For the Love of Raindrops Read online

  FOR THE LOVE OF RAINDROPS

  Copyright @ 2015 by Beth Michele

  Cover Design by Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative

  Cover Models – Amy & Derek Watkins

  Photographer – Tim Davis

  Editing by Lea Burn

  Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  ISBN-10:0692423826

  ISBN-13:978-0-692-42382-0

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing by Beth Michele. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  PROLOGUE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER ONE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER TWO – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THREE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER FOUR – DYLAN

  CHAPTER FIVE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER SIX – DYLAN

  CHAPTER SEVEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER EIGHT – DYLAN

  CHAPTER NINE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER TEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER TWELVE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN – EVIE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – EVIE

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – EVIE

  CHAPTER NINETEEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY – EVIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – EVIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – EVIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – DYLAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – EVIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX – EVIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – EVIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE – EVIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE – EVIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX – EVIE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT – DYLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE – EVIE

  CHAPTER FORTY – DYLAN

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE – EVIE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO – DYLAN

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE – EVIE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR – DYLAN

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE – EVIE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX – EVIE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN – DYLAN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT – EVIE

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE – DYLAN

  CHAPTER FIFTY – EVIE

  EPILOGUE – DYLAN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY BETH MICHELE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  FOR THE LOVE OF RAINDROPS – SONG PLAYLIST

  For Isabella & Richie…

  I love you with everything that I am. Always remember your heart… and NEVER let anyone tell you that there is anything you can’t do. Because you CAN, and I believe in you. Follow your heart and your dreams… and always reach for the stars.

  I love you to the moon and back.

  And for all those who believe in true love…

  This story is for you.

  “I love her, and that’s the beginning and end of everything.”

  —F. Scott Fitzgerald

  I SNUCK OFF to that room again. He never looked for me in there. With all of the cardboard boxes piled high and the old desk in the corner, it was the perfect place for me to hide out and write or draw. Two things I loved to do more than anything in the whole world. But he didn’t like that, so I hid.

  With the precision of a ninja, I crept over to the chair and sat down. I’d grown pretty good at being sneaky from playing spy games with Jordan.

  I looped my pinky through the rusty handle of the desk drawer to pull it open and grabbed a piece of paper. As it creaked, my eyes widened and went right to the door. Afraid that he’d heard, I waited a minute and when all remained quiet, slid the drawer closed, more carefully though.

  I tapped the pen against my lips a few times and smiled, before the pen found the paper, bringing my thoughts to life. It only took a second for the words to come pouring out, because I was thinking about Evie. She made my heart go batshit crazy. Wait. Was batshit even a word? I didn’t care, because it was true.

  Your smile is like the sun

  Your eyes are like the ocean

  Your heart is my safe place—

  “What are you doing in here?” My father’s booming voice startled me as the door flew open. His boots sounded harsh against the wood floor, reminiscent of the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk. Angry lines were drawn all over his face. My hands trembled as I snatched the paper and held it underneath the desk.

  He got closer, and I smelled it. The strong scent of that brown liquid he drank all the time. I tried to hold my breath because I didn’t like it. Not that he cared what I thought. He never had.

  “I asked what you’re doing in here, Dylan!” His biting tone made me shrink in the chair. I hadn’t even done anything. But he didn’t need a reason. I knew he hated me. And the feeling was mutual.

  “I-I’m doing homework,” I stuttered. My stomach hurt and I pressed my hand over it, hoping to make the cramp go away.

  “Homework?” The fact that he was so tall made me feel timid and I sunk down further in the chair. “Why would you be hiding homework under the desk? Give me that paper.”

  “No.” I didn’t look at him when I said it, but I heard his breathing grow louder and knew he wasn’t happy with me. I was used to it though.

  “Dylan. Give me that paper right now, or you’ll be punished.”

  I didn’t move, and I’m not even sure I was breathing. Normally, I wouldn’t have defied him, but I didn’t want him seeing my poem to Evie.

  Before I knew what was happening, he yanked the paper from my fingers, shredding it in two. I prayed he couldn’t see what I’d written but cringed as he let out a nasty laugh, and realized it was too late. “‘Her smile is like the sun,’” he said, emphasizing each word in a whiny, mocking tone. “‘Her eyes are like the ocean.’ What is this crap? You’re writing poetry again? What did I tell you about that?” He crinkled the paper up into a ball and threw it in the hallway, but it felt like he’d ripped up my heart. “Boys don’t write poetry, Dylan. Writing poetry is for pussies. Are you a pussy, Dylan?”

  “No, sir.” My blood was boiling over and I refused to look at him. He just took something that meant so much to me and basically spit on it. I wanted to do the same to him.

  “Good. Now get the hell out of here. I don’t want you near your mother’s thing
s.”

  I ran out of the room like the coward that I was when it came to my father, trying to hold back my tears. I didn’t need another reason for him to call me names.

  “Oh, and next time,” he screamed, “try harder for your team. You played like shit today. That wasn’t good enough!”

  His words played over and over in my head, making me stumble up the stairs.

  He was probably right… I’d never be good enough.

  “DILLS, LET’S GO,” Evie said as she dragged me through her backyard and over to the side of the house. It felt like we were about to do something shady and I knew my father was going to be unhappy with me. Not that he needed another reason.

  “What are we doing? Am I going to get in trouble? Because if my dad finds out—”

  “No, now, shhh, I don’t want my parents to hear us.”

  We tiptoed around the corner. Evie shot her arm out to pull me under the porch and into a small hole of dirt. Then we crammed into the tight space side-by-side. She took a flashlight out of her jacket and flicked it on before she reached back into her pocket, yanking out a plastic bag. Something about this spelled bad news.

  “Give me your finger,” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “Give me your finger,” she ordered.

  “Okay, okay, stop being so bossy,” I told her, and she gave me her thin blue eyes.

  A second later, I let out a muffled yelp when a pin pricked the tip of my thumb. “What are you doing?”

  She covered my mouth with her small hand until I quieted down. “Well,” she started, and suddenly her lips were squished together and her eyes were sad. “I heard Braden James saying he was your best friend and you can’t have two best friends. I’m your best friend, so we’re going to take a blood oath.”

  I wanted to laugh at how cute she was, but she looked so serious that I kept my giggles hidden. “Okay, what do we do now?”

  “Now you prick my finger and then we rub our blood together.”

  I hesitated, because I didn’t want to be the reason she was bleeding.

  She looked over her shoulder then back, her knee doing this crazy bouncing thing. “Come on, Dills, hurry up.”

  I did as she asked and then she put the pin in the plastic bag, stuffing it back in her pocket. She grabbed her finger and pinched it until a bit of blood dripped out, and I did the same. Then we rubbed them together.

  “Okay, now we pinky swear,” she said, wiping the blood on her pants.

  I opened my mouth and my nose crinkled. “We have to pinky swear, too?”

  “Yes, as a backup,” she told me, and then we both started giggling. She looped her pinky around mine. “Best friends forever, right, Dills?” she asked with a big goofy grin on her face.

  I squeezed her finger and smiled just as big. “Forever, Evie.”

  “WHAT ABOUT THAT one, Dills?” Evie asked, pointing up at the cloud that I’d decided was shaped like a giant tyrannosaurus rex. We were lying side-by-side on our backs amid tall blades of green grass, holding hands.

  “That’s easy. It’s a t-rex. Hands down.”

  “Nope. Don’t think so.” She made a humming sound as if she was thinking very hard. “It looks more like a… giraffe. Yup, definitely a giraffe.”

  “Okay, let’s call a stalemate on that one.” I giggled, pointing in a different direction. “How about that one?”

  “That’s a jelly bean riding a bicycle,” she insisted, grinning when I turned to her.

  “Jelly beans can’t ride bicycles, smarty pants.”

  “In my world, they can,” she said, breaking out into laughter.

  “Oh right. It’s your world. I’m just living in it,” I teased, and she gave me a playful jab in the arm.

  “Good, since it’s my world, I want to play tag.” She let go of my hand and was gone in a flash, running across the yard. I shot up after her and took off.

  “I’m going to tag you, Evie Carmichael, and then you’re going to be it!” I yelled, puffing out lots of heavy breaths as I rounded the corner, trying to catch up with her.

  “No, you’re not!” she squealed, her long, skinny legs enabling her to run pretty fast for a girl. She bolted around the side of the house and that’s when I heard her scream. “Ahhhh.”

  “Evie!” I shouted, and thinking she was hurt, my heart sped up. “Are you okay?” I sprinted over to where she was lying face down in a pile of dirt. She was crying, her glasses sitting on a nearby mound of weeds. “What happened?”

  “I can’t move my leg.” Her usually squeaky voice was muffled, nose pressed against the ground.

  “Here, I’m gonna flip you over slowly, okay?” Crouching down next to her, I positioned my arms around her waist and rolled her until she was on her back. My hands immediately went to her leg to check for injuries.

  “Ow,” she continued to cry. “That really hurts, Dills.” She pushed herself up with her elbows then braced her ankle with both hands. Tiny specks of dirt covered her hair and clothes.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I don’t know.” She sniffed and rubbed her nose with her palm, and as I felt around a bit more, she closed her eyes tight and pressed her lips together. I took my hands away because I didn’t like hurting her.

  “I think you might have broken it. I’m going to help you up and get you inside. Then I’ll call your mom, okay?” I stood and walked over to pluck her glasses from the overgrown grass then cleaned them on my t-shirt. I wiped some of her tears away with my fingers, before gently placing the glasses back on her face. “You know,” I added, because all I wanted was to see her smile again, “I think you hopped into that hole of dirt on purpose. I might have to start calling you Hopper.”

  “Very funny.” She snorted then snuffled, and I put my hands underneath her arms as I lifted her to a standing position. She put all of her weight on her good leg. “Nice try, though.” She sent a half-smile my way, and that’s all it took to calm the fear, and my heartbeat. “Just give me your shoulder,” she said, pushy as always, and curled her arm around me.

  Little did she know, I’d give her the sun, the moon, even the stars. All she had to do was ask.

  THE SCREEN DOOR bangs shut behind me and I’m halted by the most beautiful sight.

  Evie Carmichael.

  “Hey, Evie!”

  The loud rumble of a passing car drowns out my voice, my heart humming in my chest as I struggle to take in air. But it’s just that—a struggle, my ability to breathe pretty much nonexistent whenever she’s around.

  The yelp of a nearby dog falls on my ears and I look away. A neighbor off in the distance gives me a wave before I blink and come back to Evie. She’s leaning into her trunk, a waterfall of red hair cascading down her back, tight jeans emphasizing her perfect, heart-shaped ass. We’ve been neighbors since the first grade, but things have changed significantly since then, to say the least.

  No longer is she the thin, gawky girl with floppy pigtails, brown wire-framed glasses, and braces. She is now a full-fledged woman, nineteen years old with long, auburn waves, straight white teeth, and curves that bend and dip in all the right places.

  I’m just about to dart across the street to help her unload her groceries when Jamie Harrington pulls up in his BMW convertible. He’s got asshole written all over his face and she can’t see it. She’s too caught up in his fake charm, sun-bleached blond hair, and the fact that he’s a surfer.

  Big fucking deal.

  Talk about polar opposites. I’ve got dark-brown, semi-longish hair and my eyes are so dark they’re almost black. I’m about six foot two and spend a decent amount of time at the gym, so I’m not lacking in tone. The flip side to that is I work at our family diner and the only time I smell clean is when I’ve had a fresh shower. Otherwise, the scent of French fries, burgers, and chicken patties are burned into my skin like the ink from a tattoo. But I make a mean chocolate milkshake, and that’s her favorite.

  “Hey, Evie,” I call out again, even though she’s
thoroughly engrossed in her conversation with dickwad over there. It’s hard to believe she can’t see through his bullshit. She’s a smart girl, but someone needs to show her the error of her ways.

  I’d like to volunteer.

  There are a number of other things I’d like to sign up for, too, and the thoughts make me instantly hard.

  You see, a minor detail I forgot to mention is that I’m in love with Evie. I was in love with her even when she had braces and all sorts of disgusting things got caught in her teeth. I loved her when Tommy Pilson told her that her hair was an ugly red color and when Nancy Howell made fun of how bony she was—I threatened to beat their asses for it every time. It’s like I became superhuman whenever anyone intimidated her—because no one hurts my Evie.

  Unfortunately, she has no idea the depth of my feelings and just how desperately I want her. She looks at me like she always has—like the brother she never had, but always wanted. Screw that. I don’t want to be a brother to her. I want to be so much more.

  “Hey, Dylan!” she yells, glancing over surfer boy’s shoulder. “Heading to work?” And the moment she flashes me that killer smile, even from a fifty-yard distance, my heart decides it’s running a fucking marathon and I have to find a way to slow it down so I can respond.

  “Yeah. You coming by later?” I shout back, pulling open the door to my truck.

  “Yup. I’ll be in. Get the ice cream ready,” she calls out, before resuming her chat with wonder boy.

  She comes in almost every day for her chocolate milkshake and every day I try to think of a way to tell her how I feel. I sit and watch her from afar, the way she swirls the straw in a circular motion before her lips curve around it and she sucks. It’s exquisite torture. I have to walk around with a hard-on for almost an hour after she leaves, but it’s totally worth it. Sometimes I get off at home just thinking about those full lips wrapped around my cock, sucking on me the way she does that straw.

  “Great, I’ll see you later, then.” I climb in the truck and rev the engine, eager to get the hell out of here, but not before I flip Harrington off from underneath the dashboard.