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

by Mariah Dietz

  His eyes shimmer with shame and regret, secrets and desires that he leaves folded and untouched, as he doesn’t make a move to accept it.

  MY CHEEKS ARE damp, my nose tingly. I feel like I have cried my weight in tears, and somehow, I still have more. All I want to do is sleep, but every time I close my eyes, the silence of the room is so loud with Kash’s repeated words. I have dissected them at least a thousand times since coming home, transitioning between focusing on the promise behind them and the blatant lack of reciprocation.

  It’s nine, yet it feels like the middle of the night, and it’s dark enough to make that feeling even more of a reality. It has been years since I have even considered wanting my mom and more since I have felt the need to have her presence, but like I did when I was young and had gotten hurt, this pain in my chest makes me yearn for her.

  I sniffle as her phone rings continuously, my tears becoming heavier and faster as her voicemail message begins.

  Frustrated, I throw the phone into the folds of my duvet, and scream a loud, wild screech of pain, misery, betrayal, and anger.

  The pain in my temples recedes as I cry more tears, as though the additional loss is in some way cleansing me.

  My phone rings, the noise muffled, tempting me to ignore it, but the hope that it might be my mom has me digging for it.

  It’s the last person I expected to hear from. If I wasn’t so desperate to find a trace of comfort, I would ignore the call, but my finger slides across the screen, accepting the call.

  “Hi.” My voice wavers unsteadily with the single word.

  “Summer?” My dad’s voice is raised with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Did you not love Mom enough?”

  He sighs, not with annoyance but relief. “What happened, baby?” He has always called me baby, even when I was a teenager and vehemently hated it and begged for him to stop.

  I suck two breaths in, attempting to steady my breathing. “You ruined her when you left.”

  “Summer,” he pleads, clearly wanting to continue to push off having this discussion, one that we should have had twenty years ago.

  “Then, I thought she ruined me.” My voice breaks.

  I’m so upset with myself for thinking I was broken for so long. I was never damaged. I just so thoroughly convinced myself that I was that I was living with the effects of it, shutting people out, judging them before they had the opportunity to judge me, and not focusing enough time and energy on myself.

  In the background, I hear my stepmom asking if he’s okay and to come back to bed, making me wonder why he’s calling so late. He covers the mouthpiece, so I can barely decipher their words, but whatever said is fast and successful because she kisses his cheek, and then a door clicks shut.

  “Baby, you aren’t broken,” my dad says.

  “I know.” My words are cutting, annoyed that he didn’t hear me clearly.

  “Your mom wanted out just as badly as I did. She didn’t know what she wanted, but I was not it, and a person can only be with someone who doesn’t want them for so long.”

  “Tell me about it.” I hastily wipe at my eyes, anger growing as his words hit home with me, smothering the sadness and replacing it with bitterness creeping so deeply that my tears subside nearly instantly, like a faucet.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’re hurting. I was trying to go to bed, and I kept thinking about you, like I knew something was wrong.”

  The tentacles of resentment freeze, recoiling at the edges, as I contemplate his words.

  “Why don’t you come out and visit? Friday, there’s a flight I can get you on early, and you can be here by mid-afternoon.”

  I’ve only been out to Boston once. Then, it wasn’t an option but a demand since I was only seventeen, keeping me from wanting to return.

  Another deep breath fills my lungs, expanding my chest fuller than it’s been all evening. “I’d like that.”

  “Me too,” he says. “It’s been too long.”

  I saw him last summer when he stopped in Portland for a couple of days after flying to Seattle for business, but for several years, I have only seen him a few stray days between several months at a time, and it does leave the impression that we haven’t seen each other in a very long time.

  “Okay, when you get here, you can decide when you want to fly back. I’m going to email you the itinerary. If you need anything, let me know. I’m always here, baby.”

  Swallowing multiple objections, I nod, convincing myself that the past doesn’t matter. None of it. My dad’s absence. Kash. My accident. They mean nothing.

  “I’ll see you Friday,” I say.

  “I’ll call you on Thanksgiving.”

  “Okay.” My thoughts are too distracted with what I am going to do that day to say more.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  My emotions feel like they have been physically wrung out. I am both emotionally and physically drained, yet strangely relaxed. My breaths are still uneven, but they’re deeper, and though my eyes are dry and itching, they aren’t filling with endless tears anymore.

  My phone buzzes beside me, and it isn’t the email I was expecting. It’s a text from Tommy.

  Tommy: I missed seeing you on Tuesday.

  I don’t reply. Tommy is another thing I am discarding as doesn’t matter.

  Either he hasn’t figured out telepathy yet, or he thinks I’m asleep because my phone vibrates in rapid succession with several more texts.

  Tommy: I’m flying home on Sunday. Can I see you before I leave?

  Tommy: I hope you don’t think I’m trying to hang out with you because of Kash.

  Tommy: I like you. This has nothing to do with him.

  I skim over the messages, focusing on only one thing. They each begin with I.

  “It isn’t all about you,” I whisper before silencing my phone and placing it face down on my nightstand.

  I flip the covers off and carry my now empty glass into the kitchen to get a refill, knowing my tears will have dehydrated me. As I pass through my living room, I notice a light shining outside, and I move to the small front window beside my door. Pulling the shade down with a finger, I see the light that has needed to be changed shining brightly in the dark.

  For some reason, seeing it makes me cry again. I don’t even know why. I am on emotional overload and can’t consider how it’s suddenly working again.

  MY CHECKLIST FOR work is already accomplished for the day, hours before anyone I know is even awake. Going to bed shortly after ten had me waking up abruptly after four. With a quick explanation, I shoot Kash, King, and Parker a group text, telling them what I’ve done and that I won’t be there today. I don’t bother with excuses; they aren’t necessary at this point.

  Dressed and determined to move forward, I get in my truck and head to the grocery store with a new checklist and feigned patience to deal with the craziness I know I’m about to walk into with it being the day before Thanksgiving.

  Perhaps King inspired me, or maybe it’s the fact that I didn’t grow up with festive traditions, but while I was shopping, a wreath and garland of silk leaves made their way into my cart along with the ingredients to bake snickerdoodle cookies, a pecan pie, bourbon baked carrots, and the stuffing I have made every year since I can remember. The carrots are a wild card. I watched a reality TV chef make them, promising ease and accolades, but I’m simply looking for things to keep me busy and to begin my own traditions.

  Quiet jazz plays in the background as I read over the cookie recipe. I dot the counter with random kitchen gadgets, ones I rarely use and many I never have. Through the years, I have cooked plenty of times, being independent for the most part since the age of sixteen insured that, but doing it for entertainment is something I have never done.

  The experience is more enjoyable than I was expecting; it’s also far messier, and it causes way more stress than I had considered. King has always said that baking is a science, a matter of p
atience and precision. Those are two things I lack severely, but conquering them and smelling the sweet scents of caramelizing brown sugar and cinnamon are enough of a reward to make me think I could do this—at least, a couple of times a year.

  My phone buzzes as I place my last tray of cookies into the oven.

  Tommy: Are you avoiding me?

  I am. Completely and totally. While spending time with Tommy was fun in several respects, my emotions are so exhausted and thinned that I can’t deal with the havoc of seeing him.

  Placing my phone back on the counter, I return to the sheet of cookies ready to be moved to the cooling rack, and carefully transfer each golden ball of goodness until I reach the last one when my doorbell rings.

  My music suddenly sounds too loud, the kitchen timer too slow. Weighing the options of who will be on the other side of the door doesn’t take long: it’s either Lo trying to make a point by not knocking, or Kash. I pray it’s Lo, and decide I need to build on another garage, so I can pretend I’m not home when people unexpectedly come over.

  I try to smooth each of my features, taking deep breaths as I approach the door. My eyebrows shoot up my forehead when I open the door and face Tommy.

  “You are avoiding me.” He grins that smile that holds so many things back.

  I shrug unabashedly.

  He laughs; it’s hearty, and warms a place in my belly that revels with the contact of another.

  “Well, I’ve got plans for us.”

  Without being able to control my curiosity, I stare at him expectantly.

  “Are you baking?”

  Tommy’s question catches me off guard, but the timer going off forces me to acknowledge his question.

  “Only because tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.”

  “This is amazing.” His eyes are bright with surprise, possibly glee.

  “I do not believe in cooking and cleaning for a man, so don’t get any ideas.”

  “What about cookies? Do you believe in baking cookies for a guy you really like?”

  “As long as he is willing to reciprocate the gesture.”

  His eyes swing to me, narrowed, like he doesn’t believe what I’m saying.

  I hold my chin up a bit higher. “Trust me, this is an issue you don’t want to push,” I warn him.

  Slowly, his lips lift in the corners, a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes, making it obvious that he still doesn’t believe me. It makes that warmth burn out. There’s a big difference between someone being grateful for a gesture and expecting it. In my opinion, if you can’t take care of yourself, you aren’t ready for a relationship because you will never be able to take care of the other person when they need you.

  I pull the cookies out and rest them on the stove beside my cooling pecan pie. Tommy takes a cookie from the stacks without asking, irking me further. It seems to expose even more presumptions about him.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “I don’t…”

  He shakes his head as I prepare a dozen reasons not to go, all of them true. “You’re going, or I’m not leaving, and I can eat a lot of cookies.” Tommy nabs another, leaving cinnamon and sugar across his lips and my floor.

  “Go where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “There are few things I hate more than surprises.”

  Once again, my bitchy remark doesn’t seem to deter him, only challenge him.

  “Get your coat. It’s raining out—again, of course.”

  I face him, debating how long it would take for him to bore of me, especially when I am in such an unsettled mood.

  The asshole steals another cookie, and I head to my coatrack to pull on my shoes and a warm down jacket.

  We don’t drive long, which I’m grateful for, because he insisted on riding with me since I again refused to let him drive me.

  “I didn’t peg you for a bird-watcher,” I say, looking at the view over the bridge we’re pulled onto the shoulder of.

  Unclipping his seat belt, he beams at me from my passenger seat. “Are you ready for this?”

  “No.” I shake my head firmly as a passing semi rattles my truck. “What are we doing here?”

  “We’re going to kiss the sky.” His smile widens as he gets out, slamming my door, before jogging toward a truck parked ten feet ahead of us.

  I consider driving away and not learning the meaning behind his cryptic words, especially since he isn’t even bothering to wait for me, but I go, my spine straight, ready to face whatever he has planned.

  Jerking to a stop, I stare at Tommy and two others helping him into a harness.

  Tommy notices my pause and looks up, smiling so big that he looks like a teenager. “Surprise!” His arms spread into the gray horizon.

  A man approaches me with the straps of another harness dragging across the wet bridge.

  I stop him with a glare. “Not a chance.”

  “Come on! This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced!” Tommy rocks forward as his harness is pulled and tested.

  “Or ever plan to,” I say.

  “This is what we’re made for!”

  I shake my head, my eyes wide, as I try to make sense of the situation.

  “We’re adrenaline junkies. Nothing will get your heart pumping like this.”

  “I ride bikes, Tommy. I don’t test every limit set to see which will remind me that I’m merely a human.”

  Chuckling, he patiently watches me as they fasten more things around his waist.

  “I’m not kidding,” I snap. “I’m not doing this. If you haven’t realized it, I stopped riding because I don’t want to risk falling again. Your accident seems to have led you to proving you’re invincible, mine taught me I’m mortal.”

  “You just have to face it. That’s the only way you’re ever going to overcome the fear.”

  “You’re missing the point. If I didn’t know the people I do, I probably wouldn’t be so afraid. But I know what I could lose. I know that if I got hurt, it wouldn’t only hurt me.” I think of my conversation with Kash when he said he would have only hurt himself with the risks he had taken, and just as quickly, my thoughts move to Mercedes, King, Kash, Lo, Robert, my parents, and my uncle, the ones who would be dealing with as much pain as I would if something went wrong, possibly more.

  “How long are you going to wait for him?” His thoughts are only on Kash.

  “I’m not.” My words don’t convince either of us, but I try to believe it’s only because it’s a new revelation.

  “You really aren’t going?” He sounds dumbfounded.

  “No, and I’m not going to watch you, either.”

  As I walk back to my truck, the mist turning to rain, I consider staying so I can at least give him a ride back to his rental truck, but I overhear him asking the other guys if they’d mind, and opt to leave when they randomly agree. Portlanders might be weird, but they’re also pretty friendly for the most part.

  My windshield wipers sift the rain as I once again hear Kash’s words in my head. I don’t feel angry anymore. I’ve realized those feelings were a side effect of my sadness, but I do still feel betrayed, and I don’t worry about whether that’s fair or logical, because when it comes to the heart—rarely is anything fair or logical.

  I SIT IN bed with my colored pencils once again surrounding me, a coloring book flipped open on my lap with the word Damn halfway colored. All of the greens and browns are in my fist, being used in an attempt to reflect the colors of the ride that Kash, King, Parker, and I took downtown on our free day. My earlier takeout is still on the nightstand, perfuming my room with ginger and chilies from my Szechuan beef and lo mein noodles.

  My hand jerks, crossing three lines, when my doorbell echoes through my house, startling me. I remain seated, my heart thumping loudly, interfering with my attempt to listen for the start of the car that has been sitting in my driveway all day. I didn’t send a message to Tommy to see how his jump went or when he would be by to get his truck. That relationship is over and
isn’t worth smoothing over or pretending that we could be friends.

  Again, my doorbell rings, and I wonder who else it could be. Like me, I know Tommy is done and fine with it ending.

  I pad down the hallway, the floors cool against my bare feet. When I open it, Kash is towering in front of me, his face lit by my new porch light.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, stepping inside, as I move back to allow him room.

  “For what?”

  “Coming over so late.”

  My eyes blink rapidly, having hoped for him to say something more.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said and even more about what you asked me.” Kash lifts a hand to his hat, resting it there. “I know Tommy likes you, and I know you deserve everything. If you feel like that’s him, I will try my damnedest to support you, but I don’t think love is always supposed to be easy. Riding is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I train and practice for hours every week to be as good as I can. Parenting—hell, you know parenting isn’t always easy. There are times I feel ready to ship Mercedes off to boarding school because she’s driving me so crazy!” He swallows and brings his hand down to his side.

  “With you and me,” he continues, “so many things come easily. We understand each other, we respect each other, we can have a good time and laugh, and we score slam-dunks in the office, because together we’re so incredibly strong. Even loving each other is easy. It’s showing it and accepting it that is so damn hard sometimes.

  “And to be honest, I don’t know that I’ll ever be really great at it. I watch King and how effortless everything is for him when it comes to Lo, and I want to have that. I want to be like that, and it terrifies me that I won’t be and that it won’t be good enough for you. But, I swear to you, I think of you every single day, in every single moment.