Page 16 of Saving the Rain
“God, you’re a drama queen.”
“Have you told other people? Or talked to anyone else about this?”
“Just you, man.”
Brad clicks his tongue softly. “Ok, Wilder, you’ve officially gone a little way toward patching up that giant hole you just gouged in my heart. I’m honored you felt like you could tell me. Even if I’ll never let you live it down that you were sneaking around sticking your tongue in a boy’s mouth atmy own partyand didn’t tell me.”
I dig my heel into the dirt. “I was hardly shoving my tongue anywhere. It wasn’t like I planned for it to happen or anything.”
“Was he a good kisser, at least? For your first time and all.”
“Fuck, you’re really not making this easy.” My ears singe, and I wrap one palm around the back of my neck. “Dunno. I guess so? Pretty sure I went from staring at his mouth, to blacking out when he grabbed hold of me. I think I only came back to earth when he walked away.”
“Hot.” Brad sighs wistfully. “So you think it’s guys only for you, or are you still figuring things out? Which is totally normal, by the way.” He’s hasty to add.
Groaning, my head tips back between my shoulders. “Pretty sure I’m just broken.”
“Dude. No way. You’re not... maybe you’re just needing a deeper connection?” Brad eye rolls me with aquit being so patheticlook.“Now that you haven’t got booze to use as a crutch, you’re probably in abetter state of mind to realize what, or who, you’re actually wanting. You should see if he still wants to meet up?”
He might be right, but it still feels awkward, like a pair of boots a size too small. I try to brush it off. “No promises—besides, I can’t go for adrink, so it makes it kinda weird jumping straight in the deep end to ask a guy out for dinner, or some shit like that.”
Brad laughs. “Kayce Wilder. Stage five clinger right out the gate.”
“Fuck you.” My lips tip up.
He grins broadly while digging out his phone, checking a message that has just arrived. “Crap, I gotta go help out my dad over at the stables.” With a thoughtful, searching stare, he looks up from the phone, narrowing his eyes at me, and then lands a soft punch on my arm. “You’re good? Need me to find an excuse to bunk work so we can go for a drive if you wanna chat more in private?”
“Nah, go see what old man Rhodes wants. I’m fine . . . but thanks for . . . you know . . . understanding.”
He starts striding away, but calls back over his shoulder. “If you need anyone to talk to about how weird the heart is, I’m your guy. My best friend is dating my dad, and well, Flinn and I have got a story to tell you one of these days.”
I chuckle and wave him off, deciding to stay and watch a couple more of the barrel racers before heading to my truck. Damn, it feels like a whole elephant has climbed off my chest by unloading some of that to Brad. Having him justlisten. Even if it doesn’t exactly solve the problem about the bonfire night or any of the messed up collision of thoughts I’ve had ever since.
Maybe it really is because I’m broken?
I’ve never felt close to anyone, certainly not enough to trust them, and definitely not to fall into something more involved than just chasing a rush. Drinking helped me pretend, be the guy who fucked around, nothing but a good time. The life of the motherfucking party, the last man standing at five a.m., all while dying on the inside.
As I decide to head home, to make my way back up Devil’s Peak, my phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull it out and catch a glimpse of my notifications, a plummeting sense of stone-cold dread hits outof the blue.
Mom.
Our non-existent relationship summarized in the series of red dots steadily piling up on my phone screen. Three Missed Calls. Two new voicemails. Five unread texts.
I’ve already ignored the attempted calls that came in earlier. Arriving in Crimson Ridge and being back in cell phone service always means picking up a whole slurry of notifications when they all bombard me at once.
In this case, I’m gladly going to overlook anything where her name is concerned. There’s only one reason she ever tries totalk, and it’s when she wants something.
Beneath that is another handful of attempted calls from an Unknown Number. Most likely her, too.
Mom has her own demons. She’s always loved the pills over and above anything else. Still does to this day, even though she might try to claim she’s really truly given them up for good this time.
We both know she’s lying.
There are other texts waiting for me, mostly from Chaos. His recent ones rabbit on about an upcoming event at The Loaded Hog, Crimson Ridge’s one and only place to find a hot meal and a cold drink. What had previously been a backcountry dive bar has remodeled itself, polishing up nicely since he and his brothers took over not too long ago.
Even though Chaos rides broncs, he still rolls up his sleeves and helps out the otherChaos Twin—as the two of them are affectionately known around here. A name that suits him down to the ground, but is more of an ironic nickname for Knox. The guy isn’t even related to the Hayes’ for a start, never mind the fact he’s the ominous thundercloud to Chaos’ eternal sunshine.
Chaos: