Follow the River (River of Rain, #1)

by C.E. Ricci

But I beg silently, searching his eyes for any recognition that he understands the way I feel about him. That this is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me, inadvertently or not. That he just gave my heart wings and let it soar. That I fucking love him. And I do. Goddamnit, I do. I’d give anything to be able to tell him at this moment. But I can do the next best thing. Show him.

Yet as messy as this love is, it will always be beautiful. Because it will always be ours.

Oh, and the canvas? It turned out really fucking cool, so I’d say it was well worth the cleanup hassle. It’s like I said before. Art, like love, is messy.

Staring up at the night sky, it’s the best way to remember we are so much smaller than we make ourselves out to be.

I couldn’t tell you when it happened or why, but over the course of the past five weeks, River went from being my enemy to…my everything. My friend, my lover. The keeper of my secrets. My saving grace. And for the life of me, I don’t want this to be over between us.

Tell him about Roman, a small part of my brain whispers. Better yet. Tell him everything. And then maybe, just maybe, you can keep him. But deep down, I know I can’t. I can’t tell him. I can’t keep him. Because why the fuck would anyone, especially someone as put together as River, want to be with someone who can’t even slay their own demons?

“You have me. You will always have me. Until every star in the night sky burns out. And maybe even then.”

“Tá mé i ngrá leat, Abhainn,”

Even if he is awake, he won’t know what I’ve said. What I’ve just declared. But I do. I am. And I have no fucking clue what to do now that I’ve undoubtedly realized it. I’m in love with him.

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.

“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.”

This is the one you’re meant to keep. If he’d fucking let me.

And he is. Made for me, that is. I’m not certain of anything else in my life at the moment except for that. River Lennox was put on this Earth to be mine and mine alone. Once this shit with Ted is all sorted out, I’m going to make sure he damn well knows it.

I might have been questioning it when I walked into this office, but now I’m absolutely certain. What I feel for him is nothing short of head-over-heels, I’d-do-anything-for-you love. The love you move mountains for.

I hate this. I hate myself for having to push him away. I hate River for not letting me. I hate these circumstances we’ve found ourselves in. I hate Ted motherfucking Anders, and the rest of the goddamn world. I hate that I can’t love him the way he deserves to be loved.

“If you put half as much effort in trying to make us work as you are in trying to rip us apart right now, we could be fucking unstoppable,” he mutters softly. “We’d be everything.”

We already are, my love. You are everything. I only wish I could tell you that.

“I didn’t want to fix you, only save you from your nightmares. Too bad I didn’t realize the real nightmare is you.”

He’s not fucking worth them. Neither of them. At least, that’s what I tell myself, when the truth is Rain is worth every goddamn hardship, every minute of walking through hell and battling his demons. He. Is. Worth. It.