Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,11

still there, but it’s tilted to one side and blanketed in cobwebs. And in the center, Carter’s dad is standing next to a flaming barrel with a metal grate on top, cooking something in a cast iron skillet.

“Mr. Renshaw!” I cry, bounding over to the human teddy bear.

Carter’s dad looks like a lumberjack Santa Claus—all beard and belly—and he always gives the best hugs.

His face lights up when he sees me, which is half a second before I tackle him and burst into tears.

“Come on now …” He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating against my cheek. “I ain’t that ugly, am I?”

“Rainbow? Oh my goodness, child.” Mrs. Renshaw’s voice is husky and warm as she walks up and smooths her hand over my shorter hair.

She’s tall and heavyset, like Carter’s dad, but that’s where their similarities end. Mrs. Renshaw is a no-nonsense black woman who was an assistant principal at our school before the world fell apart. She used to have a sleek, shoulder-length bob, like a TV reporter, but now her hair is cropped in a super-short Afro, probably due to the lack of hair salons in the Pritchard Park Mall.

“Shh …” she coos. “We should be celebratin’, not cryin’. It’s April 24. Come on now. Let’s get you somethin’ to eat. You must be starved.”

When Carter’s mom goes to fix me a plate of scrambled eggs from the skillet, I notice Wes standing a few feet away. The way he’s watching us, with those intense eyes and that bored expression, makes me cry even harder. Because as much as I love Carter’s parents, it’s Wes’s arms I want to be wrapped in right now. It’s his punishing kisses and powerful hands that could make this pain go away. It’s his love that could replace what I’ve lost.

But he’s gone too.

Just like in my dream, Wes is nothing more than a scarecrow now, waiting to be burned.

Once I catch my breath, Mrs. Renshaw sits us down at a table nearby. The fake wooden surface is cleaner than anything I’ve seen in the mall so far, just like the metal chairs surrounding it. They obviously get some use. Carter and Lamar are at the table next to us along with Sophie, Carter’s ten-year-old sister. She rushes over and hugs me from behind. Her dark corkscrew curls are wild, same as the other boy who’s watching me right now.

Carter’s eyes are a warm brown, but his stare is cold and questioning as it flicks from me to Wes.

“We haven’t been properly introduced,” Mrs. Renshaw says, extending her hand across the table to Wes.

“Oh, sorry.” I pull my gaze from Carter to his mother. “Mrs. Renshaw, this is Wes. Wes, this is Carter’s mom and dad.” I reach up and tug on one of the curls smooshed against the side of my face. “And this little brat is Sophie.”

“Hi!” Sophie giggles and squeezes me one more time before taking her seat by her brother.

“Wes and Rainbow here are engaged,” Carter announces to the group, his voice oozing sarcasm.

Everyone’s eyes fall on me as I squirm in my seat and stare at my untouched plate of food.

“Engaged?” Carter’s mom echoes, dropping her fork.

I can’t even speak. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and rage and shame as people who thought I would one day be their daughter-in-law stare at me like I have two heads.

“Yep,” Carter sneers, looking at me like a cat that just found a rubber mouse. “Why don’t you tell us how he popped the big question, Rainbow? Or did you ask him?”

“Carter!” his mother hisses in warning. “Stop it.”

I go to push my chair out, ready to run away and hide until my face goes back to its regular color, but Wes’s arm clamps around my shoulders before I can take off. He still feels cool and distant, but his icy aura is soothing now, like a balm.

“Can I tell the story, sweetheart?” Wes’s voice is steady and strong, like his fingers as they stroke my upper arm.

I nod and slump against his side, wishing I could disappear altogether.

“So, after you left Rain in Franklin Springs with her deranged father … he took a shotgun to her mom’s face while she was asleep, blasted a hole in Rain’s bed—which he didn’t know was empty at the time—and then redecorated the living room with his own brains.”

I wince and cover my face with my hoodie sleeves as everyone in the food court gasps and goes silent.

“I met her … I don’t