Follow the River

“Knock, knock. You boys still alive?” I hear Coach Scott call from my bedroom, where I’m triple checking the space to make sure I’m not forgetting anything before we leave.

Fuck, I can’t believe we’re actually leaving this place after five weeks. Even more, I can’t believe I don’t want to leave.

Returning to our lives, to school, only signifies the end of this thing between Rain and me. At least, the end of how things are while we’ve been here.

And I don’t want that. If I had my way, things would stay exactly the same once we are back to civilization. We’d kiss and hold hands in public, like we did at the resort in Vail. Lay in bed naked, talking about anything and everything under the sun, or I’d watch him paint while reading whatever captures my interest in that moment.

We’d be together, no timeline as to when we have to quit each other or to know when we’ve run our course.

No expiration date.

Scrubbing my hand over my face, I huff out a sigh.

How the hell did we end up here?

Backpack slung over my shoulder and duffle in hand, I pause in the doorway to give the room one last farewell glance. From behind me, I hear Coach call out again.

“Le

“Coming, Coach,” I shout back, closing the bedroom door behind me. My head instinctively turns toward Rain’s room, finding it open. It’s still surprising to see because, even after the paint sex fiasco, he was hesitant to let me into his space.

Into his mind, and dare I say, his heart.

Just as I’m about to turn away, Rain appears through the doorway, gathering the few cases of his artwork and paints together on his desk. Heat rushes through me at the sight of him, dressed in a hoodie and pair of dark grey sweats.

Why do I have to feel this way?

I take a step toward his door with every intention of grabbing some of his supplies to carry out to the truck, but the squeak of my weight on the floorboards gives me away. His head snaps up, landing directly on me.

Stepping into his doorway, I give him a small smile. “Need some help?”

A mischievous smirk graces his face. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

But when I go to sling my duffle over my shoulder to free my hands, Rain tugs it from my hands and presses me into the wall with his entire body. His lips descend on mine in a searing kiss, devouring them as if he thinks kissing with this much passion and intensity will allow him to reach into my chest and claim my heart as his.

Little does he know, he already has.

The words, those three fucking words, eight letters long, sit on my tongue, begging to slip free. I’ve never said them in my life to anyone who isn’t a blood relative, mostly because I’ve never felt them until Rain.

Before Rain, love was just a word to me. A theory without meaning, speaking of hearts and flowers and the simplicity of looking into the eyes of another person and feeling that spark.

But after Rain? My theory is decimated entirely.

Being in love is a daily battle, not only fighting for the other person, but for yourself. It’s finding the common ground, the parts of your souls that speak to each other, strengthening them in ways no one else’s ever could. It’s knowing your worth and not only telling the other person you won’t accept anything less than what you deserve, but trusting them to provide that for you.

It’s giving the darkest parts of yourself to another human, saying this is who I am in all my fucked up glory, and not asking them to fix you, but to give you what you need to mend yourself.

Loving Rain, while it’s been the challenge of a lifetime, it’s also becoming addictive. Seeing, holding, owning the parts of himself he doesn’t grant access to the rest of the world. It’s an all-consuming high that feeds the deepest parts of my soul. A high, while I know I can survive without it, I don’t fucking want to.

Then again, that would be the basis of addiction, right?

But even still, I swallow the words that would ruin absolutely everything that’s transpired between us these last few weeks.

Because they would. Especially if he didn’t return them.

Doesn’t mean I don’t find myself ready to shout them from the rooftops if I thought they’d make a difference in what happens after today. If we could make this—us—real.

“Can we stay here forever? I can’t stand the thought of leaving,” I groan against his mouth before nipping at his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth.

A husky chuckle slips from deep within his chest as his tongue moves with mine. “Me either, babe. But we can’t always get what we want.” He bites and nibbles and sucks at my mouth to the point I’m certain my lips are swollen and bruised, but I don’t fucking care.

The second we move from this spot, the moment we break this co

Finally, yet all too soon, Rain wrenches his mouth from mine, leaving us both panting and breathless, only to plant one soft, final kiss to my lips.

“Let’s go, Abhai

Reluctantly, I back away from him, throwing my strap over my shoulder before snatching a few of Rain’s art boxes away from him. He laughs and pats my ass, giving it a slight squeeze before the release, then grabs what is remaining and follows me out to the living room.

Coach is sitting at the kitchen island, coffee in hand, when we come walking into the open common space. His eyes snap to the crates in my hands, then over my shoulder at Rain who is directly behind me.

“Well? Did it do you two any good to be out here? Or did you lose your minds?”

Glancing over my shoulder at Rain, I give him a shit eating grin, knowing the comment was one thousand percent aimed at him. “Did you lose your mind, Ciaráin Grady?”

He gives me a smirk before answering Coach, all the while holding my gaze.

“Sure did, Coach. I lost my mind and found my soul.”

Dropping to my bed, which I haven’t seen in over a month, I let out a low groan as my face burrows into the dark green comforter. As weird as it is to be back here and as much as I didn’t want to leave the cabin, I have to admit it will be nice to sleep in my own bed again.

The drive back to Boulder was uneventful despite the tension that filled the truck for most of the ride. Thankfully, Coach didn’t comment on our silence, just took it in stride by turning up the radio, bopping his hands on the steering wheel to whatever country song was playing at the time.

Rolling to my back, I stare at the ceiling, replaying the last twenty four hours in my mind, unable to halt the thoughts racing through my head.

Will last night be the last time? Will this morning be our last kiss?

As much as I hate to admit, they both felt like he was saying goodbye. In all honesty, it would probably be for the best if we quit this cold turkey and went back to hating each other. It might hurt less, at the end of the day.

But his words play on a repetitive loop in my brain.

You’ll meet someone. Someone who makes your heart pound in your chest, and whether it’s a guy or a girl, if they’re the right one for you, they won’t force you to be someone you aren’t.

I know those words were meant as a reassurance, a confirmation he and I aren’t endgame. He doesn’t think he can be that person for me, and I commend him for being honest about how he feels. It’s not something that comes easy to him.