Raining Down Release (Raining Down Series Book 3)

by BK Rivers

  “What? Did I say something funny?”

  Both my parents burst into full-out, red-faced laughter and I sit back against my chair with my hands folded in my lap. Apparently, I’ve missed out on some strange pancake joke. After their uncontrollable laughter dies down, Mom dabs the tears from her eyes with her napkin and clears her throat.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I guess you’ve never seen me make pancakes before.” Mom replaces the napkin in her lap and continues. “It’s just a buttermilk pancake mix, sweetie. There is nothing special about my pancakes.”

  My jaw drops. Remember those old cartoons where one of the character’s jaws literally falls open and drops to the floor? Yeah, that’s about what mine feels like.

  “Really?”

  Mom nods, her cheeks still flushed. “Really,” she says, picking up her fork and cutting a bite of pancake. “I can show you which mix if you’d like?”

  “My whole life is a lie,” I mutter while finishing my breakfast. Makes me wonder what else of hers I love isn’t homemade like I always assumed.

  Chapter 6

  Ace

  “Remember when they imploded the Kingdome?” Ethan asks as our cab pulls up outside CenturyLink Field where the Seattle Seahawks now play. I think I was around twelve at the time and remember watching the broadcast on television with my dad. When the charges went off, it was like every metal rivet and cement joint just popped, spewing years of dust into the air. And then after thirty seconds nothing was left of the Dome other than a billowing cloud of gray-brown dust. It was just…gone.

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Did you ever go to a game there with your dad?” Ethan’s drumming his fingers on his thigh and staring out across the parking lot at a pair of brunettes wearing Seahawks tank tops and short black skirts.

  “No, I wasn’t interested enough in football for him to take me to a game then.” By the time I was old enough, Dad was gone. Died of a heart attack while on duty when I was fourteen. Left Mom and me to raise Lexi, my eleven-year-old sister.

  “But Alex took you to a few games, right?”

  Mom remarried when I was almost sixteen and I gave the guy hell. I couldn’t understand why my mom would choose to get married again and so soon. And now, here I am a widower at twenty-eight. I guess technically, I was twenty-three when it happened.

  “Yeah, he did.” Thank God for Alex. He saved my mom and has loved us like his own since the day they married. I wasn’t the easiest kid to love given all the times I tried to push him away. But he stuck with us—with me—and is still happily married to my mom.

  “Let’s go catch up to those fine-looking ladies,” Ethan says, swallowing up the thick emotion filling the car. Of course he’s ready to go chase some tail, he’s always hungry for some action. We climb out of his car, follow the path the girls took, and see them at the gates.

  “Damn,” he says, his shoulders dropping. “They’ve got rings on their hands. Suppose they’re player’s wives?”

  I shrug as we move through the line, show our tickets for scanning, and then head inside. Vendors selling all kinds of Seahawks memorabilia line the walkways and various food carts make my stomach rumble. We grab cold beers and some popcorn and then take the stairs down to our seats.

  We lucked out and ended up with upper field level seats near the twenty-yard line when we purchased our tickets two months ago. Opening home game against the Arizona Cardinals is sure to be good. A short round of fireworks blasts through the open roof of the stadium, signaling the start of the game. The Seahawks run through the tunnel, music blares over the massive speakers, and my pulse quickens. Once both teams are on the field, everyone stands for the National Anthem and then the announcer introduces the teams.

  Cardinals kick off, the football sailing all the way to their end zone. Seattle catches the ball and runs it; Blackwood zigzags through the defense only to be tackled on the Cardinals’ thirty-yard line. By the end of the first quarter, I’m nursing my third beer and the score is six to zero, Seattle.

  “Hey, want another one?” I ask, leaning over so Ethan can hear me over the noise of the stadium. “I’m grabbing one from the guy over there.”

  “I’m good, I’ll have a couple more at the hotel after the game,” Ethan says, giving me the go ahead. I don’t drink too often, but during a football game I enjoy myself and the slight buzz the amber ale gives me.

  By halftime the Cardinals are up ten to six and my voice is growing hoarse from calling out all the shit plays happening on the field.

  “Franklin needs to get his head out of his ass and throw the damn ball.” The beer in my hand sloshes, spilling the cool liquid over my fingers. “Stop running through the middle!”

  “You doing okay there, buddy?” Ethan asks, placing his hand on my shoulder. His brow is raised and his brown eyes drill into me.

  I shrug away from his touch and say, “I’m pissed, Franklin’s going to lose the game if he keeps having the team play like this.”

  Ethan’s gaze drifts over the field and then lands right back on me. “How about we cut you off after you finish this beer? What is that, number five?”

  “Six,” I say, then belch loudly, earning myself a few head turns in my direction. Yeah, okay. It’s time to switch to water until we return to the hotel

  The final play of the night has everyone on their feet, holding their breath as Gunderson runs the ball through the line and narrowly avoids being tackled in a two-point conversion attempt. He leaps over the Cardinals’ defense, holds the football in the crook of his left elbow, and tucks into a ball as he flips over the other team, crossing the line. Touchdown! The fans erupt in screaming, “We Are the Champions” by Queen plays over the speakers, and Seattle wins twenty to nineteen.

  “A cab was a good idea,” I say when a yellow taxi finally pulls up. My buzz is gone, but there is no way I’d get behind the wheel regardless of how I feel right now. We climb inside, instruct the driver to take us to the hotel, and sit in silence during the fifteen-minute drive. The lights of Seattle glow like Christmas lights; they’re bright, shiny, and always appear festive even in the drizzling rain. Today, however, the weather was perfect for a football game.

  Ethan and I pass through the automatic doors of the hotel and head straight for the bar. The lobby is dark and moody with burgundy furniture, dark tiled floors, and mahogany check-in desks. Sparkling antique brass chandeliers light the large space and direct us toward the bar in the back. The bar is just as moody as the lobby, except the lights glow blue and cast almost a cold feeling over the room.

  The small round tables scattered across the floor are mostly filled, some with couples, most, however, are groups of two or three singles. Ethan and I take a couple chairs at the bar and order our drinks. He likes Scotch on the rocks, I’m sticking with beer.

  “Check out the chicks at seven o’clock,” Ethan says casually.

  Looking at a woman has never been an issue—but for me they’re like pieces of fine art. Look, but don’t touch. Admire from afar and enjoy the beauty because a fleeting glance is all I’m going to take. Ethan, on the other hand, has no qualms about making his intentions clear. And tonight, he has his sights set on a leggy blond wearing black, six-inch stilettos and a short black dress that could barely pass as a towel. Her friend keeps glancing over at us and I start to count down from twenty knowing both girls will make their way over to us soon.

  Seven, six…damn. Off by five seconds. Both women stand up, leaving their empty glasses, and walk over to us. Blondie sits next to Ethan, rests her elbow on the bar, and places her other hand on his thigh.

  “You look like you need another drink,” her friend says to me as she sits next to me, crosses her legs, and leans on the bar. She’s good looking, with russet-colored hair, brown eyes, and full, pink lips. “I’m Rachel, that’s Phoebe,” she says, leaning closer to me. The top of her strapless red dress slips lower over her ample chest as she leans even closer. Any more of that and she’ll be sitting on my la
p.

  “Rachel and Phoebe, huh?” I’ve seen Friends; these chicks are fake naming us. Rachel nods, a smile growing across her flushed cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Rachel. I’m Chandler and that’s Joey.” Everyone knows Joey’s the one bringing home the chicks, whereas Chandler’s the awkward one who lives vicariously through his friend.

  Rachel orders a Big Red Hooter from the bartender and I ask for another beer. When our drinks arrive, Rachel plucks the cherry from her drink by the stem, brings it to her lips, and slowly licks the liquid off of it. Damn, this woman knows what she’s doing and something in my stomach tightens each time the tip of her tongue lands on the surface of the bright red cherry. Finally, she pops the little fruit from the stem, swirls it in her mouth, and swallows.

  Why, hello there, friend. He hasn’t come out to play with a chick since meeting Stacey, and before that it had been years.

  Rachel sucks the stem into her mouth and within seconds pulls it out and it’s twisted into a knot. Corny, really. But her intentions, as unwanted as they are, have stirred up a desire I shoved down five years ago. And as tight as my shorts are getting, I’m heading up to my hotel room alone.

  Glancing at my watch, I ignore whatever Rachel is saying and turn to Ethan. “It’s after midnight, I’m going to head upstairs.” A wide grin spreads across his face and I know what he’s thinking. “Dude. I’m heading up there alone.”

  He shrugs and then says, “See ya on the flipside.”

  I return my focus back to Rachel, her flushed cheeks and pink lips almost make me reconsider. Almost.

  “Thanks for the company, Rachel. I’m heading to my room.”

  Her plump lips part, her tongue slides over her bottom lip, and she stares at me with wide eyes. Like she’s trying to find something to say that will make me change my mind about returning to my room alone.

  “My name’s not really Rachel,” she blurts out, sliding off the barstool. Her six-inch stilettos make her stand at eye level, which, oddly, I find is a turn-off. I like a girl who is confident enough in herself not to have to wear shoes like hers. Short or tall, doesn’t matter—but embrace it.

  I laugh at her confession, place my hands on her shoulders, and she visibly softens at my touch. I lean in as if to kiss her, but at the last second move to her ear and whisper, “It was nice to meet you, Not Rachel. It doesn’t matter what your name is or isn’t, I’m returning to my room alone. Nothing you can do or—” My voice suddenly cracks and my brain starts misfiring. Her freaking hand is cupping my Johnson. Who the hell does that?

  “What you’re saying and what I’m feeling are telling me two different things,” she whispers at my neck, sending a shock of chills down my back and straight to my groin.

  I stumble backward, shoving her hand off my junk, and clear my throat. “Jesus, Rachel.” I turn around and storm out of the bar. At the elevator, I press the up button and wait for the doors to slide open. A soft ding indicates the arrival of the lift, and I check over my shoulder to make sure the psycho hasn’t followed me. The coast is clear, and I step inside the small space.

  The reflective brass walls distort my image, though it almost appears more real than it should. What I see is rippled, imperfect, and broken—I guess the reflection isn’t distorted after all. The ride to the fourth floor is slow and leaves me time to compartmentalize what happened in the bar. What caused me to practically race out of there like a dog with its tail between its legs? A good-looking woman came on to me, and I freaking got turned on. It’s not like women haven’t made advances toward me. I work hard at keeping myself in check so shit like that doesn’t happen.

  Chapter 7

  Stacey

  I’m paying by the day to keep the U-Haul truck. I need to find a job and a place to live. I’ve been staying with Reggie and Jordan since I arrived on Wednesday and today’s Friday. I’m going to run out of money sooner than later if I don’t do something.

  “Still job searching?” Reggie asks over her bowl of cereal. Micah already got on the bus for school and Jordan’s out taking care of the horses. Apparently, now that he’s retired from the music industry, he finds manual labor appealing and relaxing.

  “Should I just go up to Warner and drive around until I find something?” The internet is not proving helpful in my search.

  Reggie shrugs, places her empty bowl into the sink, and moves to hug me from behind.

  “Just unload your stuff here and stay with us. You can probably find a job in town and it will be like old times.” She releases me from the hug and we both laugh. I’d love to room with Reggie again, but now that she’s married, I think I’ll pass.

  “Okay, I’m going to get dressed and go find myself a job.”

  An hour later, I’m in my car driving a little over an hour to Warner and racking my brain for jobs I would consider taking. I’ve worked in retail for several years and while the clothing discount was always nice, I’m twenty-seven and ready to have the kind of job that can turn into a career.

  Three hours and two iced caramel lattes later, I still don’t have any leads. It looks like either I’ll be working back in a mall or serving fast food through a window. Not that there’s anything wrong with either, I was just hoping for something…more. Stopping at a red light, I see a bookstore on the corner. It’s cute with its pale gray stone exterior and large windows with charming displays of books and gifts. I spot the door and gasp—there’s a help wanted sign! Quickly signaling to change lanes, I turn the corner and find a parking spot on the side of the building. It’s still retail, but it’s a book store. I like books; I like them a lot, actually.

  An old-fashioned bell dings as I walk through the glass door and I’m greeted with the heady scents of paper and leather, along with a mix of something sweet and floral, gardenias maybe? Floor-to-ceiling light oak bookshelves line the walls and each shelf is packed with books. Each shelf is organized by genre—it’s like a book addict’s dream store. Books, books, and more books. All that along with fresh pastries and a coffee bar. I quite possibly have died and gone to heaven.

  “Good afternoon,” a woman with mousy brown hair pulled into a low ponytail says from behind the counter. She wears a pair of elegant glasses over her brown eyes. “Can I help you find something?”

  I clear my throat and fight back my eagerness to work here. No one likes to be jumped like a lioness attacking her prey.

  “I’m actually here about a job? My name’s Stacey and I’ve just moved here from Phoenix and would love to work in a bookstore.”

  The woman’s eyes light up and a warm smile pushes her glasses up a little higher on the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m Julia, it’s nice to meet you.” Her hand passes over the counter and I take it in mine and shake it in greeting. “Do you have a resume?” I pull it from my purse and hand it to her, watching anxiously as she reads it thoroughly. She pulls her glasses from her face and places the end of one of the earpieces between her teeth. Julia nods a couple times and finally directs her gaze to me.

  “So tell me, Stacey. What made you move all the way north to Warner?” Julia smiles, places my resume on the counter, and leans toward me. Her eyes are warm and kind and I feel a little tug in my chest—like an ache for my own mother. I like this woman already.

  We talk for quite some time about me moving up here to be closer to Reggie and how I’m currently staying with her. Julia frowns a little when I explain that I’m still paying for my U-Haul because I haven’t looked for a place to live yet. My stomach twists into a ball of nerves thinking she won’t offer me the job because I’m technically homeless right now.

  “I assure you, I will find an apartment or house to rent this weekend. For me, it’s find a job first and then a place to live. Reggie says I can stay with her as long as I need, but I don’t want to drive over an hour each day back and forth, you know?” The nerves in my stomach sneak out of my mouth in the form of a word-train. Once you tug on the first car, the rest follow in one quick word-vomit. It’s not pre
tty.

  “You know,” Julia begins, standing to her full height. She walks around the counter toward me and takes me around the store. “I know we don’t know each other, but I like you. A small house on my street was actually just put up for rent. I can write down the phone number and call you with it later tonight if you’d like.”

  A house would be amazing to live in, but somehow I don’t think it would be in my price range. But I accept her offer since I have no other options at the moment. When Julia has shown me nearly every square inch of the two-story bookstore, she walks me to the door with an encouraging smile.

  “I will call you later this evening with that phone number and my decision about the job,” she says, shaking my hand once again. “It was really good to meet you, Stacey.”

  “Thank you, Julia. It was nice to meet you too.”

  The drive back to Reggie’s house was calming. The landscape of rolling amber-colored fields and the bright blue sky gave me the overwhelming sense that I made the right decision in moving here. I have to admit, I do miss James and my parents, but they will be flying up for Thanksgiving and that’s only a little over two months away. Maybe I’ll actually be living in that small house on Julia’s street.

  Reggie, Jordan, and Micah are sitting at their kitchen table eating dinner when I walk through the front door and I feel as though I’ve just intruded on their family time.

  “There’s a plate next to the pot of noodles,” Reggie says, pointing to a large stock pot on the stove.

  “Thanks, but I grabbed a hamburger from the diner in town. I’m going to head upstairs and make a couple phone calls.” Before Reggie has time to argue, I jog up the stairs, feeling like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew. Silently, I pray that I will be able to afford this house. I love Reggie and Micah, and sometimes Jordan, but I need my own space. Actually, they need their space to be a family. I’m the one cutting in on their family dynamics.