Page 111 of As the Rain Falls
“No one,” my voice is clipped, and my tone is biting. I’m really pissed about Kayla.
Nathaniel blows some air with his mouth. I lock my phone again.
“Is it Beckett?” he pushes. “What, is he now a good friend of yours?”
“Yes,” I hear myself say. “Is it a problem?”
“You fucking him?”
“...What?” I ask slowly, staring at him.
“You heard me. Are you fucking Beckett Evans?”
The laugh that escapes me is sharp, disbelieving. Something my brother doesn’t handle too well. His knuckles whiten on the wheel. His feet start pressing on the accelerator, and the speedometer climbs. Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty. Fifty.
“What are you doing?” I cry. “Hey! Slow down!”
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“Prove that you’re not fucking him.”
My stomach twists uneasily. Nathaniel once told me we used to play this game when we were kids—he’d state something stupid, and I’d ask him to prove it.It was mostly harmless stuff, like how Mentos dipped in Coca-Cola could make the bottle explode or how it takes three hundred steps to walk from Giulia’s ice cream shop to the public library.But the thing is, I don’t think it’s just a game anymore.
Now, I find myself bargaining to prove my innocence for the stupidest reasons and the most absurd of accusations. The most frequent one I get is that I’m doing things on purpose, hoping Nathaniel gets in trouble with our dad. Words are never enough, everything always comes with a price.
“What do you want?”
My hands clutch the leathered seat, waiting for his answer. It could be anything, anything at all—money for me to cover his bar escapades, stealing Dad’s credit card when nobody is watching. It’s almost like he wants to see me doing something bad, something we both know I shouldn’t be doing.
“You heard that conversation with Dad, didn’t you?” Nathaniel’s voice is low and dangerous as he adds, “You were listening.”
“I didn’t,” I try to laugh it off, but he’s not buying it. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Fifty-five.
Sixty.
“Stop the car, please.” It’s a straight line ahead of us, with no cars around, but I know a curve is coming up soon. We are going to crash. “This isn’t funny, Nathaniel!”
“Say it.”
“What?” My heart slams against my ribs, nausea gathering at the pit of my stomach.
“Say you wanted it.”
His eyes are on me now, not the road.
Green.
Unmoving.
Cold.
I blink, and his face disappears into an ugly blur.
“Just say the words and I’ll stop.”
