The Effects of Falling (The Weight of Rain Duet Book 2) (6 page)

Kash’s phone chirps, and we both know it’s King, the planner of the family. After the shock wore off and we discussed the little information we knew, Kash turned to the producers of the shoot and explained he had to go, which was met with a resounding no. King echoed his brother’s reasons for going, scowling and listing off his own threats about them never participating in another event or shoot with them. The producers only answer was the same as it’d begun with—contracts. Kash and King were both furious. When I realized there was no chance of them going, I insisted Lo and I go. I’m fairly certain King hated that option more than dealing with being sued, but eventually, he succumbed and disappeared to look up flight information.

Kash grabs his coat and my suitcase from the bed and tips his head toward the doorway with silent resignation. I pull my dark hair with varying shades of purple highlighting my longest layer from my parka and feel my chest sink with the departure coming so soon. I don’t feel animosity toward Mercedes or Robert for this tragedy, but I can’t stop feeling disappointed that Kash and I were going to spend some time together—in a room with one bed—and now, we’re going to be on opposite sides of the continent. As we share a long stare, I’m certain my green eyes are telling Kash as much before he sighs heavily and heads out into the hallway.

“You coming too?” King asks before we hit the wide foyer.

“Yeah,” is Kash’s only response.

The four of us pile into an awaiting taxi van, sighing with universal frustrations.

“You should take my debit card.” King digs in his pocket to retrieve his wallet.

“No.” Lo firmly shakes her head.

“You guys are going for us,” he argues.

“We’re going for Mercedes and Robert,” she says.

Slowly King pulls his hand free from his pocket, sans his wallet, much to my surprise.

“Want anything cool from Florida?” I ask, watching as we pass the endless piles of snow that appeared so magnificent and promising just hours ago. Now, they reflect loss.

“A pet alligator,” Kash says. “I’ll name him Bartholomew, and we can call him Bart for short.”

“Where’s Bart going to live?” I ask, playing along.

Kash’s lips fall south with a shrug. “The bathtub.”

“Think we can pet him?”

“Of course. He’ll become our mascot. We’ll bring him to all the competitions and do shoots with him,” Kash answers my question with more enthusiasm. “If someone starts acting like an asshole, we’ll unleash him.”

Laughter bubbles in my chest, lessening the bitterness of leaving.

“Maybe we should get a dog for Mercedes. Do you think she’d like that?” Kash asks randomly.

“Are you kidding? She would love a dog,” I answer honestly. “But you guys are going to have to get back to cleaning more regularly. A dog would eat stuff that was left out and chew things up.”

Kash’s face puckers. “I don’t want to deal with that.”

“Maybe it would be good motivation. Mercedes told me she’s tired of things getting messy again,” I tell him, wishing Lo and King would stop whispering and join in, especially since I’m certain King would agree with these grounds since he’s a borderline neat freak.

“What are you talking about?” Kash sounds exhausted as he leans his head back against the seat.

“The house is kind of becoming a disaster zone again.”

“It’s not that bad,” he argues.

“It’s pretty bad.”

Kash’s head snaps forward. “Good thing you don’t have to spend any time over there then, isn’t it?”

“You’re right. It is,” I lie.

“Good thing Tommy is so anxious for you to go visit him in California to do a shoot. Maybe you can make plans to see if he keeps his house up to your standards.”

My jaw flexes as his words replay through my head. “You could have been on that show for hoarders before you hired Lo, and she cleaned everything up because she couldn’t handle all the filth. Anyone’s house is cleaner than yours.
Anyone’s
.”

“Why are you guys acting like assholes? Are things not bad enough that you need to make them enter turmoil?” King’s words make my next retaliation falter.

Kash’s shoulders slump and his eyes grow wide with sorrow and regret. Unfortunately, I’m able to make out his features so clearly because we’ve arrived at the airport, and the lights are flooding the van, masking the comfort of the snow and beautiful terrain that held so much hope.

“You guys are going to have a layover in Salt Lake for the night,” King explains, turning his attention back to Lo. “I made reservations at a hotel that’s right next to the airport, which normally would blow, but you guys are on an early flight out, so hopefully, it doesn’t totally suck.”

The door of the taxi is opened, allowing snowflakes slowly drifting down from the sky in a lazy dance to settle on the bag at my feet. Lo and King untangle from the seat ahead of us. He slows his movements, and grabs her bag with reluctance.

“If you need anything, call. I’ll be sure to have my phone on all day tomorrow, even during the shoot. And use your business card for everything you and Lo do. I know this is your idea and that you care deeply for Mercedes, but this is for me.” Kash’s voice is remorseful, deep and quiet.

I nod once and reach down for my backpack, only to have Kash’s hand encompass my own, drawing my attention to his face.

“Don’t be mad at me. I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t have you upset with me.”

This is a Knight apology at its finest. Rarely do they ever admit fault. I blame it on their mother—hell, if we look carefully enough, we all can probably blame our parents for most things, which is why me being such a vital person in Mercedes’ life is one of the reasons that caring so deeply for Kash scares the living daylights out of me.

His brown eyes examine me closely, searching for any signs of forgiveness.

“Mercedes really is upset that the house has gotten so messy. You can ask King. He was there.” I’m equally as bad at accepting apologies.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

My heart pounds with his admission, making my face flush, even with the cold winds blowing inside the car.

“I do too,” I say softly.

His lips curve into a smile that punches me squarely in the stomach. It’s so perfect. Not a flirty one, like the one he gave the other woman earlier today when wrapping up. No, this one is so wide I can see his bottom teeth and the slight lines that are starting to carve into his handsome face. Lines that weren’t there when we first met, but with time, practices, loss, hard work, and a million laughs have begun to form. I feel like I’m a part of him when I look at them, as though they’re a road map of our history.

My boot sinks into a few inches of freshly fallen snow, and the cold breeze stings my cheeks, but my heart is so warm and full right now, I hardly notice and care even less.

The flight is fully booked, requiring those hidden talents of mine, bestowed upon me by my past, to convince an older man to switch spots with Lo so we can make the trip back into the States beside one another.

I’m still wearing my coat because every single one of the damn overhead air vents is on, and it feels like they’re pointed right at me. Snow continues to fall outside, but the flakes are so small it requires looking out at a light on the terminal to make them out. I’m certain King and Kash are nearly back to the house by now, if they aren’t already, but it feels like they’re still right outside the security checkpoint. Lo’s attention is on her phone, replying to an email that I’m not sure I should ask about since I saw it was from the art gallery in New York she went to see a few weeks ago. But I can’t consider it fully right now because I’m enjoying the afterglow of Kash’s words too much to think of anything else.

I insert a single earbud and lean back, hoping we’ll take off soon.

“What’s going on with you and Kash?” Lo asks, storing her phone in her bag before kicking it farther beneath the seat.

Her knees nearly touch the seats in front of us, reminding me of her saying how uncomfortable her flight home from Italy was this last summer. That trip that was eerily similar to this one, as it’d begun with a call about a hospitalization and ended with a long flight. That trip was due to King after he had fallen during a competition and severely bruised his hip, fractured two ribs, and dislocated his shoulder. When you fall against cement, it always prevails.

Her words make a cloud appear in front of the rays I was still basking in. “I think he’s just upset. Worried about Mercedes and Robert.”

She eyes me, clearly not believing my explanation. “Things seem a little…”

I know exactly what she means. There isn’t a single word that seems appropriate for it, either. Different, strange, unsettled, forced—they all need to be used. Then, there are times like earlier today where everything feels right. We’re on the same level, hearing the same beat, and moving together with perfect fluidity, like we have for so many years.

“Maybe Kash needs something more black and white? I’m not saying give him a full-out ultimatum, but maybe he needs a kick in the ass,” she suggests.

“For what?”

Lo blinks slowly and then glares at me. I’m tempted to laugh. Instead, I smirk. I can’t help it. There’s so little about her that is intimidating or bossy, and the few times I have seen either is hard to remember.

“When are you guys going to get together and have another Mercedes?”

“You aren’t serious? Do I seem like the motherly type to you?” My heart leaps out of my chest and into her hands, wishing and hoping she tells me that I can. That I already am.

“Would you be on your way to Orlando right now if you weren’t?”

My throat tightens with emotions, and I thank the ridiculous airline requirements when we’re instructed to look forward to the flight attendant as he begins going over safety procedures.

“
L
O!” I SCREAM
.

“What? Are you okay?” She looks disoriented, her eyes growing wider with each heavy blink to clear them of sleep. Finally, she focuses on me and then closes her eyes. “Why are you naked and yelling for me?”

“The water is freezing!” I exclaim from where I am huddled in the far corner of the shower in an attempt to avoid the spray.

“What am I going to do about it?”

“I’m serious. It’s going to kill me.”

She doesn’t even crack a smile as she shuffles forward from the doorway of the bathroom, making me envious of the warm flannel pajamas she’s wrapped in. “Did you try turning it the opposite way?”

“Yes, and it’s still cold as shit.”

“Why did you get in?” she asks.

“’Cause I needed a shower.” I can’t stop the sarcasm from coating my words. I’m freezing, my hair is awful from being under a beanie all day yesterday, and I can’t fully wake up without my morning shower. It’s a ritual. A requirement. I don’t care about coffee or breakfast or even if my clothes match, but I need my damn shower.

“Yeah, but didn’t you notice there was no steam? Or at least feel it before diving in butt-ass naked?”

“It’s four a.m., I barely slept last night, and I hardly ever get steam at home because my fan kicks some serious ass. Since this one sounds like a damn helicopter, I assumed it was doing its job. You can take your pick. What the fuck do we do?”

“Are you sure you’ve tried turning it?” she asks, stepping forward without my reply and fiddling with the lever to change the temperature.

“My nipples are ready to cut diamonds.” I shiver, my back still aching from sitting so long on our flight yesterday. It hurts worse with my muscles all being contracted.

“I’ll sketch Kash a picture of that visual on our flight to Orlando.” Only Lo can say something with so little emotion, making it difficult to decipher if she’s joking or serious. Ironically, I don’t really care. “This is going to be like camping.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know the campgrounds where you have to hit the button and the shower runs for like, thirty seconds, just long enough for you to think you might develop hypothermia, and then shuts off so you can wash your hair as you question if the water might actually be warmer than the air? Then, you do it again with lathering, forgetting about conditioner because you’ve realized it’s definitely not.”

I used to think Lo couldn’t cut it with us. With her growing up out on a farm in nowhere Montana, I thought of her as being uncultured and small-minded, and for some reason, I equated that as being weak. How wrong I was.

“Don’t worry. I’ll turn up the thermostat, so you’ll be warm when you get out.” She leaves me dripping with frozen water and shivering.

My hair is tangled and dry to the touch, and my scalp itches because I never did manage to get all the shampoo out. Lo advised me too late to use less because it wouldn’t rinse as well with the cold water. I kind of hate her for being right. Compounding my bad mood is the fact that I’m going to die from a heatstroke when we land in Orlando. But I couldn’t stop shivering after my polar plunge; therefore, I dressed too warmly in one of my favorite pairs of dove-gray skinny jeans made of a forgiving material that makes sitting for the long flight slightly more bearable and a hoodie with Kash’s new logo, which Lo designed.