Текст книги "The Weight of Rain"

Автор книги: Mariah Dietz

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Kash tosses a small wad of keys across the space that Parker picks out of the air. “Don’t let King drive. He’s got a target on his ass.”

King grumbles an objection but moves to the passenger door.

“Wait!” Kash shouts. He moves to the back of the car and lowers to a knee, looking under the vehicle. “We’re leaking something.”

King changes direction and gets down to look beside Kash. The two confer for a few minutes before Summer lets out a frustrated growl and the three move back over to us with Kash carrying her bike. He deposits it into the bed and then collects his keys from Parker and opens the driver’s door. Summer slides into the passenger seat while Parker gets in the back. I stand on the sidewalk and release a deep breath before stepping past where King is holding the back passenger door open expectantly.

“How in the hell did you guys get here so fast?” Summer asks, turning in her seat to face Kash.

“I was calling to tell you we were coming and you didn’t answer, so I called Lo. She said something about a situation and I heard that bastard yelling,” Kash explains.

“He was a bastard,” Summer says quietly in agreement. “But you should have seen Lo! Seriously! My mind is blown!”

“We saw,” Parker says from beside me. “You were completely chill as you stood there. He was pissed you weren’t intimidated.”

“He was just trying to act tough,” I say dismissively.

“Seriously though, you looked like you were ready to throw down with him.” Summer turns in her seat to face me. “Like you wanted him to try something so you could hit him back.”

A soft laugh breaks through my lips. “I prefer to go into situations like that with a pair of steel-toed boots. I knew this wasn’t going to be anything.”

“What?” she shrieks, giggling as her head falls back. “Don’t tell me you know how to kick a guy’s ass.”

I smile in reply and then voice an honest no when they all turn, seeking an answer. “I’ve been known to stare too long when I people-watch. He was slow, in a suit which restricts movement and reactions, and his hands were super soft. There’s no way he works out.” I shrug. “He wasn’t a big threat.”

“You knew that from looking at him for like ten seconds?”

“Some people are easy to read.”

“Have you kicked someone with steel-toed boots before?” Parker’s voice is anxious with anticipation.

“No.” I quietly laugh once more. “That was a joke.”

Parker looks genuinely disappointed by my response and then moves his attention forward and questions Kash about Summer’s truck.

“What’s that?” King’s voice is so soft it takes me by surprise. His index finger brushes against the blue ink staining my skin.

I look up at him, noting too many details in the few seconds of silence shared between us. “His plates.”

King licks the pad of his right thumb and wraps his fingers around my wrist, bringing my arm to the small space between our legs. His thumb rubs across the sensitive area with an obvious intention, but it’s gentle and slow in an attempt to not irritate the area. The friction he creates is warm and distracts me from everything being said and done around us. He rubs until his thumb and my wrist are both dry, the numbers slightly faded. I glance up at him when his thumb hovers over the most prominent of the characters remaining, and his eyelids lower, reflecting a pain that I don’t understand. His thumb settles against my wrist with the slightest pressure. I work to remain casual and unaffected, but I’m sure he knows otherwise. I’m certain he can feel just how much he affects me while my heart thrums under his touch. Voices are light, joking as we go. I can tell based on the tones, but that’s all that registers. I’m obsessing over why King is touching me, and if he would be if the shadows of our legs and night weren’t cloaking so much.

As King opens the rear passenger door, his hand slides from my wrist and his body turns away without glancing back at me. He’s out of the car in a second and slamming the door closed within the next. Why did I let him touch me? Why did I come back here? I already know the answer—it’s because as much as I want to dislike, hate, even loathe King, I can’t, and that’s slowly making me despise myself.

SEVERAL HOURS later I’m sitting at my easel, wearing an old tattered sweatshirt and drawing King’s hand holding my wrist, erasing that guy from my skin. Thoughts of his reaction to me for the rest of the night are intermingling with those moments, creating an ugly mixture of shades to be present.

Being ignored by King is nothing new, but it’s beginning to hurt more and more.

“I DON’T understand why you’re working so hard to change for some guy you don’t even like.”

My eyebrows crash down as I rear my head back from Kenzie’s verbal slap. It’s a weekend, and for the first time in many weeks, she’s here at the studio, filling the space with unease. I don’t know that many others would consider what I’m doing to be ‘cooking.’ I’m attempting to make a breakfast burrito and I’ve burnt the eggs, so they’re now a rubbery consistency and no longer smell recognizable. “I’m not trying to change anything.”

“You’ve never cooked, so why do you care now?”

I return her stare while considering her words. I care because of Mercedes. Because he posed a challenge and I loathe defeat. I’m learning because I can’t eat boxed dinners for the rest of my life. Do I care what King thinks? Maybe. Probably. More than I wish I did.

She raises her eyebrows, recognizing my awareness.

TODAY HAS been one of those days that I wish I could have a free pass to erase and do over again. Nothing has gone as planned. I missed the bus to school. I was sprayed by mostly dirt from a car. Mercedes was in a mood that rivaled my own, bringing out an uglier side of both of us. And Charleigh has stood me up for the second time now to go out with a guy.

I head to the bus stop, avoiding the puddles with my ballet flats that I am hoping will return to their shimmery golden tan color. The rain has been one of my favorite things about Oregon, but today it’s just annoying. The dark clouds in the sky are annoying. The puddles are annoying. The sound of tires splashing through said puddles is even more annoying because it forces me to move to the far side of the narrow road and brush up against the fir tree branches that I swear are reaching for me as they soak my leg from thigh to ankle.

The car stops beside me, and I look over my shoulder to see the tinted window of a silver SUV slide down, revealing King.

“What are you doing out here?”

I look ahead and then back to him as though the answer is obvious.

“Where’s your car?” he demands.

“I don’t have a car.”

“You walk here? Every day?”

“Until they can figure out that whole teleporting idea.”

“Get in.”

“That’s okay. I’m all wet and it’s not that much farther.” I turn to look down the road again and then back to the interior of the SUV, where King is looking at me with rounded eyes.

“Get in the car.” His tone is calm and relaxed like this is merely a friendly suggestion, but the intense look he’s giving me says he’s going to follow alongside me until I get in.

I sigh deeply and reach for the handle of the passenger door. The warmth inside the vehicle makes my damp skin prickle as I slide in, the leather squeaking protests against my wet jeans, bringing King’s attention to my lap.

“You’re soaked.”

“It adds to the conditioning. You know how swimmers go in with all of their clothes on to build resistance? I find this improves my calf workout.”

“Why don’t you ever ask for a ride?” he asks, dismissing my joke.

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s dark and pouring down rain.”

“It’s not that bad,” I lie. “I just have to get to the end of the road, and then the bus stop is a couple of blocks West.”

“How did we not know you don’t have a car?”

I look at King and raise my eyebrows. “Why would you?”

“Because you shouldn’t be walking this every night.”

“King, you’re my employer. I’m not going to ask you or Kash to drive me to the bus stop. That would be unprofessional.”

“No, what it would be is smart. And I’m not your employer.” My mouth opens to retort and then I pause, watching him shake his head. “I don’t understand why you’re trying to avoid me. I’m not going to tell anyone about what happened.”

I want to contest both of his points since he works just as valiantly to avoid me, but my mouth opens before my thoughts are done forming. “You already did.”

King’s gaze cuts to me so fast, it makes me nearly lose my focus. His eyes quickly move to each of mine, searching for what all I know. He drops his stare before looking out the windshield as though he’s embarrassed. “I told Summer I met someone, way back in September. I never told her you’re the same person.”

“I know. She figured it out a few weeks ago when we met to discuss the work for the shop.”

King closes his eyes and raises a hand to his face where he pinches the slight bridge in his nose. “Why didn’t one of you tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say? I’m so confused by everything that involves you. Most of the time you act like a dick and completely ignore me. Other times you act like a nice guy. I didn’t even know that night meant anything to you after I didn’t hear from you. Then I found out your name isn’t Bentley, and I was positive it meant nothing to you.”

King drops his hand and opens his eyes to stare at me for several long seconds as the windshield wipers echo in the silence. “Most people around here know who I am. I tell people my name is Bentley because sometimes it’s nice to just hang out and be me.” He squeezes his right fist with his left, creating a symphony of pops. “I lost my phone that night. I had no idea where it went and your name wasn’t in my backups.” He swallows, his hands stretching, reflecting there’s something more. “I asked everyone I knew at that party about you.”

“I only knew my roommate and her friend.”

We stare at one another for too long, each of us weighing thoughts and questions that feel louder than actual conversation. I break eye contact first, moving my gaze to the windshield to watch the rain in order to gain the strength I need to ask the question I’ve been agonizing over for months. I press my lips firmly together and turn back to him. King’s eyes are wide, his mouth set in a grim line like he knows what I’m about to ask. “Did you want to be found?”

His shoulders curl inward as though he’s relieved. “You have no idea how much I wanted you to find me.”

I want to ask why he acted so surprised and cold when we met again, but the fact that he did makes this questions seem more inappropriate than my last. “We have to go. My bus will be there in a few minutes.”

King’s chest rises with a deep breath and his shoulders square again. He doesn’t say anything more as we drive the distance to the bus stop. The rain is our music, loud and angry against the windshield and streets, amplified by the roof of the SUV. I hate that it reminds me of that night and lying beside King, getting lost in the rhythm of his heartbeat and the rain until I couldn’t decipher one from the other.

“I’d offer to come get you tomorrow, but I have a feeling you’d say no.”

“I would.” I unlatch my seatbelt and slide closer to the door, gripping my messenger bag and pulling it into my lap. “Thanks for the ride, King.”

“Lo.” King’s voice is loud and unsteady. “We don’t have to go back to that night. We can just be friends.”

I’m so relieved I didn’t turn around when he called my name, because I’m certain my face is contorted with confusion and anger. I slam the door shut and head the few paces to the undercover bench where a woman I see here nearly daily is waiting. We don’t make eye contact. We never do. I pull out my phone and sit beside her, ignoring King’s stare.

“WHERE ARE you going?”

“The restaurant.”

“But it’s nearly nine. Aren’t they closing soon?”

I shrug, my fingers fastening the final button on my coat. “I prefer to work when people aren’t there watching me and asking questions every other minute.”

“How are you going to get home?”

“The bus.”

“Does Kenzie have that guy over again?” Charleigh’s eyes drift upward as if seeking the answer herself.

“Yeah, apparently, they’re dating or something. She’s been bringing him around for the last couple of weeks.”

Charleigh’s chin snaps, nearly hitting her collarbone. “Kenzie’s in a relationship?”

“It certainly seems that way,” I say.

Charleigh takes three swift strides to the window and pulls the curtain with a rough tug. “Where are the flying pigs?”

Allie giggles and slides her eyes from the pattern she’s meticulously cutting out. “I’m happy for her, but I’m also kind of bummed. I liked hearing about her different conquests.”

“I wish she’d spend more time at his place,” I admit, slinging the strap of my messenger bag over my neck.

I take a step back as they both laugh at my misery. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Bye!” they call out in harmony. I shake my head with a small smirk as I pull the door closed behind me, their giggles echoing down the stairwell.

I SLOWLY descend the bus stairs, shoving my phone and headphones back into my messenger bag. The sky is even darker tonight, filled with invisible gray clouds that are sprinkling the city, making the streets and sidewalk glossy and fragrant the way only rain can. “Shit,” I mutter, gripping the railing as I step onto the sidewalk. The restaurant is visibly packed.

“Everything okay, miss?”

I turn to the bus driver and mumble my apologies as I release the rail and take a few steps forward, hearing the hiss of the bus’s engine as it pulls away.

“Lauren?” I twist my neck to see Estella heading my way, a cigarette balanced between her index and middle finger.

“Hey.”

“You forgot it was Tuesday.” Her voice is a quiet acknowledgment. I did. With so much going on, I feel like I’m losing track of days, sometimes losing time altogether. Like it’s passing without me.

“I can bring you home,” she offers.

I look back to her after glancing at the crowded tables. “That’s alright. I need to get some work done on the mural and I’m here.”

She smiles warmly as she wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me closer to her. We walk side by side, my steps shorter to keep pace with her as the smoke from her cigarette lingers in the air. My dad has smoked Marlboros his entire life, but Estella’s are clove, the scent slightly savory as it stretches and dances in the air before settling in my lungs.

“Did you come for tacos?” Mia calls, her lips stained the same bright red they always are.

“Maybe. I need to get some work done first.”

“I’ll hold some back for you. This crowd can eat!” Mia says with a bright smile.

I enter the dining area with my head down and my strides swift. It’s amazing how many people will stop you when they think you’re a member of the staff, even when it’s apparent you’re off duty. The crowd is alive with laughter and voices that have clearly been enjoying the drinks that are often accompanied by tiny umbrellas.

The underpainting makes me wish I were working in private. I loathe how it looks like a giant mistake rather than a piece of art. It’s the base coat that will allow me to paint the mural, and because this wall is red, I had to use a light beige paint to allow all of the colors to show, making my underpainting that much more pronounced.

I lay out the old sheet I’ve been using as a drop cloth and unload my acrylic paints and supplies. Charcoals have always been my preferred method of art. I’ve been using them for so long they feel like an extension of my hands. Blending, sketching, shading, it’s all done with the charcoal and a gum eraser, but with painting, I have to hold a palette that constantly gets in my way or begins to slant while I’m working, blending colors I never intended to mix. Plus, I have to constantly add more paint to my brush and always have to create more of a hue that I inevitably run out of. Therefore, I’ve always had to force myself to paint, and while these frustrations are faced each and every time I hold a brush, my love for the techniques, colors, and results sometimes inspire me to want to paint every surface I see.

When Estella and I first discussed me painting a mural, she wanted a beach scene, something that she could look at that would warm her through Portland’s rainy season. I offered to post a want ad for her at school because I don’t do landscapes; I never have. At least, not by choice. In school I’ve had to create them, like the ocean scene I was working on when I first met Mercedes, but I never like their results. Nature has many extraordinary secrets and gifts that it shares, and while I enjoy admiring them, it’s people who draw my attention. Gapped teeth, bridged noses, wide-set eyes, full lips, thin lips, freckles, dimples, scars, it doesn’t matter; everyone has beauty if people are willing to look and not get distracted by what they’re taught to find attractive. Estella wasn’t interested in having someone else. She insisted on having me do the work even if I couldn’t create what she wanted. It left me unsettled for weeks as I contemplated what I could paint that would still evoke the same warmth she was seeking. When I came to her with a list of ideas, she shook her head and walked away, leaving me wide-eyed with confusion. She found me later that same day and told me she wanted me to paint what I felt in my heart. That made the decision even more trying because I wasn’t painting a mural for me to look at every day; it was for her. It was less than a week later while we were closing up after a busy night like tonight that I knew what to paint.

I squeeze several shades of reds, browns, yellows, and oranges onto my palette and add large globs of black and white. Several paintbrushes go into my back pockets in order of their brush size, and an old shirt goes over my shoulder to be used as a rag. Terry cloth is impossible to use. You can’t get a clean line with it.

“Hey, Lo, I brought you some water for the wall and coffee for you.” I turn so I can smile my appreciation at Mia. “I wish I could see what’s in your mind! I can’t wait for it to be finished!” Her words translate to: whatever that is, it’s hideous! I hope you know what you’re doing!

I press my lips together. I’m trying to smile, whether to give her assurance or because I don’t know my alternative, I’m not sure. It’s not convincing her of much because she returns the tight-lipped smile before taking a couple of steps back and disappearing.

Her reaction makes the energy and passion I finally found recently dissipate. A long breath escapes me and my shoulders sag. I take a step back, turning my chin to look at the angles I’ve begun to outline, trying to see the still image as a fluid motion. My eyes close and the hum around me invigorates the emotion I’m working to capture. I pull a wide brush from my pocket and swirl reds with a touch of brown and orange. Then the noise fades along with my tension as new colors and lines are added to the wall.

“LA, LA, La, Lauren!”

I push a loose strand of hair back with the handle of my paintbrush and turn to see Kash, a wide grin covering his face.

“You were in the zone!” he cries.

I raise my eyebrows in question, and he laughs so hard he has to lean a shoulder against the wall for support.

“I was saying your name for like five minutes before you heard me!”

My smile is due to his amusement more than the fact that I find humor in the situation. It’s a part of any sort of passion. We all zone out when we care about something enough. I’m confident he knows exactly what it’s like to lose the world around you and find yourself in one where nothing exists but your craft. “Yeah, sorry.”

“This is crazy! What are you doing here?”

“I used to work here.”

Kash raises his eyebrows and juts out his chin. “You worked here?”

“For three years.”

“No shit. What a small world.” His last word is spoken softly, distracted by the mess of color I’ve applied to the wall tonight. “What are you painting?” he asks, still following lines to blotches of color that will be used as my outline.

“She won’t tell us.” Mia’s response is delivered with her red-painted lips spread wide and a smile that I recognize from going out with her after work a couple of times—she’s interested in him.

“Can we guess?” Kash asks.

“She only smiles when you do.” Mia places a fresh container of water and cup of coffee on the table beside me. “It’s a mischievous smile, like she wants us to keep guessing.”

My lips climb because I do. “Mia, this is Kashton, my boss.”

“I’m pretty sure Mercedes thinks she’s your boss,” he says, making me laugh out loud and causing my palette to drop down just far enough that one of my yellows mixes with a red.

“That’s cool. She says really great things about you guys,” Mia says.

“That’s because we’re pretty great.” I have to turn away from where I’m adding some paint to an area I don’t want to dry before finishing, to see if Kash is truly flirting or if his tone is just getting mixed in the chaos of the ensuing noise. His back is straight, his chin angled and eyes bright. I feel the urge to say something. Anything. I can’t understand why he’s flirting with Mia when Summer is so perfect for him.

“Do you know who’s closing tonight?” My words are too fast and too loud to be subtle. Both of them turn to me, but my focus is on Mia, my eyes rounded in warning. Her eyebrows rise, telling me she’s misreading my warning to avoid him as a staked claim, before she takes a step back and smiles guiltily at me.

“I’ll find out. Do you need anything else? Some food?”

“No, I don’t want to stop and eat right now.”

She nods a couple of times and then turns, giving a brief smile to Kash before disappearing.

“King! Get over here! You were right!” Mia’s departure doesn’t seem to faze Kash as he yells through the restaurant, making me frown slightly. I’ve never appreciated when people disregard everyone else, and yelling in a restaurant doesn’t seem courteous in the least. Then his words repeat in my head and each of my muscles grows tense. King’s here? He recognized me? “King! It’s Lo!”

Half the restaurant is now looking at me, and for the first time tonight, I’m looking at them. “Do you know everyone here?”

“Yeah.” His gaze follows mine to the first couple of tables before he looks back at me and shrugs dismissively. “Just some friends.” I’m pretty sure this is twice as many people as I actually know.

My thoughts stop as King appears with an arm slung loosely around Summer’s shoulders.

“You didn’t tell me you were painting when we were here.” Summer’s tone holds a slight trace of offensiveness, but her eyes are distracted with following my blocks of colors. “Your colors are beautiful.” Her eyes find mine, and there’s an authenticity behind them that makes me feel slightly sheepish.

“She won’t tell anyone what it is yet,” Kash explains.

“That’s awesome,” Summer says, her lips spreading into a smile that makes her nose crinkle slightly. It’s an approving smile, and for the first time, I feel as though Summer is being genuinely accepting of me. Maybe she wants to be my friend after all.

“How often do you work on it?” Kash asks, his eyes once again following my paint.

I shrug and run my brush through a color on my palette I had created so a shell doesn’t build over it from remaining stagnant. “When I get extra time. I’ve never done anything this big, so I don’t know how long it will take.”

“You’re doing this in the shop!” Kash cries.

My heart is beating so fast I feel nearly dizzy with the thought. Painting on a wall is different from a canvas because of its permanence. Sure, someone may paint over it at some point, but for a period at least, my work will be present on Kashton Knight’s wall for him and all of his riding buddies to see. The fact is intimidating. The shop is open and so bright and minimal that even if I were to use a gray palette, it would be impossible to miss.

“I’m serious,” Kash says. “I didn’t realize you were already contracting work out when we discussed you doing this. I want you to paint my shop. I want a Lo Crosby original.” He turns to his brother. “King, draw up a contract tomorrow. I want this shit done before the Swiss team gets out here. I want everyone to see it, and have it be a part of the marketing plan.”

My vision goes fuzzy with the onslaught of terror and pressure Kash just passed me. “I don’t know how to do a logo. I can paint something for you, sure, but …” My words fade because the only ones I have left are screaming I can’t.

“Sketch some designs out. Create a portfolio of ideas, colors—the works. I want to see what you can come up with, and we’ll all sit down and discuss it.” Kash is in business mode, his thoughts precise and deliberate. I wish I saw him act more like this with Mercedes. “Can you get something ready in two weeks?”

The muscles in my shoulders and neck feel strained as I stare at him, my brush still. Thoughts of what possible doors this could uncover, and how badly I could possibly mess this up, make my jaw feel rigid.

“Two weeks.” Kash nods, setting the date.

“Two weeks,” I repeat in some form of confirmation.

“Now, come have a beer with us! King, did they bring more pitchers out?”

“That’s okay,” I begin. “I need to get some more work done on this before I leave, and my paints are starting to dry.”

“We’ll be back next Tuesday, see your progress.” Kash says the words like an assurance, but they’re anything but. I don’t want the added pressure of having someone continually checking in to see the development of my work. It makes the tiny creative receptors in my brain shrink as my panic levels grow.

“You look nervous,” King says as Summer follows after Kash.

I turn my attention to him and think of every previous tip I’ve used to relax. “I don’t create logos.”

King lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug that makes them look even wider. “You said you don’t paint murals either, yet here you are.”

“Yeah, but this will sit on one wall. Not on stickers and bikes, websites, and everywhere else.”

“It will still become a part of this restaurant.”

I shake my head. He’s being ridiculous trying to compare these situations. As a part of Kash’s business team, he of all people should be on my side.

“Eventually you’re going to have to make the decision. There’s a shit ton of artists out there. Are you going to be able to cut it?”

The fine hairs on my arms bristle though my cheeks heat. Only King can make me feel chilled with fear and heated with anger all at once. “I’ll be sure to sign your copy.”