Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(20)

Wes doesn’t even look at me.

You’re making it worse. Just shut up.

I see the bag of trail mix, so I pull it out and extend it toward Wes. “M&M?” I smile, giving the bag a little shake.

Wes turns his head toward me—one eye hidden behind that curtain of hair—and gives me an almost smile. It’s just a twitch at the corner of his mouth really, and I can’t tell if it’s a thanks, but no thanks kind of twitch or the I’m glad you’re here kind or the dreaded you’re annoying the shit out of me, and I’m just tolerating you until I can figure out how to get rid of you kind. Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out with my free hand and tuck that hair back behind Wes’s ear so I can get a better look at his confusing expression.

Which makes his almost smile disappear completely.

Shit.

Wes is now giving me the same look he gave me behind Burger Palace yesterday. The one that freezes the air in my lungs. The one that is focused and emotionless and intimidating as hell. I wonder what he’s thinking about when he looks at me like that. What he’s hiding.

I realize that I’m staring at him with my hand poised awkwardly in midair behind his ear, so I drop my eyes and yank my arm back. “We’re gonna find it,” I blurt out, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Yeah? And what if we don’t?”

I peek back up at him from under my mascara-coated lashes. “We die?”

Wes nods real slow and chews on the corner of his mouth as he studies me. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not too upset about that?”

Because I’m not.

Because I’m looking forward to it.

Because I’m too chickenshit to do it myself.

I shrug and settle on, “Because it means I get a do-over.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Wes snaps, sitting up straighter. “It means you are over. Don’t you get that? It means you lost, and they won.”

I want to tell him that I’m okay with that, whoever “they” are, but I know it’ll only lead to more questions. Questions I don’t want to answer. Questions that will rattle the locks on Fort Shit I’m Not Going to Think About Ever Again Because None of This Matters and We’re All Going to Die. So, I keep my mouth—and the drawbridge—shut tight.

Besides, if Wes knows I’m just using him as a distraction, that I don’t actually want to survive whatever the hell is coming for us, he might not let me tag along anymore. And tagging along with this asshole is kinda my only reason for living at the moment.

I sigh and look around the woods, praying for a burst of inspiration that will help me convince him that we’re in this together.

Blowing out a breath, I lean forward and place my elbows on my knees. “If only we had a metal detector or something.”

“That’s it!” Wes snaps his fingers and points at me in the same motion.

I glance over at him and give myself an internal high five when I see his beautiful, megawatt smile beaming back at me.

“That’s fucking it! Rain, you’re a goddamn genius!” Wes stands up and ruffles my hair before lifting the backpack off the ground and holding the straps open for me to slip into. “Where’s the closest hardware store?”

I push my messed up hair out of my face and point toward the highway.

“Let’s go!”

“Okay, okay,” I grumble, standing up and turning around so that he can drop that fifty-pound behemoth on my shoulders. “But, if there’s a redneck with a machine gun at the door, we’re coming up with a plan B.”

Wes laughs and spins me around to face him, gripping me by the shoulders so the pack doesn’t take me down. The way he’s looking at me right now, the way his strong hands feel on my body, the way his hopeful smile causes an entire swarm of butterflies to take flight in my belly, I’d probably face down five tattooed rednecks with machine guns if that was what it took to keep him happy. But I don’t tell him that.

A girl has to play a little hard to get.





Wes


I have to cut through the Burger Palace parking lot on my way to the highway. The line of people waiting to get in wraps around the building at least twice, but it’s hard to tell through all the fistfights. His royal highness, King Burger, is smiling down at the yelling, kicking, screaming, chest-shoving, hair-pulling mob from his throne up on the digital Burger Palace sign. I’ve always hated that motherfucker, even as a kid. I remember the way his glowing face would laugh at me as I dug through his dumpsters.

Rich prick.

I swerve to avoid hitting a naked toddler in the middle of the parking lot.

As I slow down to turn onto the highway, I notice that one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the front of the library across the street has been broken out. A techno beat so loud I can hear it over my engine is pouring out of the place, and inside, colored lights are swirling around like it’s a rave. I imagine a bunch of teenage kids inside, guzzling cough syrup and passing out STDs like party favors, but as I pull onto the highway, a topless grandma comes stumbling out, holding what I swear to God looks like a—

“Dildo!” Rain screams, pointing directly at the old lady as we pass by.

I laugh and shake my head. “Guess the Franklin Springs orgy is BYOD.”

I don’t think I said it loud enough for Rain to hear me through my helmet, but she cackles and smacks me on my good shoulder.