Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,35

throws his hands up. “It’s not gonna get better if we do nothing, right?”

I nod, trying my best to seem confident when, really, the thought of what I’m about to do makes me want to puke.

“We need to make a splint to keep his leg straight while it heals.”

Carter swings the flashlight across the empty warehouse. “There’s nothing in here but shelves and …” The beam lands on a haphazard stack of wooden slatted things piled up in the far corner of the room. “Pallets!”

He jumps up and disappears into the darkness. I watch the circle of light bounce across the warehouse until it reaches the pile of wooden trash. A second later, Carter’s foot crashes into it like a grenade, sending splintered shards flying.

My gaze darts to Mr. Renshaw, but he doesn’t even flinch from the ruckus.

I do though when I reach into my pocket and pull out a certain black pocketknife.

Not now, dammit. We are not gonna think about him now … or ever.

I slice open the toe of Mr. Renshaw’s sock and slide it up to cover his calf just as Carter returns with an armful of wooden planks.

He sets the boards down and takes a step back with his hands in the air. “I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do it, Rain. You gotta do it.”

“By myself? I don’t know if I’m strong enough. There might be a lot of new bone growth to get through.”

“Oh my God.” Carter squeezes his eyes shut.

“Stop it!” I whisper-shout.

“It’s my dad, Rain. What if it were your dad?” He clamps a hand over his mouth the second the words tumble out. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to … shit.”

But I’m not looking at Carter anymore. I’m staring at the drunken, bearded, snoring, middle-aged man passed out on the floor before me, and suddenly, those outside-the-mall memories are having a real hard time staying locked up.

What if it were my dad?

What if it were the same unemployed, self-indulgent, depressed, angry bastard who treated my mama like a punching bag until the day he killed her?

What if?

Without another thought, I grab one of the wooden pallet slats, place it on the bent side of Mr. Renshaw’s broken shin bone, and hold it in place with both hands. Then, with my teeth gritted and liquid fire in my veins, I press my foot against the bumped-out part on the opposite side and give it a good, hard shove.

“AHHHHHHH!”

I hang on to the board for dear life as Mr. Renshaw sits up and tries to jerk his leg away from me. Carter grabs his thigh and presses down to hold it in place as his dad slurs at the top of his lungs.

“BEAR DONE GOT ME, AGNES! GIT MY GUN!”

Then, his eyes roll back up in his head, and just as quickly as he came to, he passes out again, free-falling toward the concrete floor.

“Fuck!” Carter lets go of his thigh and dives with his hands out like the all-star athlete he was born to be, catching the back of his dad’s head just before it splatters on the ground.

The two of us share a wide-eyed stare—him holding a head, me holding a leg—until the snoring resumes. Then, after a few deep breaths, we get to work on Mr. Renshaw’s improvised splint.

Carter braces the straightened bone with four broken boards—over the sock so that he doesn’t get splinters—and I carefully slide Mr. Renshaw’s belt off to lash them around the middle. I take off his other sock and tie it around the top and use the drawstring from his sleeping bag to secure the bottom.

“Think it’ll stay?” he whispers between snores.

“If he doesn’t mess with it.” I take a deep breath and blow it out, bracing my hands on the tops of my thighs. “Hey, Carter?”

“Yeah, Doc?”

“You got any more of that tequila?”

“Easy, tiger.” Carter plucks the bottle from my hand as I swallow my third mouthful of what might as well be gasoline.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to hide my grimace as the tequila scorches its way down my throat to my empty stomach.

“God, these frogs are almost as loud as your dad.”

Carter coughs out a laugh, trying not to choke as he lowers the bottle from his own lips. “For real!” He turns and glares into the fountain we’re sitting on and lifts a finger to his lips, shushing the wildlife.

I giggle through my nose.

“Hey, Rain?”

“What?”

Carter sets the bottle on