The Weight of Rain (25 page)

“Video’s up. They’re showing Slim’s newest—” The others turn as King’s words abruptly end. I take the brief reprieve to squeeze my eyes shut and let out a deep breath that trembles, serving little comfort as an expression of the pain I’m feeling. “What happened?” His words come out with an intensity that matches his strides as he swallows the gap between us, briefly regarding Summer before returning to me.

“She started to panic, and her wheel caught the edge of—”

The skin between King’s eyebrows crinkles as they draw together, and his eyes flash with anger as they narrow on me. “You tried to go down a ramp? You haven’t been on a bike for thirteen years!”

“She was holding her own. Totally killing it in fact. You would have been impressed. She’s got balls.”

Parker’s comment diverts King’s glare. “You guys watched her try to kill herself?” His eyes round back to mine and then drop and search over me. “Fuck. That’s gonna hurt.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head ever so slightly. “Mercedes, go get your dad. Tell him we need the insurance information for the hospital. Summer—”

“I’ll watch Mercedes.”

King nods and then watches Mercedes jog toward the doors of the shop.

“Don’t move,” King orders, stopping me as I raise my right hand to sit up. I ease back against the cool surface and release a quiet breath.

It’s only a few minutes before Kash and Mercedes return, but it feels much longer. No one has spoken. They’re standing around me either staring fixatedly on my ankle, or like me, completely avoiding it after looking in my general direction and wincing. King looks irate, his hands woven on his bent knee as the two approach where he’s kneeling beside me.

“What in the hell happened?” Kash asks.

The desire to sit up consumes me once more. Feeling weak is one thing; looking weak is another level of awful. I avoid looking at him as I have King since he came in, though I’m still feeling his attention, more poignant than the others’.

“Can you move your hands?” My eyebrows drop as I look to King.

“Yes.” That was the first question I had too, and therefore the first thing I checked. He doesn’t respond, drawing my attention from my torn jeans to Kash. His glare is harsher than King’s, making me realize Mercedes likely inherited the cunning look from him.

“Her ankle might be messed up. Her foot got caught in the spokes.” Parker’s face appears over King’s shoulder.

King doesn’t ask permission. His hands move to my legs and then slowly run down each one, applying the slightest of pressures before he reaches my ankles and the slight gap between the bottom of my skinny jeans and ballet flats. His fingers prod with increased pressure around my ankles, and then he focuses on my right foot. My shoe is gently removed, and his hands envelop my heel. “It’s already bruising.”

“It’s okay. It really doesn’t hurt that much.”

“That’s the adrenaline. You’ll feel it, believe me,” Kash assures me.

“We need to take her in.” King tosses my shoe to Kash and, without warning, slides his arms under my legs and around my back and lifts me. Pain slices through me as I stiffen, forcing me to try to settle against him. I’ve always been tall. Nothing about me screams petite, cuddle, or protect. I struggle with wondering if it will be easier for him to carry me stretched out with my weight disbursed, or huddled together so I’m not as long. My thoughts cease when I catch sight of my ankle. There’s a large lump surrounded by bruising, and looking at it amplifies the pain shooting through it. My breaths become more labored as I silently instruct myself to look away, but I can’t. My entire body heats and the room begins to swim.

“S
HE’S
lucky the bars didn’t crush her arm.” The irritation in King’s voice is vibrant, nearly as much as the pain that’s still ricocheting through my foot and leg.

“Hey, are you okay? You’re alright?”

I nod in the general direction of Parker and close my eyes. “I’m going to be fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

“We need to get X-rays of your ankle.” King’s tone is slightly softer, but his words are still clipped.

“It’s fine. Just a sprain.”

“And you know this how?” King asks.

“Because it just hurts a lot.”

“And how do you think it would feel if it was broken?” he asks, his tone holding a new level of warning and sarcasm that makes a concoction I can’t refuse to accept with a sardonic smile.

“It would hurt a whole hell of a lot.”

Parker gives me a short laugh, mostly out of courtesy for my failed attempt at humor, but King’s eyes are narrowed, lacking any trace of amusement.

“We’re going to the hospital. Kash is getting the Suburban now.”

I turn to object again because I know with near certainty that it’s not broken. If my arm was able to handle the impact, my ankle is a guaranteed home run. The look on King’s face stops me. It’s intense, daring me to voice, or worse, act out an objection. His silent threat of being prepared to throw me over his shoulder caveman style is loud and clear. My lips close and I settle farther into the couch, looking away before I’m able to catch a glimpse of his satisfaction from my forfeit.

A
S ALWAYS
, the emergency room is a zoo. A zoo of sick people that makes me once again question the validity of King’s cave-man threats. To make matters worse, they’ve refused me the right to walk. Parker carried me to the car, and Kash carried me inside the waiting room where I sit in an ugly and lumpy navy blue wheelchair, waiting to get X-rays while undoubtedly being exposed to things far worse than the parasites on a feather.

“Do you need new ice?” Kash looks down at my foot that’s propped up with the support, covered with ice packs.

“They’re still frozen.” My foot went from burning with pain, to burning from being so cold, to now feeling nothing.

“I’m still on my dad’s insurance. You guys don’t need to wait around.” Truthfully, I don’t want to be here alone, but having them wait with me seems to make the time pass even slower. I can’t admit to them that I don’t know anyone else to call who would be willing to wait with me. I know Charleigh or Allie would but also know that neither can afford the time to be here when they’re both struggling to find enough for their work, especially now that Charleigh is dating her mysterious boyfriend.

“I can’t believe you went down the middle ramp,” is King’s reply. “And while wearing those shoes!” He motions toward my remaining silver ballet flat with a pointed toe. Parker told me I had some bad
bacon
, which had my face scrunching with confusion, prompting him to translate the term to road rash. He later confirmed my shoe had even worse
bacon
.

“It won’t happen again, trust me.”

Different expressions of objection are worn on each of their faces as they turn to me.

“You can’t give up now.” King’s words beat the ones Kash was starting to say in a much softer tone.

“I’m pretty sure I can. My future depends on my being able to use my entire arm for drawing. Taking a chance to do something that has absolutely no benefit is stupid.”

Parker laughs, King scowls, and Kash pats my knee a couple of times before smiling. “The benefit is the freedom, Lo. You’ll learn to understand that with time.”

I’
M
mature
enough not to break out in a chorus of “I told you so,” but not mature enough to miss the opportunity to shoot a pointed look to King as the doctor clears me of any breaks and informs me I’ve got a bad sprain that requires crutches for at least a week.

A week.

When I was little, the week before Christmas always felt like an entire year, yet now, this week sounds like ten. How am I going to get on the bus with crutches? How am I going to walk to and from the bus stop to the Knight residence with crutches? How am I going to get up three flights of rain-slickened apartment stairs with crutches? This isn’t even counting school.

I’m never riding a damn bike again.

My ankle is wrapped and I’m back in a wheelchair, being taken out to where Kash is retrieving the Suburban. King is carrying my crutches while listening to the discharge nurse remind him that I need to be careful with both my ankle and left arm for a couple of weeks and should ice them frequently. They’ve also given me some antibacterial ointment for my first official
bacon
—something Parker took several photos of and Tweeted while we were waiting for the results of the X-rays, stating I was official.

“She needs to take the ibuprofen religiously for the first couple of days to minimize the swelling. That and the ice will significantly help with the pain,” she prattles on. I’ve had worse injuries; this isn’t going to be a big deal. It’s the commute that’s going to be difficult.

The dark Suburban pulls up, and I grip each side of the wheelchair, ready to stand up before the nurse makes a cry of shock and puts her hands on my shoulders with just enough pressure that I know she’s instructing me to stay put.

“Alright, why don’t you help me.” I twist in my seat to try to see who she’s talking to. “She can wrap an arm around both of our shoulders and hoist herself up, and we can help her into the car.”

Without waiting for King to agree, she’s beside me, pulling my right arm around her neck and anchoring it in place by securely holding my wrist.

I feel completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words when King does the same with my left.

“Alright, one, two, three…” she counts, pulling me at the same time that King does so that I’m balanced on my right leg. “Okay, the easiest way to get in—wait!”

But I’m already free of her grip and being deposited into the Suburban behind the driver’s seat by King. Thankfully he doesn’t fish for my seat belt or situate me as though I’m a broken doll.

“Alright, so I think the best thing would be for you to stay at the house, Lo.” Kash pulls away from the curb as he makes the statement. The pain pills that were lulling me into a comfortable haze of nothing, vanish. “You can take up residence in a guest room and just chill out for a few days. If you start feeling better, we can drive you to school. This week is empty. We really don’t have much going on.”

“Thanks, but that’s alright. I think I would be more comfortable at my house.”

“You live on the third floor,” Kash objects, his eyes finding mine in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, but I can’t go anywhere for a couple of days anyway.” I know my reasoning is faulty and weaker than my ankle at this point, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to stay at the Knight residence.

Nell says I’m as stubborn as the day is long, but apparently she hasn’t met King or Kash, because compared to them I’m easygoing. They entertained me with banter that at times made me briefly believe they were going to give in and take me home, but then it became clear that all they were really doing was stalling.

“How are you feeling?”

My eyes wander from the guest room to where King is resting my crutches on the wall beside me. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“Why is it so difficult for you to accept help?”

“It’s not!” My reply is instant, my voice high, making King’s eyes swing back to me for a second before he shakes his head.

“It’s those that don’t know when and how to ask for help that are weak.”

“Why did you stop riding?” My question lacks accusation, and I feel certain as he searches my face he can tell I’m genuinely curious.

“I ride every day.”

“But you don’t compete.”

“Who says?”

“Parker.” He looks down but smiles. I’m struggling to make sense of if he’s embarrassed, caught off guard that I know this, or is looking to change the subject.

“Parker has a big mouth.”

I shrug in reply and tuck a few strands of loose hair behind my ear before my hand freezes, hearing Charleigh in my thoughts, telling me the useless fact that playing with your hair in front of a stranger is a sign of flirting according to psychologists. “I asked him if you ever had competed after I watched you do the course last week. I’ve never seen anyone look so fearless and happy at the same time. You just looked like you belonged out there.”

My eyes stretch with shock. What are these painkillers doing to me? Why am I saying this?