The Weight of Rain
by
Mariah Dietz
 |
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release
Date: October 27, 2015
|
~ Synopsis ~
I've dreamed of him since before I
was old enough to form memories. I'm as sure of this as I am of breathing.
When I close my eyes, my mind
paints a picture of his smile and shades the contours of his hands, the deep
scar around his bicep.
People say that I'm an artist, yet
my mind is vacant, my hands unsteady. With his presence, he has unknowingly
broken that something inside of me that makes me who I am, because being around
him is like standing in a rainstorm.
First the drops tickle my skin, and
then they coat me, refusing to be ignored. Finally, it seems they soak into me,
reaching parts of me I don’t think anyone has ever touched. I’m not certain how
he’s capable of doing so—I’m not sure that he even realizes it. Sometimes I'm
terrified that it’s apparent in my reactions: other times—I really hope that it
is.
I've been waiting for this. For
him.
But I never knew it would come with
such a price.
~ Excerpt ~
“Why
do you pretend that I don’t mean anything to you when clearly I do?”
My
charcoal presses hard against the paper as my neck snaps up. He’s fully dressed,
his usual baseball hat still on, flipped backward, and wearing a flannel shirt
with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Flannel is growing on me, but I won’t
tell him that. His face shows no signs of humor or teasing. If anything, he
looks almost pained.
“Did
you just get home?”
“Why
did you pretend you wanted to know me? Why not just call it what it was?” His
eyes narrow as his chin drops.
“Have
you been drinking?” I know the answer before I ask the question. I can smell
it.
“I
liked you, Lo.”
My
heart races with too many possibilities and hopes, and not enough validation.
“You
spend so much time trying to convince yourself that what happened that night
wasn’t real.”
“I
was drunk.”
“You
weren’t drunk. I wouldn’t have slept with you if you were drunk! I don’t do
shit like that. It’s disgusting!”
“I
don’t remember large parts of that night.”
“You
remember more of that night than you’re willing to admit.” His eyes land on my
drawing where he studies the image for several long seconds. I should have
covered it as soon as I realized he was here, but it was too late from the
beginning. It’s of him—of course it’s of him. And to make matters worse, he’s
shirtless. The scars he mentioned me knowing about are there, as well as the
few tattoos most of the world is deprived of seeing. “Obviously you remember.”
His
words make my cheeks burn with embarrassment. He’s right, but hearing that he’s
aware of this fact is both strangely relieving and move-to-Australia-tomorrow
worthy.
“You
left an impression,” I admit before moving my attention so I don’t have to see
his reaction.
“Lo,
I haven’t been able to forget that night either. I think about it all. The.
Damn. Time.” His words are punctuated, driving his message much further than
just my thoughts. “I spent weeks trying to figure out who you were.” I feel
slightly guilty that his admission makes me so happy. For so long I have
thought he avoided me, lied about his name and identity so that I wouldn’t find
out who he truly was.
“Why
did we wait so long to be honest with each other?”
His
breath is a snicker. “We’re only admitting a fraction of anything.”
His
words run through my head, lacing into several variations of what he actually
means, still, I nod. “This conversation needs to happen. We need to figure shit
out because I’m tired of trying to avoid you, and I’m really tired of you
ignoring me.”
“Aren’t
we kind of doing that now?”
He
shakes his head as he closes the distance between us, then grips the table with
his left hand and bends so his face is level with mine. “If I stay in here any
longer I’m going to do something that would probably make me deserve getting
slapped, so I am going to say this and then leave.” He pauses. I can smell the
scent of beer and peppermint on his breath, along with the warmth of his skin
as his shoulders roll forward. His eyes are wide and bright, demanding me to
pay close attention to his words. “I know you’re tough. I know you can draw
better than any damn person I’ve ever met in my life and most likely ever will.
I know you love Mercedes and would never risk changing that relationship. But
we like each other, and I don’t know what in the hell that means exactly, but I
know I want to find out. The question you need to ask yourself is, do you?”
His
throat moves, swallowing words we both know he’s fighting with. Ones that would
make things both better and worse. He reaches forward, his chest grazing my
shoulder. I hate that I don’t want to move. That I want to absorb the feel of
his warmth and convince him to admit truths we both know and bury on a daily
basis in a sea of general politeness and attempts to avoid one another. But the
truths are laid open with the innuendos, silent stares, and capitalized when we
go out of the way to cross the other’s path. He has become an exhausting and
thrilling addiction that I don’t know how to consider stopping or even changing
at this point.
A
long breath runs through my nose as his dark eyes meet mine, exposing he’s
fighting his own battle: silently pleading with me to bring things up by making
a cutting remark or joke about our night. I know he wants it because it’s the
only way we can both talk about it and relive it. It’s apparent by the way his
jaw locks and his eyes waver from mine that he also doesn’t want me to respond.
He’s waiting for me to consider his words and come back. His arm flexes as he
holds the table even tighter. Then he stands and stalks out of the room,
leaving my heart racing.
Holy
shit.
Mariah Dietz lives in Eastern
Washington with her husband and two sons that are the axis of her crazy and
wonderful world.
Mariah grew up in a tiny town
outside of Portland, Oregon where she spent the majority of her time immersed
in the pages of books that she both read and created.
She has a love for all things that
include her sons, good coffee, books, travel, and dark chocolate. She also has
a deep passion for the stories she writes, and hopes readers enjoy the journeys
she takes them on, as much as she loves creating them.
~
Connect with Mariah ~
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