Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,37

I couldn’t stand the thought of having to say goodbye all over again. It’d almost killed me the first time.”

Carter slides a hand up the outside of my thigh, and all I can hear is the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

“I missed you so much, ba—”

The second I feel his lips graze the corner of my mouth, I grab my phone and jump up. “I’d, uh … better go check on Quint,” I mumble, walking away backward. “Night, Carter!”

I turn and sprint toward the tuxedo shop as the voice coming from my fist sings about not being the person their partner used to know.

I shut the device off and shove it into my pocket.

You and me both, Tyler. You and me both.

May 2

Rain

“Knock, knock.” I peek my head over the empty shelves and breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t see Carter. “Anybody home?”

“Rainbow!” Sophie squeals, using her whole arm to wave at me from her seat on one of the black vinyl shoe store benches.

Mrs. Renshaw’s face lights up too, but her husband—who is lying flat on his back on his own bench with his splinted leg propped up on an empty shelf—won’t even look at me. He throws his elbow over his eyes and grumbles something unintelligible through his wiry gray beard.

“There’s my hero!” Mrs. Renshaw stands and spreads her arms, ready to pull me in for a hug as soon as I make my way through the maze of aisles.

I walk directly into her embrace but find myself gritting my teeth to get through it and pulling away sooner than usual. My reaction surprises me. I love Mrs. Renshaw.

But she’s not my mother.

I don’t have one of those anymore, and hugging her only reminds me of that fact.

I quickly add Mrs. Renshaw to my mental list of triggers to avoid at all costs.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking care of my big, stubborn baby over here,” Mrs. Renshaw says, casting a sideways glance over at her groaning husband. “We are so, so blessed that the Lord brought you back into our lives.”

“Uh … you’re welcome?” I feel my cheeks heat as I follow her gaze over to my latest victim. “But I’m not so sure he’d agree with you about that.”

“I can hear y’all, ya know,” Mr. Renshaw growls.

I smile and walk over to him. “How’s my favorite patient doin’?”

“Don’t come near me, devil woman.”

“I brought Advil.”

Mr. Renshaw props himself up on his elbows. “‘Bout damn time.”

I glance down at his splinted leg while I dig the bottle of painkillers out of my hoodie pocket and smile when I see that it’s not too swollen.

“You probably need these more for your pounding head than your leg,” I tease, dropping two little brown pills in his palm.

“That damn Mexican tequila gets me every time. Now I know why they call it Montezuma’s Revenge.”

I laugh, nervously glancing around as Mr. Renshaw swallows his meds. “So, did you, like, send Carter to his room as punishment or something?”

Mrs. Renshaw snorts. “Oh, he’s around here somewhere.”

“He went looking for yooooou,” Sophie adds in a singsong voice, batting her eyelashes.

Ugh. Great.

“So …” I change the subject back to the bearded elephant in the room. “Mr. Renshaw—”

“Oh, just call me Jimbo, dammit. This ain’t no time for formalities.”

Somebody’s grouchy. Jeez.

“Okay, Jimbo. I think I straightened your shin bone out, so as long as you keep it in the splint and don’t put any weight on it for a few weeks, it should heal correctly.”

Or at least, better than before.

Maybe.

I hope.

“A few weeks!” Mr. Renshaw plops back down on his back and throws a meaty arm over his face.

“Oh, stop bein’ so darn dramatic. As bad as that wreck was, you’re lucky to still be alive,” Mrs. Renshaw snaps.

“Yeah, Dad,” Sophie chimes in.

“I mean it, Mr.—er, Jimbo. No walking or standing on it. For at least … eight weeks.”

I don’t know if that’s even right. I just figured, if I told him eight, he might make it at least four or five.

“I can’t find her anywhere, Mom. I don’t know where else to—”

All of our heads swivel toward the entrance as Carter comes stomping into the store. His frustrated gaze lands on me, and I see a glimmer of embarrassment surface in his eyes before it’s quickly masked by a bright, overconfident smile.

“He still breathing?” Carter chides, glancing down at his old man.

“Yeah, but I don’t think he wants to be.” I smirk back, appreciating that he’s keeping things light