Page 14 of Praying for Rain

“Yeah”—I swallow, trying to push the tightness out of my throat—“I do.”

Wes

Rain leads me down the trail, back through the park, and all the way to a library across from good ole Burger Palace.

“I can’t believe that car is still on fire,” she shouts over the growl of the engine as we pass a smoking sedan in the parking lot. “It’s been burnin’ all day!”

She directs me to go around to the back of the library and points to the spot in the trees where the trail continues. I head toward it but notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head and reach for my gun but relax when I see that it’s just a dude … giving another dude a blow job.

“Sorry!” Rain shouts to the startled men with a giggle as we dive back into the pines.

This part of the trail isn’t as well traveled, so I slow down, and for the first time all day, I don’t feel like I’m running to or from anything. I suck in a deep breath, wishing I could smell the pines through my helmet, and feel Rain’s warm body shuddering against mine as she continues to laugh.

Then a sapling branch whips across my mangled shoulder, and I debate burning the entire fucking forest to the ground.

“There!” Rain’s finger shoots out in the direction of a clearing up ahead. “That’s my house!”

Her house? This should be interesting. I’m sure her parents are gonna be real excited about their precious Rainbow bringing a gun-toting homeless guy with a weeping flesh wound home for dinner.

The trail ends in the backyard of a small wooden two-story that looks like it hasn’t been painted since the South lost the Civil War. At one point, it might have been blue. Now, it’s just a weathered gray, spotted with mildew and peppered with woodpecker holes.

I pull around to the front of the house and park in the driveway next to a rust-colored ’90s-era Chevy pickup truck.

Any minute, I’m expecting a middle-aged guy with a beer gut and a shotgun to come bursting out the front door, chewing on tobacco and yelling at me to, Go on now! Git!

Maybe I should keep my helmet on a little longer …

Rain hops off the back of my bike and runs over to a spigot on the side of the house. She cranks the handle and lifts the end of a green garden hose to her mouth. Her eyes close in ecstasy as she drinks, making me realize how thirsty I am. I don’t know if I’ve had anything to drink all day.

I stride over and wait my turn, noticing that one side of her hair is getting wet. I want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, but I don’t. That’s a boyfriend move, and the last thing I need is for this chick to get the wrong idea about us.

I don’t do us. All us does is get you hurt or killed, so I throw an E on the end of that bitch, and I use.

My foster parents used me to get money from the state. I used them to get food, water, and shelter. The girls at school used me to fill their needy little attention buckets and make each other jealous. I used them as a nice warm place to put my dick. The guys used me to score them drugs or guns or cool points or the answers to next week’s history exam. I charged them a shitload to do it. This is the way the world works, and watching Rain clutching that hose in her fist—sucking from the stream with her little pink tongue at the edge of her slightly open mouth—makes me think of a few new ways I could use her, too.

As if she could hear my inappropriate thoughts, Rain lifts her big blue eyes to mine.

I smirk down at her. “There something wrong with your sinks?”

Rain jerks the hose away from her mouth and coughs.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just …” She hacks some more, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “I lost my keys, remember? I can’t get in.”

“Whose truck is that? Can’t they let you in?” I jerk my thumb in the direction of the rust bucket on wheels.

“That’s my dad’s, but …” Her face goes white as her eyes dart left and right, looking for a lie. “He’s deaf. And he hangs out in his man cave upstairs all day, so he won’t hear me knocking.”

“Or see you knocking,” I add.

“Right.” Rain shrugs dramatically.

“Where’s your mom?” I take the hose from her and drink while I wait for her to make up another bullshit story.

“She’s at work.”

I take a breath between gulps. “Nobody’s at work.”

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