Текст книги "The Weight of Rain"

Автор книги: Mariah Dietz

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

My chest feels heavy, like I have too much air, or too much blood, or maybe my organs have suddenly tripled in size. I knew that I mattered to him; I just never realized it could be this much.

“I need you to go back to being an asshole for a few minutes before I say something I’m not ready for.”

“I wasn’t that bad.” King looks like he wants to smile by the way his cheeks move up, but it quickly becomes a wince. “Was I?”

A smirk pulls at my lips as I nod. “You were a class-A asshole at times. It was easier when I could hate you.”

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I don’t want to care about you this much,” I admit.

“I don’t want you to stop.” King’s eyes are warm, gentle as they hold mine. The desire to have him hold me and fix this, fix everything, is so tempting.

“All my life people have been there when it was convenient, when it benefited them.”

“I want to be there for all of it, the good, bad, ugly, and everything in between.”

“That’s easy to say now.”

“The last six months have been anything but easy and good. Still, look where we are. Look where we’re going, Lo.” King’s voice is calm and assured as he takes a step closer to me, not even slightly deterred or defensive about my concern. It makes something warm and tingly to spread through my entire body.

“You need to go talk to Kenzie.”

“First I need to make sure you’re okay. I want you to tell me you aren’t going to let what she’s done affect us.”

“It won’t. It might make living with her more difficult, but it doesn’t change anything between us. Besides, I get off on proving people wrong.” Eyebrows raised, he struggles to conceal his smile. “Don’t even,” I say, raising a hand. “That wasn’t intended to be dirty.”

“Yet it was. I like that you think dirty. No need to hide it.”

“Go talk to your sister.”

“Going.” He doesn’t move though. King’s hand curves around my waist, pulling me closer to him as he takes a step forward. We kiss for several long moments, and while it leaves me breathless and with the promise of all he can make me feel, it isn’t a hot kiss filled with lust. It’s packed with passion and sincerity, ensuring me that everything is going to be okay.

I HAVEN’T seen Kenzie for two days, not since King came back into the office, where I waited for him to sort through his family drama, and told me Kash was giving her a ride home. I didn’t pry … much. I knew by his tired expression that he was feeling remorseful for what he had yelled at her. I feel a little guilty that I’m so relieved to not have seen her. The inevitable conversation between us in an attempt to iron things out is without a doubt going to be awkward and forced.

The doorbell rings, distracting me from going through the contents of my closet once more.

“Here,” Allie says, shoving a garment bag forward as I open the door.

“What is it?”

“Your date with King is tonight, right?”

“Yeah…”

“This is what you’re going to wear.”

“What is it?” My hands are already pulling down the zipper, not patient enough to wait for her reply. “Allie!” I squeal, pushing back each side of the bag.

“If you get anything on it, I’m going to kill you,” she threatens as I lift the beautiful handmade dress so I can fully admire it. It’s one of the pieces she’s going to present during the fashion show. I recognize the color, but that’s all. There have been two dresses she’s been working on that I have barely seen, this being one of them.

“Are you sure?

“Of course I’m not. But I am sure that this is a big deal to you, and therefore you need to be dressed to the nines.”

“This is like the twenties.”

Allie smiles with pride and drops a bag on the kitchen counter. “Let’s get you ready.”

The dress is like a second skin. A flawless, shimmering, surprisingly heavy second skin. It’s emerald and falls several inches past my knee in waves of hand-sewn beading. When she initially shared the idea, I regret to say I looked at her with wide eyes, trying to hide how unattractive the idea seemed. Now, I’m amazed. The waist extends for my height and curves to my body, knowing of my bust and hips perfectly.

I leave my straightened hair around my shoulders, and while it feels wrong to hide any of the dress, Allie insists it will allow me to be casual enough to fit into nearly any restaurant that King chooses.

“Shit! He’s early!” Allie cries. She’s only a few steps behind me, watching over my shoulder as I apply another coat of mascara.

I take a deep breath as Allie moves to the front door. She turns, looking over her shoulder for me to confirm I’m ready before pulling it open.

“You clean up nice,” she says.

Curiosity has me moving forward around my easel and beside Allie. She’s wrong. He cleans up to look like a Calvin Klein model.

King is dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a navy blue shirt that both fit him so well I wonder if they were tailored to fit him. At the very least, I know Summer was involved. I’m staring at his hands, mesmerized by how even accompanied by fancy dress clothes they reveal hints of tricks gone bad, grease, and hard work. It makes my desire to have them on me—all over me—become my sole thought.

A sharp elbow to the back of my ribs has my eyes darting up to see that King is just as lost.

“Fair-y godmother,” Allie says quietly. “Don’t order anything with a cream or red sauce. They stain.”

King’s eyebrows raise, but Allie doesn’t notice. She’s packing things back into her bag. She slips around me and behind King and doesn’t turn around again, making her way downstairs.

“No red or cream sauce?”

“She made this dress. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes widen, peering over it once more. “She’s definitely climbing the charts to favorite person status. First heels, now this.” His hand sweeps down the length of me but several inches away, making that yearning for his touch grow more prominent.

I’m grateful I’ve been forced to wear heels lately; otherwise, I know I would be as nervous about them as I am this dress as we head down the stairs, my hand resting in the crook of his arm. It’s cool outside, the black shawl draped over my shoulders barely serving as a barrier, but thankfully it’s dry.

“How are classes going?”

“Good,” I answer while attempting to fasten my seatbelt and sneak another look at him before the dome lights dim. It’s starting to stay light later, but the sun still set a couple hours ago.

“Did you get your submission in?”

Since mailing my portfolio I’ve felt a heavy weight in my chest each and every time I consider the possible outcomes. “Yeah. I mailed it on Tuesday.”

I catch the slight lurch of King’s chin and his hand tightening around the steering wheel. “You’re going to love it. Traveling and working on paintings from artists you’ve studied. It will be like a dream come true.”

“They haven’t said yes.”

“They won’t be able to say no.”

I don’t know which possibility scares me more.

“There’s this restaurant in Florence, it’s called 13 Gobi. When you get there, you have to go. Their food is like nothing you’ve ever tasted before. It’s where I first started to really appreciate eating and wanted to learn to cook.”

“I doubt it will leave the same impression on me.”

King flashes his smile, the dim lighting from the dash and passing cars teasing at what they expose, hiding so much that my imagination draws most of it.

“You haven’t asked where we’re going yet,” King says as we pull to a stop at a light.

“Call me weird, but I like surprises.” Not to mention it seems rude to ask him. I fear he’s going to spend an obscene amount of money going anywhere our attire is set for.

“Goes with your theme of surprising others with your work, huh?”

“Something like that. I feel like people don’t have an appreciation for waiting any longer. As a culture we’re so used to being able to get any and everything at the tip of our fingers: we need it, and it arrives the next day. People no longer spend time thinking about the perfect gift. They simply go online and order whatever’s popular. We don’t want movies that leave us thinking; we want things spelled out. Popular books have spoilers online because people want to know what they’re walking into. Couples buy their own gifts. If something doesn’t load within seconds, people complain and leave the site, or call their phone and carriers crap.”

“This coming from the self-proclaimed food assembler.”

“Yes, but I don’t have a great appreciation for food. If I did, it would be different.”

“That sounds like a double standard.”

“It probably is. After all, I am a part of this culture as well.”

King glances over with a smile of amusement. “Wait until you get immersed into Italy’s culture. By the time you return you, won’t know what to do when you see a line, or understand why our dining experiences are so fast when there they savor not only the food, but the time together.”

“Impatience for the tedium and great amounts of patience for what they love. I can appreciate that to a point.”

“To a point?”

“Maybe if we all appreciated the fact we get to do tedious tasks, they wouldn’t seem so tedious.”

“The glass is half full.”

“Sure. Otherwise, what’s the point? If all you want to see is the pain and suffering, why live?”

“A friend of mine said artists are all sad. That their work is how they express the grief they feel.”

“We have to know sad in order to know happy, pain in order to feel pleasure, fear to teach us safety.”

“You told me that same line that night at the party.”

“Even while drinking, I’m deep. It’s a gift.”

King’s silent, navigating us through the busy Saturday evening traffic. He doesn’t even look my way. I have a feeling if his hands weren’t both on the wheel, one would be on the bridge of his nose and the other tightly fisted at his side. Though my words are light, I can tell by his reaction he was hoping I’d share in reminiscing. He isn’t mad. He’s disappointed.

“I remember meeting you.” My confession is so quiet my own ears strain to hear it. “I had only drunk a glass of beer before you arrived. Granted, that was enough to make me pretty tipsy since the glasses were ridiculously big, and I pretty much never drink, but I remember.”

“You were talking with Kenzie. I noticed you because you weren’t hanging on her every word and giggling. You guys were actually having a conversation. Kenzie has always sought out people that just want to have a good time. I knew then you were different.”

“You had a crowd of twenty girls around you. I didn’t even know you were at the center until you started moving forward, and through a mess of hair, I saw you.” I smile, recalling my piqued curiosity, and the sympathy and confusion I felt for each of the girls. “I expected you to be a complete asshole. I wanted you to be an asshole. There was no way I was going to join that group, and then I went out to get some air, and there you were.”

“Did you sleep with me because they were interested in me?”

King’s question sends a flash of anger through me. A bold insinuation, one that I hate to admit I’ve questioned myself about several times. “You walked right up to me and introduced yourself. I thought you were going to be one of those guys that just assumes everyone is going to fall head over heels in love with them. Then you made that joke about the rain in Oregon and how it’s always just a cloud away and how glad you were because it weeded out the people that were afraid their façades would wash away. It just seemed so honest. Granted, now I know you lied about your first name … but I’m willing to let that slide, now that I know the reason behind it.”

“You told me you loved the rain, and I couldn’t tell if you were being sarcastic or trying to flirt.”

“Neither,” I say, surprised he considered those were the only possibilities. “I really do love the rain, but I am glad it isn’t raining tonight. I doubt Allie would approve of me getting a single raindrop on this dress.” And hopefully my nerves won’t be reflective under my arms when this date is over. She definitely wouldn’t appreciate sweat marks.

“Where are we…?” My words pause as King pulls into the parking lot of Portland’s Art Museum. “You know it closes at five, right?” I shift in my seat when he doesn’t reply, feeling guilty for my reaction. “I mean, this was a really sweet idea, and I would love to come another time…”

“Do you think I would have brought you here without looking into it first?”

My eyebrows that were already raised dance higher, eliciting an amused laugh from King. He ducks out of the truck and is around to where I’m sliding out, offering me his arm once again. Without delay, he strolls to the main entrance of the museum where we’re met by a man wearing a suit and museum badge. He nods to King with a courteous smile while bidding us good evening, and then waves us in.

“If you have any questions, please find me in the Sculpture Court,” he says, locking the entrance doors. He gives us a parting smile, and then his shoes echo across the tiles, where we hear him far longer than we can see him.

“If you’re trying to get in my pants tonight by impressing me, it’s not going to happen. Allie sewed the dress on.”

King’s head tilts, his eyes growing larger. “She what?”

“There wasn’t time to add the right closure, so she sewed it on. I’m not drinking anything while we’re out tonight. I don’t think this skirt will go much higher than mid thigh.”

King bursts out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m as serious about it as I am my love for the rain.”

He moves behind me, sweeping my hair to the side and brushing his fingers down my spine, making chills run across my arms even with the casual touch. “You guys are crazy!”

“Says the guy that hangs upside down while midair on a bike.”

King’s still shaking his head, but he’s laughing, I’m pretty sure mostly at me. “Come on.” Taking my hand, we set off through a maze of halls that I’ve been through dozens of times while surrounded by other viewers. Being here alone with King, the rooms seem far more expansive, the silence an ode to each of the works of art. We walk slowly through the first two galleries, stopping in front of each picture or object to admire it.

“You like this one?” King asks from over my shoulder. We’ve been standing in front of the picture for several minutes. Neither of us has shared our thoughts on any of the pieces thus far.

“I don’t actually know what I’m looking at,” I admit.

His hand catches mine and he laughs so hard, I feel his weight against me. “This has to be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. I feel terrible saying that, especially with you here since you understand the time and energy that goes into each, but that is just fugly.”

“I respect all art and the artists that create it, but that doesn’t mean I like it all. I imagine it’s like you with food. You know how much work goes into certain meals, but your tastes don’t always match.”

“I followed you.”

I shake my head as my eyes slant with confusion.

“At the party I saw you motion to Kenzie where you were going. Then I told everyone I was going to the bathroom, and I followed you.” King maintains eye contact with me while explaining himself, his eyes bright with intensity. “I was drawn to you and knew I wanted to know you. I know Kenzie lied, and this entire week I’ve been going through periods where I’ve been so pissed off at her for it, but in some perverse way, I’m kind of glad. If you hadn’t started as Mercedes’ nanny, you would have been working at the restaurant, and with me being out of town and busy so often, and you doing school and working full time, I fear we wouldn’t have been able to see each other very often. And as much as I hate to admit this, there are things about each of us that if we saw without getting the chance to know each other, they probably would have driven us both crazy.”

“I’ve thought the same thing. I don’t plan on telling her that, however.”

King shakes his head, his lips spreading into a smile. “Hell no.”

“I’m glad you followed me.”

“It was one of my better decisions.”

We spend several more minutes in front of the painting King deemed fugly, neither of us acknowledging it as we kiss until we’re both tempted to test Allie’s sewing job.

“We just made that painting a whole hell of a lot more attractive,” King says while gently stroking the pad of his thumb under my lower lip. “Come on.”

We go to the door where special exhibits are set up, a room that has been closed off the last few times that I’ve been here. King opens it, and inside the sizable room, the lights are dimmed, the spotlights turned off completely. Our shoes echo even louder in this space. There’s nothing inside but a small table adorned with several white tiered candles that appear to have been lit for a period of time based upon the wax dripping down their sides, and two plates covered in silver domes that I’ve only ever seen in movies. A single red rose lies in the center, tied with a thin twine to a feather in varying shades of blue.

King pulls out my chair and then gently slides me closer to the table before uncovering the dish.

My eyes widen and my stomach growls. “You remember.”

“When you told me you could eat dessert as a meal, I wanted to think you were referring to me since, you know, we’d finished round two and you were completely relaxed. Your eyes closed as you told me pie was a waste of calories—you preferred cake with extra frosting, and dessert to any meal—but I thought, what the hell.”

The smirk on my face falls away as I inspect my plate. There’s a large slab of chocolate cake nestled between a crepe covered in whipped cream and strawberries, and a chocolate-covered donut that’s sitting beside a dish filled with chocolate mousse. A bar that’s several layers of sin high and a slice of tiramisu both look flawless and almost fake they’re so pretty. Slices of fresh fruit are artfully placed around the plate so that only the rim reveals that it’s a made of white porcelain. I only need a single finger to count the number of times I’ve eaten off fine china, being that it was only once when my mom’s sister invited us over for Christmas. My dad sent me while he and my brother spent the day with Nell and Alan. I’m not sure why or how I became the sacrificial lamb that year, but I recall the heavy plates and the way my aunt’s eyes seemed to zero in every time anyone lifted one to get more food.

I shove the memory aside and look to King. “This is perfect!”

The smile he responds with is flawless. I see the relief, anticipation, and excitement in his eyes, and for the first time in my life, I feel like someone gets me. More importantly, I feel like he wants to.

“HEY!” I call, catching a glimpse of Charleigh as she heads to her car.

She stops and turns toward the stairs as I rush down the last few. “Hey, I heard you and King went on your first official date.”

I’m sure my smile is a giveaway, but I still confirm it.

“I’m happy for you, Lo.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate that.” We stare at each other, the last several weeks of not seeing each other causing a wedge of discomfort to fill the space between us. I have no idea what she’s been up to or how school is going. I still haven’t even met her boyfriend yet or heard her accounts of him. “How is everything going with you?”

“Good, really good.”

I nod, unsure of how else to respond. “Allie said you dropped out of the show.”

“Don’t go there, Lo. I don’t want to have this same conversation with you.”

“Go where? I was simply asking.”

“Yeah, and then you’re going to tell me I’m throwing away my future for some guy.”

“Actually, I probably would have told you you’re alienating your best friend and throwing away your future for some guy.”

“Isn’t that cheeky. You’re learning to cook for a boy, going to modeling practice every week, painting on the wall of a restaurant for free, and sitting at home waiting all night for your mum to show up, even though she never does. You sit around waiting for everyone to make you into whomever they want or need.”

“I know who I am. I also know that sometimes you do things you don’t want to because someone needs you.”

“You’re too scared to say no. You don’t ever want to make yourself stand out too far. Otherwise, someone might realize how tall you are, how good at art you are, how much time you spend on that damn bus. You’re so afraid to be in the spotlight, you just sit in everyone else’s shadow.”

“And what in the hell are you doing with dropping out of the fashion show?”

“Saying fuck you to everyone and doing exactly what I want to. I’m twenty-two! I want to have fun and make mistakes and have loads of orgasms before I lock myself into a room to try and compete with thousands of other struggling artists that can’t even remember what the bloody sky looks like, or what a good night’s sleep feels like. I deserve to have some time to myself!”

We glare at each other, accusations and hurt making our eyes wide and our lips pursed.

“You need to stop living for everyone else and live for yourself a little. Maybe then you’ll understand.” She stomps to her car and peels out of the entrance lane rather than exit.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to come out here to go to art school?” I mumble. “Of course not, because you have your head shoved so far up your own ass, you don’t care.”

I stalk to the bus stop, my thoughts still on the argument with Charleigh, a thousand more appropriate responses running through my mind. Some of them are witty and would have been so much more rewarding, while others are far calmer, bringing me to regret the anger I allowed to respond to her initial accusation. I’m grateful I only have one class on Mondays. Otherwise, today would royally suck.

THOUGH THE rain is coming down in heavy sheets while the wind howls like two of mother nature’s tools are at war with one another—causing the rain to seemingly come at me from every angle—I smile when I hear King’s ringtone from my coat pocket. I pull my hood up a bit farther and my umbrella a bit lower before I reach for my phone and press it close to my ear so I can hear him over the current losing force.

“Where are you? You aren’t walking in this, are you?”

“Conditioning, remember?”

“It sounds like a fucking hurricane.” With that prompt, the wind howls even louder, folding my umbrella so it’s now collecting water rather than repelling it.

“I’m nearly there. Are you home?”

“Not yet. I’m at Spencer’s. How far out are you? Why don’t you call Summer, see if she’s there?”

“It’s okay. I’ll be there in just a few minutes. This wind is pushing me along, making me go faster. It’s kind of cool.”

I hear a man’s voice in the background asking if he’s talking to his girlfriend, followed by a dozen kissing sounds.

“What are you, twelve? She’s not my girlfriend. Get your label fetished mind out of here, and get back to work.”

I know King’s words would hurt me regardless, but they seem to compound Charleigh’s previous accusations, causing them to burn even deeper.

“Sorry, Spencer’s a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. Alright, well it’s kind of hard to hear you, so I’m going to let you go.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, why would I be upset?”

“You sound upset.”

“It’s just the storm. I’m fine. I’ll see you later.” I hang up before he has the opportunity to reply. Saturday night I was disappointed my dress required Allie’s assistance to remove. If it hadn’t, I have few doubts I would have ended up sleeping with King again. Now, I’m so relieved I could kiss her.

I beat Mercedes home. Knowing her carpool is set to arrive at any minute, I set a pot of milk on the stove to boil for cocoa, confident the marshmallow cream I just found in the pantry will at least make my stomach feel better.

Mercedes arrives with her carpool friends unloading from the minivan, and a yelled promise that they won’t play too late as they head toward the shop. The mother of one of the girls shares a cup of hot chocolate with me, making things awkward when she starts asking too many questions about Kash.

When the weather worsens, the mom compiles the girls, and Mercedes and I spend the afternoon watching shows made for young teenagers that I am ashamed to admit I’ve grown quite fond of, even anticipating watching them with her to see what’s going to happen next. I’m pretty sure this is another sign that I need a best friend, one who was at least born in the same decade as me.

“I’m going to put a load of laundry in really fast,” I say, standing from the couch as Mercedes delays the next show so she can text someone on her phone with no opposition.

“Lo!” Mercedes screams as I push start on the washer.

I take the stairs two at a time to the main level and find her at the top, waiting for me, her arms crossed over her chest and face pale.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you hear that?”

The house lights up, quickly followed by a loud crash of thunder that has Mercedes jumping.

“It’s okay. It’s just the storm.” My voice is too quiet and unsteady to assure either of us, but she doesn’t object.

I reach out and lock the front door as we pass it, and lead her back into the living room, turning on more lights. The rain seems to be actively trying to find a way inside as it pounds against the windows and roof. Rather than wait for Mercedes to consider what we should do, I sit her back on the couch and reach for the remote, flipping through the DVR to the lightest, most comedic and usually obnoxious show that I can find.

Four episodes later, the storm still seems at full force, the thunder and lightning dancing to a terrifying melody that the rain makes every attempt to interrupt.

“Do you think my dad and King are okay?” I hate that she’s bringing to light the same question I’ve been working to avoid all night.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re on their way now.”

“You won’t leave, right?”

“No. Of course not! Storm or no storm, I won’t leave you if they’re not home. Ever.”

Mercedes jumps as another loud clap of thunder sends a slight vibration through the house. “It’s getting worse.” Impossibly, it is.

With all of the cleaning I’ve done in this house, I can’t recall having ever seen storm supplies. I try to hide my concerns and take a deep breath. “Do you guys have flashlights, Mercedes?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just in case the power goes out.”

Her chin juts back as though my words have slapped her. “No.” Her glare is set between anger and refusal. “The power can’t go out! I don’t want to be alone in the dark without my dad.”

“It’s okay. It probably won’t. We’re just going to be ready.”

“Being ready sucks,” she mumbles. Her movements look reluctant as she drags her feet slowly across the wood floor in the direction of the office.

“They’re all in here somewhere,” she says, opening a drawer of the desk.

My lips draw down in a frown. It’s King’s desk of all places we’re going to be digging through. Another roar of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that illuminates the yard, quickly buries my indecision, and I step beside Mercedes and start rifling through a drawer.

We find two large flashlights and a much smaller one with a keychain that I consider leaving before I flip it on and notice the beam hits halfway down the hall. I pocket it and push the button on each of the larger flashlights to find that both are thankfully working.

“Let’s go make some dinner, and then we’ll play a game or something.”

“You totally think the power is going out, don’t you?” Mercedes doesn’t even look to me for a response. We both seem to realize this storm is going nowhere anytime soon.

“I don’t know.” My shoulders bunch and my eyebrows rise to reflect how unsure I am. “I just think that if it does, it’s probably a better idea that we get some food cooked. Unless you want to test out that magical wand I found.”

“Funny, Lo. Very funny.” Mercedes’ mouth is pulled down in a frown and her eyes shut before she shakes her head. A few months ago I would have found this reaction to be rude and annoying. Now it makes me laugh and reach forward to tickle her.

“I’ll show you funny.”

“No, Lo! Don’t! I’m sorry!” she squeals, grasping my arms with both of her hands. “I’m sorry!” A soft laugh follows her words and has me staring at her features, seeing both Kash and King in her high cheekbones. I have only seen a few pictures of her mom, but I know that her green eyes and lashes that seem impossible with how long they reach, are from her. Mercedes’ smile spreads wide and then she falls against my side, wrapping both her arms around my waist and hugging me tightly.

I’m the youngest in my family of non-expressive lovers. Hugs were rarer than the occasional ‘I love you’s,’ yet holding her to me like she’s mine to shelter and care for is natural and even feels good.

“What should we make?” I ask.

“What will you not burn?”

“Hey!” I protest, snaking my hand to her armpit. “I haven’t burned anything in a few weeks! Give me some credit!”

She giggles as my fingers find their target and wiggles to get free.

“How about that pasta you made last week with the weird green stuff?”

“The pesto and sundried tomato stuff?”

“Yeah.”

I don’t make any attempt to hide my smirk as she looks at me and then nods. “Yeah, we can make the weird green stuff again.”

Mercedes makes herself comfortable in the living room as I scour the fridge, pulling out the ingredients I used last time and some new ones that I think may be a good contribution.

I’m adding the cheese to the sauce when the door shuts with a cough of complaints and the rustling of fabric. Without thought, my hands release the grater and cheese, my feet migrating to the quickest path to the door where Mercedes meets me.

“King!” She throws herself against his chest, though he’s visibly wet. “Where’s my dad?” She pulls her head back, desperate for assurance.

His eyes scan over her, a hand settling in the middle of her shoulders. “He’s at Summer’s. Roads are closing. He’ll be back in the morning.” King scans the room as he finishes assuring her, settling on me. He’s staring at me, searching for something

“He’s not answering his phone,” Mercedes objects without wasting a moment.

“They’re starting to re-route calls. I’m sure it’s in case anyone needs help, but I’m positive he’s there.” King moves his hands to her shoulders and squats in front of her, waiting until she meets his gaze. It takes a few seconds, but slowly Mercedes’ head turns to face him. “He’s going to be okay, monkey, I swear.”