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4

RAVEN

“ R emind me why we didn’t move somewhere sunny all year round,” I complain to myself as I dash into kindergarten to collect Fen.

Water pours along the gutters and down the storm drains. It bounces off the sidewalk and stings my skin. The news this morning said it was the wettest April on record, and I can seriously believe it.

The rush does little to help my unsettled stomach. I hope I don’t have the bug Sue, one of the other women at the diner, has. She called in sick—literally, according to Margie. Said Sue threw up right in the middle of the call and Margie heard everything.

I swallow as the weird flavor of too much saliva fills my mouth.

“Not now,” I mutter and continue my speed-walking ascent up the hill.

My waterproof coat does its thing, but water drips down my face. The umbrella in my hand is utterly useless after being blown inside out within minutes of leaving the diner.

My sneakers squelch, and I wish I’d had the space to bring my lovely waterproof boots with me.

When I finally get there, Pauline, the administrator, stands beneath to porch of the school with Fen in his yellow raincoat.

“Hey. The diner was a mad rush. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” I look to Fen, who appears as miserable as I feel. “You doing okay, buddy?”

“I’m cold.” He runs his hand beneath his nose, and I wish I had a tissue to help him out.

“Yeah, this rain is something else. But it’s nearly spring, and it’s going to get warmer soon.”

“Do you have a minute, Raven?” Pauline asks.

“Sure. Is there a problem?”

Pauline glances at her watch. “Because we’re only a small school with a limited number of children in the programs, it helps all of us if parents are on time.”

My stomach churns. I hate confrontation, especially when I know I’m in the wrong. I’ve spent the last seven years being made to feel stupid. “I’m sorry. One of the other servers didn’t show up for her shift because she has the stomach flu.”

“And yesterday it was the bus.”

I went to the next town over to shop at a larger store for better discounts, and when I ran for the bus, bags in hand, the bus pulled out, leaving me behind. “Public transport and I have issues.”

Pauline nods, but there isn’t understanding on her face. In fact, she looks like she sucked on a lemon. “I understand, but think of the example you are setting for your son.”

As I always did in front of my husband, I shrink myself. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better tomorrow.”

Her raised eyebrow suggests she doesn’t believe me. Maybe I’ll ask Margie if I can start and end my shift fifteen minutes earlier.

Fen’s hand is cold in mine as I hustle him down the steps into the rain for the miserable mile walk home.

“I can’t see, Momma,” Fen complains in a shout.

“Just pull your hood over your eyes,” I say. I don’t want to pick him up. He’s five, but not small. A piggyback might work, but my jacket is slippery wet, and he’s not the only one struggling to face the walk.

My hood blows off my head, and my hair whips around my face.

“Fuck me,” I mutter beneath my breath.

A truck drives by, too close to the curb. The puddled rainwater rises in a giant wave and drops over the two of us.

Water pours down the neck of my coat. Fen begins to cry.

Tears sting my eyes, and I feel like crying too.

I drop to my knees in front of Fen and hug him to me, his little hands grabbing at my shoulders. “Can we go home, Momma?”

I know which home he means.

I cup his cheeks. “I’m sorry, but we can’t. It isn’t safe. But it doesn’t mean this is permanent. Better weather is coming. And in time, we can move if we really don’t like it. We can find somewhere else.”

My stomach roils again. I need a bathroom.

“You know what we need?” I ask. “Some dry towels and then a movie in bed to get warm.”

I don’t know if I’m trying to cheer him up or myself.

Maybe both.

Fen manages a weak smile. “Okay.”

I’m just about to cross to the other side of the street when a second truck looks as though it’s going to drive through the puddle. In an attempt to move us both out of the way, I trip over something. A curb maybe. The hard dirt does little to break my fall, and a sharp pain runs up my arm, causing my breath to catch. Fen and I end up on the ground in a tangled mess. I try to open my eyes but can’t because of the rain. Somehow, the tears manage to escape anyway.

I don’t know how to break the cycle I’m in.

The truck pulls to a gentle stop without creating a wave, but I don’t have it in me to care. It’s shiny and black. A truck door slams, and it takes a minute for me to realize the driver is walking toward me.

“What the fuck are you doing out in this rain?” someone shouts in a gruff voice.

I sit, helping Fen to stand, then look up. Wraith looms over me, the rain soaking his blond curls and leather jacket.

Of course it had to be Margie’s son.

He reaches for me, unbidden, and manhandles me to my feet as if I weigh nothing.

With nowhere to channel all the emotions I have, I choose to aim my anger at him. “What the hell do you think I’m doing? I’m walking home after the politest reaming out from the principal of Fen’s school. We both got soaked by some dick who raced through the ginormous puddle your truck is currently sitting in. And I assumed you were about to do the same. In trying to move out of the way, I fell. So, if you’re done asking obvious questions, I’m going to get my son home.”

I grab Fen’s hand and start walking.

“Get in the truck, Raven,” Wraith shouts from behind me.

I turn and look at him. With his hair slicked back by the rain, he looks like one of those wild heroes with knife’s-edge cheekbones and a menacing glare. “I don’t need your help.”

“Can we go with him, Momma?” Fen pleads.

I shake my head. I’m sure he’s confused as to why I’m crying and why I’m turning down the opportunity for a ride when we’re both clearly soaked. I’ll explain when I get home and then?—

The vomit hits the pavement with a splash. My stomach revolts, cramping tight, as I throw up what little food I ate today.

My head spins, and the ground shifts in and out of focus. I try to push Fen back out of the way. He doesn’t need to see me like this. Even with the cold, I feel the prickle of sweat forming on my brow.

“For fuck’s sake,” Wraith curses. “I’m putting this guy in the truck. I’ll be back for you.”

I want to object. I don’t want to owe this man anything. The price he might ask in return is too high to pay.

“Is Momma okay?” Fen nervously asks.

Wraith’s reply is drowned out by the storm, but I pray to God it’s kind and age appropriate.

I watch miserably as Fen gets lifted into the large black truck that looks warm and dry inside. I take a step toward it, uncertain whether I’m going to climb in after Fen or tug him out so we can resume the miserable crawl home.

As if answering my own question, I promptly throw up again.

Large hands fist into my hair, pulling it back under control from the whipping wind. When he’s gathered it all, Wraith puts one hand on my back. It doesn’t rub or move in circles. It simply stays where Wraith put it. And maybe it’s my imagination, but I can feel the warmth of his palm and wonder if this is what it’s like to feel cared for.

“Get it all out now, because I’ll be pissed if you puke in my truck.” His words offer a cold bite of reality.

As if on demand, I vomit again, and my stomach spasms. Some splashes on his boots, and I’m part mortified, and part pleased. Serves him right for getting involved in shit that doesn’t concern him.

Once the worst waves are over, I stand and wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my coat.

Embarrassment heats my cheeks, and words clutter my throat as I look at him properly.

Thank you.

Leave me alone.

I’m sorry.

None of them make it out.

It’s unfair that he looks so utterly competent while I feel like the hot mess I probably look. I bet my mascara is halfway down my cheeks, and my throat feels raw.

“You’re a mess. Let’s get you home.” Wraith doesn’t wait for an answer. He wraps his strong hand around my wrist and leads me to the passenger door of his truck. And given how I feel, I let him. I’d be foolish to refuse the ride at this point. I’m not sure I could get myself home in one piece, let alone get Fen there.

“Momma, this truck is so cool,” Fen says excitedly from the back when I climb inside.

The interior is spotless. Like, not a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. There are no cables or water bottles or packs of wipes lying around. Water pours down the steamed-up windshield as Wraith walks around the front.

In spite of the downpour, he doesn’t rush. Instead, he walks with a powerful gait. Shoulders back. Head up. Ignoring the rain like it isn’t even happening.

When he climbs into the truck, he brushes my hair back off my face and wraps it all up in a messy, wet bun with an elastic from around his wrist. Then he leans across me, so intimately I swear his arm brushes against my breasts. His lips are mere inches away from mine.

I want to shove him away because I’m sick and Fen is in the back of the truck, but a part of me also wonders what it would feel like to lean forward just an inch or two and let our lips meet.

Would he kiss me back?

I must be sick if I’m hallucinating, imagining doing anything with this man.

Ruthlessly, he tugs the seat belt around me and clicks it in place.

He turns on the truck, then fiddles around with some dials, and air whooshes up against the front window, de-misting it.

“You got your seat belt on, kid?” Wraith asks.

“I do,” Fen shouts. “Even the seat belt is amazing.”

Wraith doesn’t turn to look at Fen, but I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch in the slightest indication of a smile.

I swallow, the horrible taste of sickness still coating my mouth. The truck pulls away from the curb, and in the cocooned warmth and slow rocking of the car, I fall asleep.