After the Rain—The Lost Prologue!

Guess what? The start of After the Rain as you’ve read it wasn’t the *original* start of the story! Oh no, at first I showed Henri and Michael fighting about the camping trip Henri and Logan eventually meet up on.

For those of you who love Henri and love Michael, I thought I’d show it to you here. Oh, and it’s fun to get a better idea of Michael for his upcoming book, Nothing But Smoke, which comes out in June.

Prologue

“Tell me you’re not going back over there.”

Henri stopped at the door, backpack hitched over his shoulder and broken down boxes under his arm. “I’m just stopping by on my way to class.”

“Oh, please. You just want to see him again.” Michael shouted from the kitchen since he was cooking. From what Henri could smell, it was the same vegan tofu scramble Michael had been making all week.

“I’m carrying boxes, Cheri.” Henri lugged the cardboard into the kitchenette. “See? Packing supplies.”

Michael’s 300 square foot studio stretched all around him, nothing but a bed, a couch—which Henri had been sleeping on for the past two weeks—and a desk with a computer on it. No TV, because Michael thought it rotted the brain. As far as Henri was concerned, brain rotting was the whole point of television, but he was lucky Michael had put him up since his break up, so he had no room to complain about the lodgings.

“There is nothing you need at Preston’s house.” Michael kept his back to Henri as he cooked. He always seemed somewhat irritated, but today Michael’s posture was positively annoyed. “You’ll end up in bed with him, then get all upset about it.”

“No, I won’t.” He left it vague as to exactly what he wouldn’t be doing. Honestly, Henri hoping to at least get a blow job out of this visit. Preston owed him that much for kicking him out.

“It’s just there are a few things I need.” Henri opened the fridge and found his half-bottle of Diet Coke nestled between the milk and juice labeled with Michael’s name. He popped the cap, listening to the delicious sound of fizz. He took a long drink. “I still have my books there from econ last year. I should take a look at them before my final.”

Michael placed his pan of gloppy, grayish health food on the counter. “You don’t need those books.” He eyed the soda bottle in Henri’s hand. “And how can you drink that crap first thing in the morning?”

Henri clutched his soda to his chest. It wasn’t his fault Michael didn’t keep any caffeine in the house. “But, I could sell them. Econ texts are worth more than all that humanities crap of yours.”

“Oh, please. Pick up some extra shifts at the coffee shop if you need money that badly. I’ll give you one of mine.”

“That’s okay,” he mumbled into his soda. He should have kept working at Buffalo Exchange instead of going back to his old job at Speedy Coffee. Fuck Preston for complaining about Henri’s retail schedule. “I’m cool.”

Michael frowned, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. “So, are you all packed for this weekend?”

Henri thumbed through the screens of his smart phone, wishing like hell he had a better option lined up. He liked camping about as well as he liked vegan tofu scrambles. “I told you, I’m not going.”

“But you know you can’t stay here. My brother’s using the apartment when he and his wife come into town.”

Sighing at his crap situation, Henri re-read his ex’s text from that morning. Preston sounded nice, casual. Maybe Henri could work something out. “Preston may let me crash for the weekend. Just as a friend.”

Michael slapped down a cup on the counter. “Fuck, no, Henri. Seriously. I’ll give you money for a hotel if you—”

“God!” Henri waved to cut off Michael’s rant. “I don’t need your money.” His friend was always fucking doing that—trying to solve Henri’s problems for him. It wasn’t Michael’s business where Henri slept.

“You want some?” With angry jerks of his hands, Michael pulled out two plates.

“No thanks.” Guilt coiled in Henri’s belly. He shouldn’t have scolded his friend like that. Michael was only trying to help. “I’ll grab a burger at the Student Union.”

Michael rolled his eyes, though his frustration probably had more to do with where Henri would be sleeping this weekend than over anything having to do with food. “Breakfast of Champions.”

Rebelliously, Henri finished his soda.

“Come camping.” Michael softened his voice, for once dropping his hard edged, know-it-all attitude. “The campground is really nice. They have real bathrooms, with showers.”

“Ooh, showers.” Henri widened his eyes sarcastically. “How luxurious.”

Michael shoveled a bite of food in his mouth, his expression hardening back to his normal scowl. “And a great restaurant. They have home fries and bacon.”

The last bit, Henri might have been interested in. After all, Henri did love bacon. Not like he was going to get any at Michael’s place. Sleeping on the ground though? Um, no. “I’ll find somewhere else to crash.”

Michael scrubbed a hand across his face. “Whatever, Hen. Just…whatever.”

“I’m sorry, Cheri.” Henri dug in his jacket pocket for the candy bar he was pretty sure was hidden under all the wrappers. “But I have that paper for my seminar with Johnson.”

“They have wifi at the campground.” Michael made a noise that sounded like tsha, as if he didn’t believe Henri’s excuse.

That was okay. Henri didn’t believe it, either. He and Michael were graduating in a couple weeks, and honestly, so long as they passed their classes, it didn’t matter what they got for grades. Michael was already into his graduate program and Henri was supposed to go to work as a paralegal at his asshole father’s law firm. No last minute success of failure or Henri’s part would change that.

Michael went to the sink to scrub his plate.

“I’ll be fine.” Henri waved his hand like he could clear the tension in the air. He knew Michael cared about him, and that Michael was worried about him, but Henri needed to get out of the conversation with some dignity. “I have to go.” Henri went to his stuff at the door and picked it up. “Preston’s waiting for me.”

“He’s an asshole,” Michael called from the kitchen.

“Maybe.” Henri sighed, palm on the handle. “But you don’t know him like I do.”

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