ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(42)

I sat up slowly, rubbing my temples. My head throbbed like a bad hangover as I recalled what happened at the truck pulls. It was fuzzy at first but then suddenly it all came back. The sea turtles. Being recognized by Pinto. The trucks. The almost kiss.

Griff.

RAGE.

I covered my mouth with my hand to quiet my gasp. Nolan had seen me.

The real me.

I was compromised.

Professionally. Personally. He knew too much.

Not just last night, but this entire situation had gotten out of control way too fast.

It was over.

All there was left to do now was leave.

When I heard the shower running I seized my opportunity. Sliding the door open, I stepped out onto the deck as quietly as I could. The door screeched as it ran across the rusted old track. When I closed it behind me, Murray was there, sitting on the other side of the glass, whining through his nose and staring up at me with a frown on his grey hair smattered face. “Shhhhhh, I can’t let you out,” I told him. “Go lay down, boy.” I pointed to his dog bed on the other side of the room. Murray turned around like he actually understood what I was pointing to. “Good boy,” I said. When Murray sat down and wagged his tail, I knew it wasn’t his bed that he was so happy to see.

Nolan.

Wet hair. Water droplets shone on his hairless chest and abs. A white towel wrapped low around his trim waist. The hint of whatever back tattoo I’d never actually seen ran over his shoulders. Shadows of what looked like ghostly fingers wrapped around his triceps. “Rage?” Nolan asked. I shook my head and took a step back.

Realization crossed over his face, followed by a flash of hurt in his eyes.

He knew.

“Rage…wait,” he called out, stepping around the couch, his voice muffled by the glass separating us.

By the time I heard the door screeching open, I’d already leapt off the deck and was running barefoot down the sand. It seemed like a lifetime had passed from the day I met Nolan and a lifetime more that I’d been running. Not just from Nolan.

From life.

Thunder boomed in the distance and although I hated storms, thankfully the bellowing of the clouds drowned out the blood rushing through my ears, as well as the voice in my head telling me to turn back around. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t stop. It was too late.

I planned on running until I could no longer hear Nolan calling my name down the beach, or until the foreign wetness streaming down my cheeks stopped.

I had a feeling I would be running for a very, very long time.

It wasn’t long enough.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




Nolan


Thunderstorms were a comfort for me. Always had been. Gramps and I used to watch them roll through off the water, waiting until the very last second when the rain grew from tiny droplets to total downpour, before we’d even consider going inside. Which was well after Gran had first yelled at us to “get our asses up in the house before we catch our deaths.”

When Rage hopped off the deck and ran down the beach, the storm clouds rolled in over both the shore and my mind. I felt anything but comfort. Lighting lit up the dark sky in flashes, illuminating the ominous clouds. The storm grew larger, more intense, the thunder boomed, rattling the earth like a cheap car speaker rattling a trunk.

The rain turned sideways, pouring down so hard, it stung my skin as I tried to chase her down the beach. I was a fast runner, but not in a towel, and not with a bum leg. For not being very tall, Rage’s legs moved at a pace that wasn’t human. I lost sight of her through the wall of rain.

The second our eyes had connected through the glass, I knew she was leaving.

What Rage and those sexy ass legs of hers didn’t know was that her speed was no match for my determination.

Rage

Thunderstorms suck. I’ve never been a fan. When I was younger, it was the only thing that made me want to hide under my bed or seek my parents out for comfort. My parents rejoiced in this bit of normality, but I hated it. Being afraid. Inflicting fear was amazing. Feeling fear was a shit load of no fun.

It was stupid really. I’d seen so much. I’d done so much. And yet the second the clouds roll in, I turn right back into the six-year-old version of me, except I didn’t have a bed to crawl under and hide anymore.

Mother nature unleashing its fury on the earth should have been a comfort to me. A kindred spirit of sorts. Out to wreak havoc upon the earth much like myself.

The thunder crashed overhead so loud and so bold it was like the storm clouds descended onto the beach and were surrounding me on all sides. I was drenched from the torrential downpour, my hair wet and cold, sticking to my neck and face. My heart was racing in my chest as I tried to outrun the storm. I ran until the force of the rain and wind blinded me and the sand turned to mush under my feet. I tried to set up an abandoned beach umbrella and take shelter, but it flew away when I opened it, careening down the beach.

It was around four a.m. Late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. There wasn’t a person around as far as I could see although the rain obscured my view and I could only see fifty feet in either direction until it started coming down so hard I couldn’t see more than ten and then five. I was hoping against hope for the sun to come out early and miraculously chase away the storm.

No such luck.

I trudged through the wet sand. That’s when I realized that when I didn’t take my shoes or my bag.