The Effects of Falling (The Weight of Rain Duet Book 2) (5 page)

Lo likely has only a vague idea of what this all means, but she doesn’t ask for verification or clarity because she’s fishing for a piece of charcoal in her bag in preparation of King going.

We both watch him with eagle eyes, admiring the way he swiftly guides the bike over the surface with ease from watching the others and knowing exactly where to direct the tires. He has enough speed that he does a single forward flip off the end, releasing his bike before he lands so as not to get hurt.

Lo releases a deep breath through her lips that confirms her nerves. I know exactly what she’s feeling. I released the same breath after Kash had gone.

W
ITH TWO CARDS
full of pictures, I approach the group of photographers, makeup artists, lighting specialists, and the rest of the crew which has gathered around the riders. The sun is getting too low for riding to continue to be either safe or productive at this point. After the stunts on the log, they moved to a playground where Tommy, Kash, and King were able to do tricks on some of the equipment and off a hill that someone had cleared while they were doing other shots. The white background is going to be incredible, and while the tricks aren’t as integrated and impressive as they can be from a technical perspective, the look of pure satisfaction and glee are what will make these some of my favorite shots.

“We’ll do some more tomorrow. Maybe wake up early and get a chance to get you guys in a normal, everyday environment,” a woman says.

“Normal?” Tommy asks with a smile.

“Attempting to make you guys look normal is my job.” She smiles brazenly. “One that I’m damn good at. Prepare to drink coffee and smile. A lot.”

Kash laughs knowingly, and lifts his bike so that a tire lies over his shoulder. I’m sure he’s exhausted. Riding is a lot of work when in a controlled setting, let alone having to trudge through several feet of snow while carrying your bike. Still, he makes it look effortless. “I’m going to be checking out the hot tub if that’s normal enough for you. You can make the decision to edit out my drinks or not.”

When he flashes her a smile that I’m sure makes her heart spin, I look away. I used to watch for the reaction that would follow this look, but now, I know it by heart. His broad smile and wide brown eyes that are fanned with a thick layer of dark lashes and his high cheekbones that are squared and unintentionally noticeable all cause women to unabashedly stare, but when directed to one specific person, I can literally watch the blood rush to their faces, leaving them with an abundance of incoherent thoughts. It’s a ruthless and intense effect of Kash.

“Ready to go thaw out?” Tommy asks, walking so closely he brushes against my shoulder though there’s no one on either side of me.

My eyebrows rise. Breaking from thoughts of too many women responding to the effects of Kash, I turn and trudge through the deep snow by his side.

“So, what’s new with Summer Pierce? I recently saw your name mentioned in a highlight reel of the showdown in Pasadena.”

A myriad of emotions passes through me, leaving me to look between Tommy’s blue eyes and the snow that’s become slightly less blinding with the lack of sun. I used to be
in
the pictures and videos. My name was mentioned because I was a rider, a damn good rider, and I would get pissed off because regardless of how seamless and perfect my rides were, the male riders were always presented first. Now, my name’s only ever mentioned at the very end—as a credit. I’m glad I’m still invited to the events and competitions. I’m even glad my work has become so known. Still, something ugly crawls its way out from somewhere deep where my pride lives and makes this credit sound far less gratifying.

“You should come back down and do some shoots for me. My publicist is always riding my ass because I don’t post enough pictures. But you can’t just give anyone a camera. They could get the wrong angles and shit, and then I’ll look like a complete fucker out there. It screws with my head.”

“What?” I ask with a surprised laugh that finds its way out before I can consider it.

“I know I’m not a big guy. I’m either on my skateboard or bike, so everything I eat gets burned off. I hate it when I see pictures where I look like I’m twelve.”

“I used to hate when people online would mistake me for a dude,” I admit. “Just because I didn’t wear pink or purple, everyone assumed I couldn’t be a girl.”

“People are assholes,” he says.

“People
are
assholes,” I agree. My eyes are lowered, my smile too wide.
I’m flirting! With Tommy!

“There’s a hot tub in that house with my name on it. I can’t feel my toes anymore.” Lo shivers as she brushes against my other side.

Grateful for her presence, I sling an arm around her shoulder even though I have to reach several inches above me to accommodate our difference in height.

“That’s because your blood has a lot farther to go to get there,” I tease.

“Yes, of course. It has absolutely nothing to do with it being eleven freaking degrees outside.” Her steel eyes glance down at me, filled with a mocking joy.

“I’m surprised you have any feeling left in your fingers. I barely took any shots there at the end because mine were turning an unnatural shade of purple.”

“I barely outlined the images. My fingers were too stiff.” She buries her hands deeper into her pockets, as though seeking additional warmth.

When I walk through the front door, the heat hits my cheeks like a slap. They sting, my ears burn, and my chest begins to sweat though my legs have barely registered the increased temperature.

King nor Lo say anything, making their way to the back of the house in search of their bedroom. Watching them reminds me that my things are in the same room as Kash’s, and it makes me wonder what’s going on.

We’ve bunked together before, and there is a shortage of rooms here, but with things so strained between us this seems like a terrible idea. Then I wonder if maybe giving Kash a dose of his own medicine and ignoring him for the past ten days was actually beneficial. Maybe now he will tell me what lodged that stick up his ass, and finally get over it.

I don’t wait for Kash to come inside, knowing he will likely dry off his bike and store it before worrying about himself. Instead, I make my way up to our shared space. The room is beautiful with ceilings that stretch at least nine feet. We’re cocooned in honey-tinted wood from all sides, even the ceiling, and the four-poster bed is covered in an expansive cranberry-red duvet. Paired with the snow and carved bear figurines, the duvet makes it feel as though Christmas, rather than Thanksgiving, is lurking around the corner.

Taking in the room with a final sweep, I notice my phone lighting up from atop the dresser. I’ve never made a habit of keeping my phone on me at all times. I’ve never had to. I’m usually always with the people I care to speak to. It stops before I grab it, and I see three missed calls from Mercedes, which causes my heart to jump-start. That’s the only way I know how to explain the feeling whenever something breaches that crevice inside me that keeps my fears and sensibility locked up. It’s as though my heart physically stops and then begins again at a faster pace. Sometimes, it’s nearly painful. It’s always distracting.

I press redial.

“Summer,” Mercedes cries, answering after a single ring.

She sniffles, and the small hairs on my arms rise as my shoulders become rigid.

“Is my dad with you?”

I’m already halfway down the stairs from hearing the urgency in her tone. “I’m getting him right now. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Several people from the photo shoot are milling around the house, laughing and pouring drinks, relieved from such a successful first day.

“Grandpa had a heart attack.”

The news is like falling: I can’t stop it, only try my best not to let it obliterate me. I have known Mercedes’ Grandpa Robert for as long as I’ve known Kash. Father of Arianna, he’s made valiant efforts to remain a large part of the family’s life after his daughter’s untimely passing.

“Where are you?” My words are garbled and strained, an ugly mixture that makes my voice sound raspy.

“A hospital.”

My vision blurs as her cries increase. “Kash!” I feel a familiar pain shoot down my spine and left leg. I often debate its intensity when it isn’t present, convincing myself it can’t possibly be as extreme as it seemed at moments like this. The snow might have brought it on, or I possibly twisted it from running down the stairs so quickly. I’m not sure, but it burns, and just like that, I feel like I’m once again in the middle of a pool of cement, tears, and blood, knowing a tragic change is unwelcomingly occurring.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy’s hand wraps around my elbow that’s still covered in too many layers.

But I don’t feel so warm anymore. I don’t feel anything but hurt and fear.

“Summer?” Kash appears in front of me, his broad shoulders edging Tommy to the side. His umber eyes scan over my face at a rapid speed, and then his hands grasp my shoulders, erasing the memory of Tommy’s touch. “What is it? Is everything okay?”

He doesn’t release my shoulders when I reach my hand still holding my phone from my ear and extend it to him. I can tell he’s not convinced he wants to hear whatever the news is. Searching my eyes once more, he drops his right hand to accept the phone, and kneads his fingers into my shoulder with the other when I tell him Robert’s had a heart attack.

“Mercedes, where are you, baby?”

My hands settle on either side of his waist, and I lean into him, feeling him respond by shifting his weight forward so we’re holding each other up. It’s moments like this when I know for a fact we are two halves of the same whole, needing each other when the effects of life become too much to bear.

“What happened? Is it Mercedes?”

King emerges into my vision with Lo tightly grasping his hand as she follows close behind. I realize the entire house has fallen silent, their attention trained on Kash and me.

“Robert had a heart attack,” I whisper.

King’s free hand rises to his face where he pinches the bridge of his nose while shaking his head, refusing this reality. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head.

King nods twice and then wraps his hand holding Lo’s around her shoulder so she’s huddled close to his chest, and with one step forward, he closes the gap between us a little more. I know he wants to comfort me, attempt to ease this pain settling on all of us, but I can’t move to accept his assurance. I’m already leaning on my pillar of strength, feeding Kash exactly what he is to me—hope.

“A
RE YOU SURE
about this?” Kash asks as I zip my snow clothes into my bag.

“Of course I’m sure,” I repeat.

“I can get out of this. I’m sure I can.”

“Kash, they’ll sue you. You saw their reaction to you leaving. Robert’s going to be fine, and Mercedes is okay. This won’t qualify as a family emergency in their eyes.”

“Let them sue me. See if I give a fuck!” His voice rises just enough that I nudge the door closed with my foot.

Telling him to be quiet would be futile.

He brushes his fingers through his short hair that’s sticking up from wearing a beanie under his helmet all day.

“Lo and I will be there, and we’ll make sure everything is taken care of, I promise.”

Slowly, his shoulders lower from their defensive pose, and he nods. “I know. I do. I can’t believe the timing of this shit. And their reaction to me leaving pisses me off! I want to go just to show them I don’t give a shit about what they threaten me with.”

Unfortunately, I don’t believe their threats are idle, but I refrain from telling him so, knowing it will only incite his anger.

“Will you call me when you get there?”

Even if I weren’t going to help Mercedes and Robert, I would. Kash has always been sensitive to people traveling, and with his past, I don’t question it. Instead, we abide by an unspoken agreement that entails calling each other when the other is traveling. Even when I go the short distance from his house to mine, I often send a text. Though I’m careful to never say anything like,
I’m home safe
, or anything else that would serve as a cruel reminder of his previous loss and the paranoia that haunts him like a shadow.

Kash runs his fingers along his jawline, over the roughness of his short scruff, to his chin, and then down his neck. He’s struggling with reason and responsibility.

“If anything happens, we’ll let you know, but you heard what the nurse said. They expect a full recovery and for him to be released soon.”

“Your flights are going to suck ass,” he says before pursing his lips with displeasure.

Guilt is compounding for him, and all I want to do is take the entirety of it away. So few people in my life affect me. I can hear sob stories from people all day long, and the cynic in me impatiently waits for them to stop talking, so I can leave. I can see people get gruesome bacon while riding, and their injuries rarely even leave me flinching. Some might say that I’m coldhearted, but really, I’m just a realist who knows everyone has to deal with too much shit. I say, you get to decide if you want to allow that shit to be the weight tied to your ankle in the pool or be the motivation to keep you swimming.