Follow the River (River of Rain Book 1) Page 3

  Ciaráin licks his lips and nods. “I can see that. But of course, we’ll only be grateful for it down the road when we make it rain and bring the thunder on game day.”

  “Hell yeah we are, man.” I add a laugh, but it feels forced. Why am I fucking nervous? “Making it fucking rain.”

  My thoughts snag on that phrase.

  Make it rain.

  And for some reason…it reminds me of his name. I think I’ve seen it spelled before when they announced him for his Heisman nominations the past couple years.

  Yeah, his name literally spells rain. With that weird little accent bullshit over the a, but still.

  We start walking to the tunnel when the idea hits me. “Hey, why don’t I call you Rain?”

  His shoulders go rigid as soon as the last word leaves my mouth and those amber eyes flash up to mine. That fire is back in them again, except this time it burns with something like anger, causing me to freeze in place.

  “Nah, man,” he grinds out, shaking his head adamantly. “Not that one. Ciaráin is fine.”

  Then he walks off the field and through the tunnel without a backwards glance, leaving me wondering what the fuck I said wrong.

  The door of the locker room closes behind me with a soft click as I make my way over to my cubby to start getting dressed for the game. First game of the season, to be exact.

  The state of the art locker room is seemingly empty, which I’m glad for. Whenever it was a home game while I played for Clemson, and even in prep school, I always tried to be the first one in to suit up, giving me a little bit of extra time to get into the right headspace.

  I also prefer to dress without an audience of eighty other men, even though it’s not like they watch.

  But as I round the corner, I find River Lennox, our QB, sitting on the bench inside his cubby about halfway down the wall. The guy is pretty cool, and a damn good quarterback too. Almost making this transfer worthwhile.

  I have to admit, we’ve been fire on the field together in practice. Nearly unstoppable, even if we’ve only been playing together for three short weeks. All that does is give me hope for a successful season though.

  At least that’s hope for something, seeing as football is just about the only damn thing getting me out of bed in the morning.

  I pull to a stop and watch River, dressed only in a pair of running shorts, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His arms are crossed over his legs and I watch as he taps his left hand absently to his right knee in a sporadic rhythm, the arm flexing with the movement, causing the few tattoos there to ripple.

  He’s not wearing headphones, at least not that I can tell from here, so I call out to him. “If you’re trying to keep a steady beat, practicing to become a drummer or some shit, I hate to break it to you, man, but you’re in for a world of disappointment.”

  River’s head immediately snaps up at the sound of my voice, as if startled to find himself no longer alone. He recovers quickly, just like on the field, and lets out a laugh.

  “Definitely not looking to join a band. I prefer to march to the beat of my own drum anyways,” he grins before standing up and turning back to his cubby, pulling out his padded pants.

  “Then what were you doing? Having a damn seizure?” I hold my hand to my chest and gasp. “You don’t have like some...nerve disorder do you? Because dude, I am aiming for a fucking ring this year and we can’t get one when our quarterback has a twitchy hand.”

  He lets out another throaty laugh before grabbing a ball out of his locker and tossing it at me. Which I, of course, catch with ease.

  “Fuck off, Grady. I was mentally playing a song, okay?”

  I throw the ball back into his waiting hands, my brows furrow. “Mentally playing a song? As opposed to actually listening to it?”

  He spins the ball in his palms, comfortable as hell with the damn thing in his large hands, and smiles as if I caught him with his hands in the cookie jar. “I do it a lot when I’m nervous. Anxious. Or, I mean, just in general sometimes. I dunno. I think of my favorite song of the day or week, the one I can’t stop listening to or thinking about, and tap my hand to the words. Somehow it calms me. Like a coping mechanism or whatever,” he shrugs, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

  I nod, thinking about it. We all have our ways of dealing with stress. Life. Whatever works for him to get his head in the game, I guess.

  “What one is it today, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  A wide grin spreads over his face. “‘Afterall’ by Beartooth, though that’s usually my theme song before every game. The chorus, hell the whole thing, it kind of hits deep. Makes me remember I’ve got it good. Even if I fuck up on the field, it’s a small problem to have in comparison to the shit people deal with on the daily.” He shakes his head, realizing his small tangent. “Sorry, I can go on about them all day since they’re kind of my favorite band in general.”

  Pulling out my phone, I bring up my Spotify app and type in the song. “You mind?” I ask before hitting play. He shakes his head and turns back to his cubby, pulling on his socks, then trading his shorts for the pants.

  I start getting dressed myself, letting the sound of the song play out into the silence of the locker room. It’s really good too. The beat and the sound, both are phenomenal for getting pumped before a game or work out or something.

  But the lyrics, the meaning behind the words, laced with understanding of what it’s like to live with mental illness…it sets me on edge.

  All because of one fucking line.

  Head on the ground and my thoughts on the ceiling.

  A cold chill runs down my spine and my knuckles blanche from gripping the wooden shelf of my cubby. Instantly, I’m taken back to that night.

  The sweat running down my face.

  The cool barrel of the gun.

  My finger twitching on the fucking trigger.

  “I’m gonna have it stuck in my head on the field now,” he laughs, tossing on a cut off tee and sitting back in his cubby, leaning against the wood frame. His words effectively pull me from my memories before the demons have a chance to sink their claws in too deep for me to climb back out.

  Clearing my throat, I quickly exit the app and toss my phone down to my side. “I’d happily turn on something else for you,” I give him a half smirk, attempting to cover my unease. “Perhaps ‘Baby Shark’ would be a better choice?”

  River groans before laughing again, the sound echoing out into the still empty locker room. “Hell no, that shit lived in my brain on repeat for fucking months.”

  “‘Barbie Girl’, then?”

  His grin is huge, and I have to admit, it’s a good look on him. Especially the dimples that pop in his cheeks I’m sure the girls have wet dreams about. “You always such a fucking dick?”

  “Only on the days ending in y,” I reply dryly.

  He shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Well if you decide you aren’t going to be such a douchewaffle, let me know. There’s an after party, post-game. We aren’t really supposed to go, but it’s still early enough in the season we can get away with it. You should come, get to know the guys a little more off the field.” He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Or not. It’s your call.”

  I nod, thinking over his offer. It would be nice, spending time with the team. Making some actual connections with the guys instead of sitting at home in my apartment, always painting or drawing or doing homework.

  I don’t think I’ve had actual friends since… high school. When I had Siena and Roman, the fraternal twins I grew up with from the age of eight. But the day they both left to move on with their lives after graduating, leaving me behind for another year at Foxcroft Hall, I was officially on my own.

  And I’ve been that way ever since, never allowing anyone to get close enough.

  It’s time to change that though. I’m sick of living my life without any semblance of human connection deeper than a one night stand or a teammate I only connect with on the footb
all field. And River is a cool enough guy from what I can tell. Always happy and smiling, and he seems genuinely nice.

  “I’m in,” I tell him, just as the door to the locker room opens and a few guys start pouring in.

  It’ll be nice to have River as a friend after years of being so fucking alone.

  “I know you seem like an introvert, man. But I promise you, these Tri Delta after parties are the ones you don’t want to miss,” River tells me as we pass through the threshold of one of the sorority’s off-campus party houses. As soon as we enter, I’m overwhelmed by the pounding base of A Day to Remember and Marshmello’s “Rescue Me”, which is surprising because I would never expect these sorority types to be down with ADTR.

  River claps his hand on my shoulder, immediately causing me to stiffen at the contact, but it quickly subsides. He nods at a few people as he leads me over to the keg in the middle of the living room. The girl manning the keg, a thin little blonde with a rack most guys would die for, hands River a solo cup filled to the brim with the foamy liquid.

  “Don’t you normally have to buy in for a cup at parties like this?” I shout in his ear after the girl hands me my own cup of beer.

  He goes to respond but the music is actually shaking the entire house, so I can’t hear him.

  “I can’t hear you,” I motion with my hands by tapping my ear.

  His smiles—the fucker is always smiling—leaning into my space in order for me to catch what he says this time. “Football perks,” he yells, his lips practically brushing my ear, causing me to shudder.

  I pull away quickly, taking a sip of my beer to hide my unease and simply nod as I swallow it down.

  Honestly, it’s lukewarm and tastes like shit. And the music is already starting to cause my brain to throb behind my eyes.

  Why did I come here again?

  Oh, that’s right. I decided to make friends this year.

  Sigh.

  I’m already starting to regret my decision.

  River leans over again and yells “I’ll be back,” before crossing the living room, weaving his way through the throng of dancing bodies and into the open kitchen where he wraps an arm around a pretty brunette. Curvy in all the places a woman should be.

  I make my way away from the commotion, towards the stairs leading to the second floor, and find a spot to people-watch against the wall.

  I’m not one for large crowds and lots of noise, so this is pretty much a goddamn nightmare, but at least I can watch a bunch of drunken idiots be…well, drunken idiots.

  After a few minutes, one of our cornerbacks, Elliott Benson, slides up beside me. He’s got his own cup in hand and a brooding expression on his face as he leans back against the wall beside me.

  Well. Wait.

  If he’s brooding it might be his twin brother, Drew. You’d think I’d be able to tell them apart, seeing as I practice and work out with Drew every single day as the two starting wide receivers for the team.

  But alas…

  “Hey, man,” I say, and I’m grateful as hell the music has somehow toned down a bit. Either that or I’ve gained super-hearing.

  Elliott slash Drew gives me a sup nod, taking a drink of his beer, his eyes searching the dance floor, as if he was looking for someone, which doesn’t help narrow down who is next to me.

  He looks at me, his blue eyes piercing me, and he smirks. “You have no damn idea who I am, do you?”

  I huff out a laugh. “That fucking obvious?”

  He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a blessing and a curse, that’s for sure. Caused plenty of issues between me and Drew though. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms currently because of it.”

  Ah, so it is Elliott.

  I suppose the VANS on his feet could have given him away, since Drew is always talking about his damn adidas Ultra Boosts like they are God’s gift to the fucking planet.

  “You’re brothers, you’ll always figure it out,” I tell him, even though I have no damn clue if that’s the truth. You have to actually have a family in order to know shit about how they work.

  The only twins I know are Siena and Roman and they were always at each other’s throats, but somehow, they always made up. They were exact opposites, but still consistently remained half of a greater whole, and they knew that. Time after time, they would throw shade at each other but then turn around and defend their sibling to anyone who dared to cross the other.

  From what I’ve seen, the twin bond is the strongest thing in the fucking world. I swear, they could feel each other’s physical and mental pain as if it was their own. I’ve witnessed it. So if Si and Ro fought so bad they weren’t speaking?

  Fuck. It would be like tearing their souls in half and expecting them to figure out how to survive.

  I can’t imagine it would be much different for Elliott and Drew.

  “I do know one thing, even if Drew would never say it aloud, much less to me these days, but he’s jealous as fuck you’re here.”

  His words cause my brows to furrow in confusion. That doesn’t make sense. Drew and I both play at the same time, so it’s not like I took his starting position or anything.

  Elliott must read my face because he laughs. “You just have such a good in with our QB,” he says, motioning towards River across the room. He’s got his arm slung around the shoulders of the little brunette from earlier, and she’s got hers curled around his waist. “Though it looks like you have some competition with Abbi over there.”

  Competition?

  I frown so hard I swear my face might get stuck in this position. “What are you talking about?”

  “Aren’t you and Riv…” he trails off, glancing between me and the quarterback in question. “…like, together or whatever?”

  If I was drinking my nasty beer, this would be a good moment for a spit take.

  I gape at him. “W-what?” I stutter, horrified.

  “Dude, it’s no big deal. Love is love and all that. Or in this case, fucking is fucking, maybe? As long as it doesn’t negatively impact our season, Coach isn’t going to say anything. But the way you two connect on the field, I mean, shit. We’re going to dominate this season. Whatever it is you two are doing together, keep it up.”

  My teeth clench together and I’m almost positive they are going to wind up as finely ground powder. “We’re not fucking doing anything together besides playing football. I’m not gay and clearly,” I point over to River, who just kissed the top of Abbi’s head, “he isn’t either.”

  Elliott laughs and gives me another smirk, delight dancing in his eyes. “You really don’t know?”

  “Know what, Elliott? Jesus Christ, stop being fucking cryptic,” I snap.

  “Lennox bats for both teams, Grady. Everyone knows that.”

  Bats for both teams?

  I must say the words out loud because Elliott lets out yet another loud, irritating laugh. “I know you’re a football player, but please tell me you got the fucking idiom. He’s bisexual, dude.”

  Ice freezes everything inside me as my eyes whip back to focus on River. He’s still wrapped up with Abbi, looking cozy as hell. As if sensing my gaze, his eyes rise and meet mine. A grin crosses his face, exposing a set of dimples deep enough to see from across the room.

  No, there’s no fucking way.

  Keeping my eyes locked on his teal ones, I grind out, “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I am that the sky is blue. I’ve known the guy since we were like eight, seeing as we went to prep school at Summit Academy together. It’s never been much of a secret after he came out his freshman year.”

  As Elliott speaks, River gives me a curious look, his head cocking slightly and mouths “What?” to me from across the room, to which I shake my head and turn my attention back to Elliott.

  “I’m not… we’re not… fuck, no,” I stumble through the words, not sure where the hell I’m trying to go with them or if they’re even meant for Elliott or more myself.

  Bisexu
al? What?

  “That might be true, man. I promise, I do believe you. But the way he’s looking at you right now?” Elliott says as he glances up to River, then shakes his head. “It’s somewhere between eye-fucking and a predator ready to devour it’s next meal.”

  My eyes immediately flick back to River, and I’m horrified to find Elliott is right. I catch River’s eyes making a full sweep of my body, taking their time rising back to my face after pausing over any part of my body he would most likely love to see naked.

  And when the guy finally realizes I’ve caught him blatantly checking me out? He doesn’t blush or show any signs of embarrassment.

  No, he just tosses his head back in a laugh, only to bring aim his dimpled grin and penetrating gaze back to me to fucking wink…before returning his attention to the girl beside him.

  Like it never fucking happened.

  As if him literally eye-fucking me isn’t infuriating enough, my blood practically begins boiling when I realize…I’m fucking jealous of the girl who seems to be taking his time.

  Which makes no sense in the slightest because, uh, I’m not into dudes.

  The headache that was starting to form behind my eyes earlier is only building in pressure with this new revelation. Rubbing my neck, I take a deep breath as I do my best not to completely lose my shit.

  River is bi. He just checked me out. He’s been nothing but friendly to me since we’ve met, but never hinting he was into me. I’ve never felt so welcomed onto a team thanks to him, but is it because of attraction? Or because he actually gives a shit about the team meshing well?

  Fuck me.

  My thoughts are blazing through my brain at a million miles per hour and I can’t seem to wrap my mind around how I got myself into this kind of situation.

  But then I realize something.

  I should have known better than to be willing to attempt friendship with anyone at this place, or even in general, ever again. I’ve never been a good friend, even back in high school when I had the twins.