfway out of my seat when River walks in, a dark blonde girl behind him, probably a couple years younger than us, followed by a man who is clearly River’s father. Both River and his sister, Willow I think, look like carbon copies of their parents mashed together.

  His father’s eyes, a dark shade of green, latch onto me the moment he enters the room and I instantly still. He’s locked me in place, in an awkward half squat, as his gaze takes me in, a fucking stranger, at his dining room table.

  God, this was a terrible idea.

  Clearing my throat, I continue to get up and extend my hand to the man, hoping the fervor behind his stare lessens once I introduce myself. “Hi, sir. My name is—”

  “Ciaráin Grady. Yes, I know.”

  What the fuck? Is River talking about me to his family?

  It’s official. I’m going to kill him.

  River’s father finally gives me a wry grin and grasps my hand. “Roland Lennox. And don’t look too shocked, son. You were the talk of the town when you transferred out here from Clemson. Plus, you’ve backed it up with one hell of a season, if I might add. If I understand correctly, you’ve got to be close to, what, eighteen hundred receiving yards this season?” He releases me and motions to the table, so I return to my seat, River sitting to my left and his father at the head of the table on my right.

  “Uh, yeah, actually,” I swallow, feeling slightly less distressed with the football talk. “Riv has been throwing me some bombs. I’m really impressed with how well we’ve, uh, synced in such a short time,” I admit, and it’s not false. Eighteen hundred receiving yards puts me in the top ten of all time for a single college season, and we still have a couple games left. I’ve never had a season like this in my life, even with the QB at Clemson who I went to bowl games with the last two years.

  River and I just…connect. On the field, that is. No other way to describe it, honestly. There are times I feel like there’s a line linking our hands. One the ball has no choice but to follow.

  It’s magnetic.

  His father, rather than smile and relax with my praise of his son, stiffens and flashes a glance between us. Giving us a tight smile, he nods. “Yes, well that’s all we can hope for to get us a National Championship this year.”

  Just then, Kathleen enters the dining room carrying the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen as River’s sister sits across from me.

  They’re both pretty, I suppose. If you’re into the typical perfect woman who goes to church on Sundays and gives you two point five perfect kids in your perfect house in the suburbs.

  But that shit doesn’t interest me, and neither do they.

  Unfortunately for me, I usually tend to attract those girls regularly. I blame the tattoos and the I don’t give a fuck attitude radiating off me in spades.

  “Hi there,” the sister pipes up from across the table with a small wave. “Daddy said your name is Ciaráin? I’m Willow, River’s younger sister. So glad for you to join us.” She says the greeting with an overly sugar sweet voice, but the way she looks me up and down, pausing on my chest and arms, tells me this “good girl” definitely has a bad side.

  Not fucking interested, sweetheart.

  River’s mom finishes bringing in the rest of the meal, and once Roland cuts the turkey we begin digging in. The food and the conversation, while still a little awkward, isn’t terrible. Kathleen and Willow chatter on about her cheerleading bullshit while Roland and I continue to talk a bit of football, River sprinkling in a few words but, strangely enough, otherwise keeping quiet.

  The guy never seems to shut the fuck up any other time I’m around him, but it’s as if he’s a completely different person around his family.

  Briefly, I find myself wondering if they know he’s out. I highly doubt it, since I’m not so sure it fits into this perfect little family persona they have going on. But then again, people often surprise you.

  They also never fail to disappoint.

  And the way I notice Roland throwing subtle jabs at River and the way he keeps glancing between us and taking large sips of his drink, like he’s expecting us to jump each other at the fucking dinner table, makes me think the latter.

  I catch an undercurrent of animosity towards his son, the golden boy, and it’s most definitely the latter.

  As dinner winds into dessert, Roland is on his third drink, and by the looks of it, definitely starting to catch a buzz. I’m in the midst of a bite of the best pumpkin pie I’ve ever eaten in my life, sans whip cream because that shit is nasty, when Roland lets out a gruff laugh and walks to the liquor cabinet at the other side of the room and pours more amber liquid into his tumbler from the decanter.

  “Are we going to pussyfoot around the elephant in the room?” Roland asks the table once he is seated again. I glance over at River to my left, seeing his shoulders go rigid and his knuckled blanche around the fork in his hand.

  But my attention moves back to this cocksucker who clearly has an issue with my presence at his fucking precious Thanksgiving dinner. The entire dinner, the football talk, the kind words, was a goddamn front. Not unlike my stepfather used whenever we had guests to hide the true emotion he held for me.

  Fuck. I knew I should have refused to come today.

  “I’m sorry, sir—” I manage through gritted teeth.

  Roland cuts me off, aiming a glare at River. “You couldn’t go one day in your miserable fucking life without parading around your boyfriend in front of us, could you?” The word boyfriend leaves his mouth like an insult and my blood begins to boil. “You had to take a holiday meant for family and turn it into…this.”

  My stomach clenches, fists curling so my nails dig into the palms of my hands as I seethe.

  This douchebag.

  “You’re a fucking disgrace to this family and it’s values. It’s disgusting, this lifestyle you’re choosing to lead. You’re disgusting,” his father spits, venom and ice dripping from his voice. Roland swirls his tumbler, filled with maybe two fingers of what looks like whiskey before swallowing it down in two gulps, hissing through his teeth at the burn.

  I’m on my feet before I even know what’s happening, my chair scraping loudly against the hardwood of the dining room floor. My eyes flash to River, who is gaping at me in what seems like pure fucking terror. The blues of his eyes are looking at me like they want to drown me and use me as a life preserver all at once and for some reason, the only thing I want is to drag him from the toxic storm about to hit his home.

  My attention snaps away from him, zeroing in on the piece of garbage spewing some ridiculously vile shit to someone who is his fucking family.

  “Where do you get off?” I say, getting into Roland’s face as he rises to his feet again, albeit a little unsteadily. “That is your fucking son you are speaking to. Your son, who is one helluva human being, I might add. He invited me to dinner tonight—no he fucking forced me to come—when he found out I was spending the holiday alone.” I glance over my shoulder at River, but he’s staring at the table. My heart seizes in my chest for him.

  Whipping my head back to his father, I start in again. “Not that it is any of your concern, but you’re completely off base. I’m not interested in cock and honestly, River and I aren’t even friends, let alone anything more than that. Yet he still took me in like the fucking stray I am because he is a good person. Which is a fuckton more than I can say for you.”

  Fury ignites behind his eyes as they darken and squint into slits, narrowing in and analyzing my defense o
f his son. Roland goes to open his mouth and I smell the liquor on his breath, I’m that close to him.

  I don’t let him get a word out before my fist connects with his jaw and Roland flies to the ground, not expecting the punch.

  “River deserves so much more than the likes of you for a father,” I growl down at him before turning and heading for the front door.

  The cool Colorado air slides over me, instantly making me regret not bringing anything more than the hoodie I’m wearing. It’s already after dusk, being late November, and I look around the lamp lit street before heading in the direction of campus.

  Once I’m a block away and out of sight of the Lennox house, I pull out my phone and begin to order an Uber. I’m not a far walk from my apartment, but I’m not about to do it in the dark while it’s freezing.

  Just as I’m about to order the Uber, River pulls up in his Range Rover and rolls down the window.

  “Get in,” is all he says.

  I let out a frustrated sigh before pocketing my phone and conceding to his request by climbing into the car. He looks at me for a moment in the dim lighting of the dash before pulling back onto the road, every so often tossing glances down at my hand. It’s fine, not broken, just going to be sore in the morning.

  If anything, I’m more concerned about having to explain the swelling to Coach Scott tomorrow.

  “It’s fine, River,” I sigh when I catch him looking at it for the millionth fucking time when we’re stopped at a red light.

  He nods slowly, glancing back at the traffic light. I will the damn thing to change, so I can be home and forget this entire day.

  After the longest and quietest car ride of my entire life, even more awkward than the one to dinner, we arrive outside my apartment building. Despite wanting to be inside, I feel bad for the guy and the chaos that ensued at his expense with his family.

  “I’m sorry for decking your father,” I mumble, still staring out the windshield. “I mean, I’m not sorry I did it. The guy is a fucking douche. But I’m sorry if it causes any problems for you. That wasn’t my intention.”