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

  “We need to finish this up,” I point out, stepping from his hold quickly before he manages to suck me back into his orbit.

  I’m not quick enough though, because he drags my mouth to his for a final, chaste kiss before allowing me to step away. “Fine, but only if you turn this shit music off until after I get to fuck you.”

  I’m pleased to announce, after decorating the tree and then the hottest sixty-nining session of my life, followed by being bent over and officially learning what the term pillow biter means, I have managed to de-grinchify Rain.

  Okay, well not completely, but I’m going to take credit where it is due here and just be grateful he’s no longer bitching about the Christmas music or the decorations or generally anything pertaining to my favorite holiday.

  Glancing up from the pan of this cheeseburger casserole Rain wanted to try, I spot him coming down the hall with an oversize envelope in hand, slightly larger than a four by six photograph.

  Setting down the glass dish on a potholder and slipping off the oven mitt, I nod to the envelope. “What’s that?”

  Rain shifts on his feet before setting it on the stone island counter, biting his lip. He stares at it for a good minute like it’s a damn bomb about to detonate, completely ignoring my question.

  “I, uh…” he starts, clearing his throat. Twice. His whiskey eyes raise to meet mine and he sighs. “Look, Riv. I…fuck.” The curse comes out in a harsh bite before his hands fly to his hair, tugging at the strands before he takes a seat at one of the bar stools. Hands slipping from his hair to cover his face, he shakes his head.

  What the hell…?

  I start to move over to him, but I barely take a single step before Rain holds up one of his hands.

  “Please don’t touch me right now. I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

  But he looks anything but fucking fine. His skin is more pale than a ginger who has never seen sunlight and he looks like he might legitimately toss his lunch right here on the kitchen floor.

  Even still, I don’t move a muscle. Hell, I don’t fucking dare to breathe.

  Because if I’ve learned anything about Ciaráin Grady in the past few months, it’s in moments like this, if you push his buttons, you’re in for the fight of a lifetime.

  And his wrath is not the kind you want to be at the receiving end of.

  That doesn’t mean I’m not practically dying to ask him what’s wrong. I need to pull his head from his hands and look into those eyes that entrap my every waking thought to figure out what’s wrong.

  How I can make it better.

  Instead, I wait. Biting the inside of my cheek so hard blood coats my tongue. I watch as one of his hands reaches out to play with the envelope in front of him, fingering the corner and spinning it in slow circles.

  I realize then it’s not a piece of mail. There’s no address written on the outside and the seal looks to be unbroken.

  Meaning…what, exactly?

  “It’s for you,” he mutters softly, as if reading my thoughts. Hell, at this point, I wouldn't put it past the guy. It would explain why, even when we were at each other’s throats, we always managed to stay in sync.

  I open my mouth to ask…what, I’m not sure. But it doesn’t matter because he cuts me off before I even have the chance to make a sound.

  “Just let me say something before I give this to you, yeah? Because…fuck I have to say this before the guilt eats me alive.” He pauses to swipe a hand over his face, letting it linger over his eyes before dropping it down to the counter. Then those amber orbs latch onto mine and the amount of regret painted in them causes me to catch my breath.

  “What I did to you…it can never be undone. No matter how much I want to take back that day, I don’t have that kind of power over the universe. And it just about fucking kills me.” He takes a deep breath, anxiety crossing his features. His fingers twitch against the counter for a second before they find themselves running through his hair roughly again.

  “An experience like that can shape who you are as a person. I mean, you hear horror stories about rape and non-consensual sexual encounters and most of the time the people come out the other side fucked up beyond belief. It’s sickening and for the life of me, I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  Hold the motherfucking phone.

  Rape?

  Is that what he thinks happened in the shower?

  But yet again when I go to open my mouth to speak, I’m cut off. This time by a glare cast from Rain.

  “River, let me…fuck, please just let me talk.” The hoarseness of his voice sounds as if he swallowed gravel. “I crossed the line. You’ve taunted me and antagonized the ever-loving hell out of me for months. I held out on anything more than a punch and a few harsh words for the most part. But something inside me snapped and it was like all these pieces fell into place and the only way I could formulate a plan to get you off my fucking back was to pull a stunt so fucking heinous you wouldn’t have a choice but to ignore me the rest of the time we were here. Or risk having it happen again.”

  Shame takes over his handsome face and I fucking hate it. I hate all of this.

  That we found ourselves rooted against each other for no damn reason when we could have been friends from the beginning. That he feels this shame and guilt for what happened when…shit, I never said no.

  Mostly I hate that he felt the need to go to such extreme measures to ward me off. I was driving him so fucking crazy he felt the need to…

  “You wanted me to be afraid of you,” I whisper in revelation, holding his gaze.

  He nods, his throat working to swallow. “I did. It wasn’t right and I understand that. There were a million other things I could have done. Hell, I could’ve hiked my ass to town and gotten a hotel for the night. Called an Uber to take me back to Boulder or fucking anything else other than the course I chose to follow.”

  I can tell by the set of his face he believes the bullshit coming from his mouth like they were words spoken by Jesus himself.

  And it most definitely is bullshit because here’s the thing. Rain had a goddamn meltdown when he thought I left him stranded in this cabin only a couple days ago. Full out screamed at me about it, reamed me a new asshole for not letting him know I went for a damn hike when that’s something he’s done regularly since we’ve arrived.

  So, do I think he would leave me here on my own for another three plus weeks and just leave? Nah, it’d never happen.

  Finding a sasquatch riding a unicorn would be more likely.

  “You don’t mean that,” I mutter, my nostrils flaring because fuck letting him sit here let guilt eat him alive. “You would never.”

  He doesn’t respond, just clenches his jaw rapidly. I watch, transfixed on the pulse point coming from the action. Neither of us speak for a moment, letting the agitation in the air grow to uncomfortable levels. I’m not about to speak more, not when the ball is in his court to keep this conversation moving forward. So I keep my eyes trained on him while he bites his lip, trailing his fingers over the envelope.

  What the fuck is in there that has him so worked up?

  “I’m so fucking sorry, River. I can’t even begin…” he trails off and shakes his head before glancing up at the ceiling. “Just know I would give anything to take back that morning in the shower. To erase it from history, so it never happened.”

  My heart aches at the anguish present in his voice.

  Regret and remorse are normal emotions to feel when you fuck up. Every person in the world, except maybe the population who are full blown sociopaths, feel them. I get that.

  But to be at the point where he wants to alter the course of our history? It means he’s holding onto this too hard. Up until now, I hadn’t realized that morning had a lasting impact on him as well. I guess it’s ingrained in both our memories, never to be forgotten.

  And yeah, does it suck the first time he was inside my body, the first time we had sex, my consent was dubious at best?

  Y
eah, it fucking sucks a whole damn lot. But neither of us can change it at this point. What’s done is done.

  “But it did happen,” I reply softly. “It happened and it’s useless to live in the past, drowning in our regrets.” Biting my lip, I tap the edge of the counter anxiously to the beat of the song in my brain.

  It’s started changing a lot more frequently now, which I’ve found odd but I’m rolling with the punches. Something Rain clearly needs some practice in.

  “How can I not live in regret when I think of what I did every time I look at you?”

  I try not to wince at his words, but they fucking gut me. Not for the reason someone might think though. I know I’m not some scared and frightened animal attempting to lick my wounds the big bad wolf inflicted on me.

  I’m strong. Resilient. I’ve more than proven I can stand on my own against him and even come out on top.

  I’ve done so multiple times.

  No, what hurts about his words is the broken way he says them. That he can’t see past his mistake and look at the past few days through different eyes.

  Because hell, these past few days not fighting with him have been, dare I say…fun. He’s a lot of fun to be around when he’s not being a brooding douchewaffle who has his mind set on making me fucking miserable.

  “Let me ask you something, Rain,” I say, looking at him down the island, loathing the space separating us still. “Did you ever once hear me tell you no?”

  That gets his attention. His hand freezes on the envelope at the same time his head slowly rises. I watch a war battle in his eyes while he thinks back on that morning. Most likely in vivid detail, judging from the way his eyes sink closed once again.

  I remember it well too.

  The burn of the soap, the vindictive words he spoke in my ear.

  Yeah, I remember it all and honestly? I don’t have it in me to hold it against him. Even before he apologized.

  Clearly, since I’ve let him fuck me multiple times since then.

  “No,” he responds with a voice being cut open by glass. “You never said no.”

  I nod, knowing he’s correct. “And did I ever ask you to stop?”

  He licks his lips and shakes his head, eyes still closed. “No.”

  I nod again, but I can see I’m still not getting through to him. He won’t open his eyes, he won’t look at me still. And I can’t fucking stand it.

  “Look at me, Rain.” It’s a request, a plea.

  For him to see we’re equals. The other morning was just another bump in the already treacherous road for us to get to the point we’re at right now. Which, if I’m being honest, I don’t know what it is.

  Fuck buddies, I suppose. Sounds much better than sleeping with the enemy.

  But even as I wait a moment, he refuses to meet my eyes, to fucking listen to me. Not that I’m at all surprised. Rain doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to and he kneels to just about no one.

  “I said, look at me,” I demand sharply, not bothering to keep the bite from my tone. And it works, because he obliges, giving me his full attention. “I want you to fucking stop this pity party you’re having. Because that is what it is.”

  The way his eyes widen, nostrils flaring, tell me he’s about to go off on me but that’s not going to happen.

  “Shut up and let me talk,” I growl, rounding the counter to stand in front of him. “You’re sitting there stewing in your guilt and it’s doing nothing, fucking nothing, to heal the wounds we’ve caused each other. And we both know I can stand here and forgive you a million times and you will still feel guilty.” I quirk a brow, begging him to disagree, but the smart man he is, he keeps his trap shut.

  “Do I wish things would have progressed between us differently? Absolutely. But Rain…that was some of the hottest sex of my life, even if it wasn’t exactly…” I trail off. How do I tell him I liked what he did to me? He might be a little fucked in the head for doing it, but I am the idiot sandwich who actually enjoyed it?

  “Look, I’m not mad. I don’t hold it against you. I forgive you, absolve you of your sins. Whatever you fucking need to get past this.” My hands itch to reach out and touch him, but I keep my fist balled at my sides. “I wouldn’t have hopped into bed with you willingly if I thought for one second you’re a rapist. Which is exactly what you’re painting yourself as right now.”

  “But—”

  “No. No fucking but. Not unless it is one of ours getting fucked,” I bite, ticking my jaw. “Do we have an understanding? You are not a rapist. I am not a victim. We are two people who are making the best of a shitty ass situation by enjoying each other’s bodies. Consensually.”

  I wait for a sign of his agreement. A nod, a word, something. And while it takes a minute, his sigh of concession is more than enough for me to soften again. And I’m glad.

  Being harsh with him, having to put him in his place so to speak, I hate it. It makes me itch and feels so…uncomfortable. Unnatural. Which is odd in itself because I love having the upper hand with most people. The control, the dominance.

  But with him, my preference is to submit.

  Still, there are times like this where I just fucking know he needs someone to make him back down. Bend him enough to show his hand.

  Force him to kneel, if only for his own good.

  And honestly, isn’t that what I’ve been doing from the beginning with this battle of wills we waged? Giving him someone who was strong enough to fight back. Who was strong enough to win.

  Isn’t that what he needs?

  An equal.

  Licking my lips, I shake my head. Because even though I know I am, I’m not sure he will ever see me as that. “Christ, Rain. Can I touch you yet?”

  He smirks and nods, giving me the go ahead. I slip between him and the counter, so I’m positioned directly in front of him before hopping up, his torso and shoulders between each of my dangling legs.

  Rain wraps his arms around my waist and presses his forehead into my sternum and lets out a sigh. “How the hell can you go from sweet to dominant as fuck then back to sweet again within a minute?”

  I shrug, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, teasing the short hair I find there with my fingers. “God given talent? Human sour patch kid? Unclear.”

  He lets out a soft chuckle. “Tastiest sour patch kid I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

  My brows shoot up. “Oh, so you’re a jokester now?”

  “No,” he shakes his heads with a wicked grin on his face. “Just making sure you remembered how well I milked every drop of cum from your cock earlier with my mouth.”

  I grip the back of his neck, I bend down and bring his mouth to mine giving his lips a quick nip. “That will be fucking impossible to forget,” I say against him before kissing him. It’s meant to be a quick peck, but as always, our tongues end up in a tangled mess until we’re panting and breathless.

  “As much as I fucking love your mouth on mine, I’m dying to know what is inside the envelope you brought in here.” I lick his lips with the tip of my tongue before pulling away, glancing to my side where it sits on the counter.

  Picking it up, he hands it to me with an uneasy look back on his face. I pluck it from his grasp with a smile before giving him a soft kiss again. It’s heavier than I thought it would be, and thick like cardstock.

  His forehead finds the space right below my pecs and his arms tighten around my waist. Snaking my arms around his neck, I slip my finger into the seal of the envelope and tear it open carefully and pull out…a piece of what looks like…painting paper.

  But it’s blank.

  I feel my brows crease as I flip it over and my heart...it stutters in my chest.

  Rain must know, because he squeezes me for a brief second, burrowing his head against me like he’d like to get inside my ribcage to make sure my heart is still beating.

  It’s a painting. A watercolor.

  And it’s stunning.

  It’s a place I recognize well having been th
ere with Taylor, Drew, and Elliott plenty of times in our youth whenever we’d come up to the cabin during the summer months. Or even in the winter when it was snowboarding season down at the resort in Vail.

  The jagged, snow covered peaks and lines and clusters of pine trees surrounding a vivid aqua lake. It’s absolutely perfect, captures the beauty of the place better than any photograph ever could.

  “I was up there one day,” Rain mutters, his voice muffled slightly by my shirt, “and I was so fucking sick of fighting with you. But I was even more tired of hiding from you, so I slipped out and hiked up there to see what all the fuss was about.”

  I remember the day he’s talking about. I heard him slipping out of the cabin, seemingly undetected, looking ready to set out on a winter hike. He was gone for a long time, almost to the point I started to worry when I saw him out the window going into the shed off to the side of the cabin.

  It was the night I first kissed him.

  “And when I got there, I figured it out, you know? I didn’t realize it immediately because I was busy painting, trying to lose myself in the task. But when I started on the lake, it hit me. How can you stare into something so blue and not just drown in its depth?” He pauses and slips away from me, my hands with the painting falling from around his neck and onto my lap. His gaze searches mine for a second before he continues in the softest whisper, searing my heart entirely. “The color…it reminded me of your eyes.”

  He says it in a way like it's a simple fact and he didn’t just flatten my world like a pancake with less than ten words. Like the fact that this…is more special to me than any fucking apology he could ever give me.

  My eyes drifting back down to my lap, I let my fingers trace the edges of the painting, the soft perfect lines and the mixture of colors, in awe of his talent.

  He thought of me when he painted this?

  Rain lets out a nervous cough, grabbing my attention in time to see he’s rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. “It’s like even when I was trying to escape from you, it only made me think about you more. And I’m done letting my thoughts of you drive me mad. To send me to the brink of becoming the kind of person who…”