The Effects of Falling (The Weight of Rain Duet Book 2)

by Mariah Dietz

  The smile that makes his lips thin because it’s so wide brightens his eyes. “Duly noted.”

  “I hope you know I’m driving this time.”

  “I’d like to say I’m shocked…”

  The easy joy Tommy brought ceases.

  My throat closes.

  My heart pauses.

  I look over my shoulder toward the doorway, feeling his stare.

  Kash and Mercedes are standing beside Uncle Toby who is talking rapidly, using more words than I’ve likely heard him use in several years combined. Mercedes is looking around, but Kash’s eyes are locked on me like laser beams. I shift uneasily, and take a step back from Tommy. Toby visibly sighs, his shoulders dropping as he looks over to me and slowly shakes his head with disapproval. I have no idea if it’s because he thinks I’m an idiot for hanging out with Tommy or because he fears drama in his shop.

  Anticipation boils in my stomach, waiting for Kash’s reaction. He places a palm on Mercedes’ shoulder and whispers something in her ear before stalking toward us. With each of his measured and purposeful steps, my heart thuds louder, and my teeth bite down harder on the inside of my cheek. His shoulders are squared, and his lips are pressed into a firm line that doesn’t reveal a single hint of what he will say or do.

  My weight shifts twice before he reaches my side. Then, Kash smiles, using every ounce of his power that he damn well knows affects me. It steals my breath, my thoughts, and every ounce of my attention.

  “Hey.” He isn’t greeting both of us. His voice is quiet, reserved, and like his smile, it is intended only for me.

  “Hey.” My eyes remain fixated on his, feeling the familiar comfort he exudes slow my heart. “You got Mercedes in.”

  “Yeah, she’s kind of nervous, so I talked to Toby and offered to help out, so I could be here.”

  “I figured you’d be slammed with trying to get ready for the big event coming up,” Tommy chimes in.

  Kash’s gaze stays on me for several seconds after Tommy’s comment. Then, he turns, his smile less sincere. “I have some pretty impressive coaches in my corner. They’ll make sure I’m ready.”

  It’s rare for me to even be concerned about Kash and how he will do leading up to an event because I have never seen a better rider in all the years that I was a competitor and now a spectator. The only person who comes close is King, and I’m assuming half of that is due to genetics, and the other half is because they constantly practice together.

  Likely, Tommy’s words were merely a mind game. I have no idea if he was invited to the event, though I should because we should now be evaluating the competition to know what to expect and where Kash and King will shine their brightest.

  “What happened?” Kash brushes his fingers along his own jaw where Tommy’s bruise is prominently showcased. “Bars get you?” He’s referring to the handlebars, making a passive-aggressive dig in return.

  Tommy gapes for only a second, and then a smug smile tugs his lips into a smile. He knows with this simple question that I never did tell Kash about the accident, and with that, he is now questioning the validity and significance of my and Kash’s relationship that has often been painted as something far more intimate and serious by the media.

  “You know, learning a lesson.”

  My eyes narrow. It was far more than merely learning a lesson. It was negligence at its finest.

  Tommy’s eyes expand with my irate expression aimed on him, and his cocky smirk grows more playful as it becomes more genuine. “Thankfully, I’m a very fast learner.”

  Kash’s eyebrows rise. “I sure hope so if you walk out of each lesson looking like that.”

  Tommy laughs. “Well, it’s too bad you’re on coach duty. Summer and I are going to go grab some dinner and learn about wine.”

  If there was ever a pain equivalent to the day I crashed, it would be now. Kash isn’t even looking at me to deliver the blow. Still, it’s an ugly and lethal mixture of shame, guilt, anger, and blame with a sour underlying dose of hope.

  When Kash finally looks at me, the same facade of a smile lies to me, attempting to say that it’s okay when I know it isn’t. He swallows and places a hand on the small of my back where it fits like a glove, warming me, assuring me, growing that hopefulness and drowning some of the bitterness consuming me.

  “That sounds like a good time.”

  It does?

  My spine straightens.

  Kash’s hand doesn’t feel so comfortable and natural.

  “Dad!” Mercedes rushes over, bouncing with uncontrollable excitement. “This place is awesome! That girl has been riding for five years! That one,” she points to a girl with two long braids down her back, “recognized you! She said you’re her idol! These are my people!”

  Kash smiles, placing his free hand on her back. “Good!” He sounds relieved, but he doesn’t look it.

  Uncle Toby approaches us, his teeth working his bottom lip. “I was thinking of taking a page from this kid,” he nods to me, “and having the class do fundamentals today. They’ve gone two weeks without them, and need to get one in. Maybe it would be better if you came back next week to show them what all those hours of fundamentals can accomplish?”

  We all look to Kash expectantly. He now has the perfect excuse to come with us without looking like it is even his idea. While I wish he had come up with a solution himself, I am relieved Uncle Toby is providing him with one.

  “What better way to show the importance of fundamentals than by doing them. I’ll stick around and go through your gauntlet.”

  “Dad, you don’t have to. I mean, I know I asked you to, but…”

  He pulls Mercedes to his side. “I want to do this. I want to see you on the same floor I trained on.”

  Mercedes’ smile reveals she’s glad to hear his response. I am as well. I have always known that Kash’s love for his daughter is one of his best traits.

  “What about Chase?” I ask, suddenly recalling the reason for Tommy’s presence.

  Smiling a lopsided grin that looks practiced, he faces me. “His mom was here to pick him up. I was just hoping to get some time with his coach.”

  In the movies, this is where the other love interest turns and punches the guy for making such a lame pick-up line. But Kash only looks at him, his eyes stretched and lips in a pronounced curve that dips lower than my hopes of him joining us.

  “Have fun.” Kash takes a step back. His hands balled at his sides is the only visible sign of frustration, and at this point, I’m not even sure it’s directed toward this situation since he often does the same gesture when preparing to ride as a way to get more blood flow to his hands and arms.

  “Let’s go wine-ucate.” Tommy laughs at his own play on words and replaces Kash’s touch on my back with his, making my spine stiffen.

  Though Kash didn’t look back as he joined the preteens, I can’t stop myself from turning as I walk through the door, catching a final glance of him smiling at one of the kids, his attention torn between the front doors and the crowd anxious for his presence and advice.

  A SOMMELIER SWIRLS a glass of red wine along the pristine tabletop. It would be far more practical for them to use nearly any other color than the butter-yellow tablecloths, but it does create a cheery glow with all the dark cherry oak that everything surrounding us is made of.

  Tommy holds the bottom of the glass, his long fingers looking bony beside the slender stem. His wine sloshes around his glass, dousing the tablecloth with the amber liquid.

  My stomach growls as I smell the food that has been laid out in front of us to accompany this particular wine. I’m kind of over this swirl, smell, sip, spit routine. Wine was a lot more fun when I drank it and wasn’t searching for the earth tones and underlying scents and tastes. I liked it when it was just fermented grapes that released some tension and stained my lips. I tightly grip my glass and move it in a circular motion to make the wine paint the sides of my glass and allow it to breathe, as instructed.

  “I
think you’re a shark, and you’ve done this before.”

  I look to Tommy and raise an eyebrow as I watch him pepper the tablecloth again. “I’m pretty sure you’re just excelling at making this look incredibly difficult.”

  Finally, the sommelier suggests we try a sip of our wine. It’s bitter, tangy, and so dry my tongue feels like it has been scratched with a bristle pad.

  “Wow,” Tommy says, closing and opening his eyes with pronounced blinks. “That’s…” He reaches for his water and takes a long gulp. “That’s terrible,” he says, pushing the glass farther back on the table.

  I giggle, relieved that I’m not the only one to think so. “Yeah, I think that’s a little too dry for us.”

  The sommelier doesn’t look empathetic or even amused as he removes our glasses from the table and replaces them with perfectly shined and buffed glasses that glitter brightly with the many overhead lights pointed on us.

  Tommy breaks protocol and using his fork, stabs a meatball, chews it twice, and then proceeds to swallow. I am so hungry I follow suit, my eyes lighting up with the savory sauce it’s thickly coated in.

  Our sommelier blinks heavily, his displeasure with our actions clear.

  “Can we get a bottle of something that is the opposite of whatever that last one was?” Tommy asks, pointing his fork at the offending bottle.

  “Certainly.” The man disappears, allowing us time to shovel more food into our mouths.

  “Their wine is shit, but their food nearly makes up for it,” Tommy says between mouthfuls.

  I feel bad about admitting he’s right when this was my idea.

  Seconds later, a bottle appears in front of us. It’s glistening with condensation, the color a light rose. I smirk, knowing this stuff is like a wine cooler and often looked down upon by true wine connoisseurs, but it doesn’t stop me from taking a drink and enjoying the cool and refreshing sweetness that fills my mouth.

  “This is way better,” Tommy says, drinking it in gulps rather than sips.

  “There are much better reds than the ones we tried,” I assure him. “And the first two were pretty good.”

  “What was with all the green cheese though?”

  “You chose that!” I exclaim. “You picked the cheese tray.”

  He shakes his head. “I am so done with everyone trying to glorify cow tongues, snails, and mold, and then charging a hundred bucks a plate for it. I just want a good burger.”

  I laugh, and it feels so good and genuine that my next drink of wine tastes even sweeter.

  My phone vibrating interrupts us, but I feel like I am discovering a better place, and I don’t hesitate in reaching for it, no longer feeling like it is necessary to hide from anyone.

  Kash: We need to talk.

  That text isn’t quite so promising.

  Kash: Where are you?

  That’s even less assuring. I scan over his two brief messages once more, trying to read into them and understand his mood.

  Me: Eating. What’s wrong?

  Kash: I’m coming to get you.

  I jerk my head back, staring at the absurd message. While I know he would be a serious threat to a potential danger, this is the opposite of his usually methodical, reasonable, calm, and generally relaxed demeanor.

  Me: What’s wrong?

  Kash: WHERE R U?

  Me: Are you yelling at me??!!

  Kash: WHERE ARE YOU?!?!?!?!

  Me: Take a chill pill.

  I turn my phone off, my appetite lost between concern and frustration with him acting so ridiculous.

  “Everything okay?” Tommy asks, looking up from where he’s nearly finished off the plate of food.

  “Yeah,” I lie. “Everything’s great.”

  I stop drinking, and am relieved to see Tommy does too, after witnessing him chugging the first half of his glass. Conversation becomes an effort for both of us, my mind consumed with thoughts of Kash, and Tommy’s conversation skills are lacking, clearly not used to having to work so hard on a date.

  “I’m really sorry, but I should be going. I have an early meeting with people from Switzerland, and I need to remind Parker to not use his fake accents again. They don’t go over very well with anyone, including us because we can’t understand him, and … well … it’s embarrassing.”

  Tommy smiles, but again, it’s noticeably one of his false smiles, like he’s holding something or possibly several things back. He nods and raises a hand to attract a server’s attention.

  I fish for my credit card and feel the pressure of his hand on mine.

  “Don’t.” His eyes reflect an honesty I have rarely seen. “I asked you out, and I want to do this right—eventually. But, while we keep getting these trial runs, I still want to do part of this correctly.”

  Tommy isn’t hurting for money. He is the BMX world’s darkhorse. His story is the definition of impossibilities becoming reality, and he’s earned multiple endorsements because of it. Still, having him pay for me when my mind has been occupied with Kash for so much of it seems wrong.

  “I get to pick up the next one,” I say, pulling my hand free.

  His lips tip upward, revealing acceptance. “The next one,” he repeats. “I like the sound of that.”

  MY ENTIRE TRIP home, I consider what I am going to say to Kash when I call him. I don’t want to risk waiting until tomorrow to discuss things, knowing that we both will only get more worked up with the additional time to stew over things. It’s difficult to know which approach to take with him though when I don’t know what has caused this imposter Kash to message me with ridiculous demands.

  My hands remain frozen to the steering wheel as I slowly pull up next to Kash’s truck parked in my driveway. The cab lights are off, so I can’t tell if he’s still inside or in my house since he’s one of the two people who have a spare key.

  I blow out a deep breath through puffed cheeks, and climb out of my truck.

  As I clear the tailgate, Kash’s truck door opens. It’s too dark to see his face because I have needed to change the light bulb by my front porch for at least a month, but I hear his feet crunch on the gravel, assuring me he’s following close behind.

  For a multitude of reasons I would prefer this conversation to happen out here, but I know that isn’t going to happen, so I pull out my key and use the light Kash shines with his phone to unlock my door. I push it open and flip on the entire bank of lights, hating that I feel like I have done something wrong when I haven’t.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my coat on because removing it seems like dropping a barrier.

  “What lesson did Tommy learn?” His jaw is hard, his eyes completely impassive.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “His goddamn jaw is what I’m fucking talking about.”

  Reality dawns on me, recalling Tommy’s remark about his bruise being a lesson. My heart felt like it was beating fast already, but now, I know it was only a warm-up to the race it is currently beating.

  “You got in an accident with him?” His words don’t sound quite as angry. They’re quieter, filled with disbelief.

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  His eyes close, and his jaw tightens further as he shakes his head. I don’t recognize him or this reaction.

  “Then, you got in a fucking car with him again tonight?”

  “I drove myself!” My response is loud and defensive.

  “But you went out with him! After he acted like a complete asshole and nearly hurt you and others by driving like a total maniac.”

  “You have done things a hundred times more dangerous!”

  “They would never have hurt you!” he yells. His eyes flare with anger as he glares at me. “When I do stupid shit, I am the only person who can get hurt!”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it!”

  “I haven’t done something stupid in years!” he yells, completely off subject.

  “Your stupid stunts would have hurt Mercedes, and King, and Rober
t, and your entire crazy family, and it would have hurt me, you asshole!”

  “He could have killed you!” he roars.

  “He didn’t! I walked out of the accident! I don’t understand why you’re so upset! Sending me absurd texts, like I was going to tell you where I was so that you could come and rescue me. We were having dinner!”

  “You didn’t even fucking tell me!” These words are yelled the loudest, revealing the epicenter of where all of this anger and hurt is deriving from.

  I should focus on this and realize he’s speaking out of pain, but his accusations have removed sensibility, and now, I’m angry with him and offended.

  “Lo is not your watchdog!”

  Kash’s head shakes, and his eyebrows draw down. “What in the hell does she have anything to do with this?”

  Shit.

  “If your feelings are hurt, you need to get over your pride and just admit it!”

  “She knew?” He’s like a dog with a bone.

  “How many dual conversations are we going to have?” I cry.

  “She should have told me,” Kash is standing so close I feel his labored breaths brush my cheeks, “but you … you should have told me first. As soon as it fucking happened, you should have called me.”

  I want to tell him how he was pulled up on my screen when the accident happened, and that he was the first person I considered calling afterward. That when I got home, I felt betrayed that he didn’t know, though I knew then, and still do, that the thought was completely irrational. I want to explain that I didn’t know how to tell him after the fact, and how I questioned the severity of it occurring. I want to tell him that it’s not fair for him to care now, and to be acting like this because it only messes with my heart and emotions, confusing me so badly that I don’t know how to react or even function.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” I say again instead.

  “It was a big deal. It is a big deal!” He throws his head back, searching for patience.