Between The Raindrops Read online

  Between The Raindrops

  Written By: K.Pinson

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Between The Raindrops (Tempting Fate)

  Dedication

  Prologue

  I’m Nevaeh and this is my story.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2 (6 Years Before)

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13 (Ryker's Point of View)

  Chapter 14 (Nevaeh’s POV)

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author:

  Between The Raindrops Copyright: K.Pinson Published: 25, September, 2014 Publisher: ©K.Pinson

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  The right of K.Pinson to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To my mother, Michelle Kinsey, for believing in this story more than anyone. For believing that this was going to be the one. I love you. Thank you for supporting me no matter what. Love you most.

  To Becky Carter-Nichols for being one of the strongest women that I know. For always cheering me on, even when you find it hard to cheer yourself on. Keep fighting girl. You are amazing. Love you. I’ll always be in your corner.

  To my loyal readers, you know who you are, I am blessed to have you. I love each one of you and don’t ever forget it.

  Prologue

  I was easily the girl that everyone else loved to hate. I came by my reputation honestly. I did drugs, cussed too much, and had no self-respect for myself, let alone those around me. At least those were all the traits my mother would give you when defining the twin she could easily live without. I’ll never tell you which ones are true. I’m not a prodigy like my twin sister Heaven, fitting name I’d say. I’m not famous like her, not intellectual like her and sure the fuck not happy like her. Heaven has it all; rich and handsome boyfriend, independent lifestyle and a bomb ass house. She’s an actress, but not one of those on the road, starving artists. Of course not, she is Hollywood’s “it” girl, right where she belongs to be.

  It sounds like I’m holding a hint of jealousy, maybe even a slight twinge of resentment. Truthfully, maybe I am. But it’s not my sister’s fault. If I had to place blame, which generally I never did, it would definitely go to my holier than thou sperm and egg donors. They only ever loved one sister, can you guess which one? Ding, ding, ding—we have a winner. You guessed it. All bullshit set aside, this all didn’t even matter. I loved my sister; I loved her just like every other person did, if not more. I looked up to her, I protected her and I wanted what was best for her. I can recognize that look of surprise on your face. Well, wipe it off. I’m not the cruel hearted girl everyone thinks I am. I just pretend to be, for my sanity’s sake, for everyone’s sake. Hey, Heaven isn’t the only actress in the family, or was I should say. You see, Heaven’s dead, literally. My life has been filled with death, hope, hurt, rebirth, and discovering who I really am and what is actually important. Buckle up, it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

  I’m Nevaeh and this is my story.

  Chapter 1

  Vibrations make their way up the length of my arms every time I caress the skin of my custom set, forcefully pounding them with love, hot pink drumsticks flailing but never faltering. As the music pulsates loudly in my ears, I wonder how I’m not deaf by now. But fortunately, this decibel has become my norm. Anything short of it and I would surely go crazy. My long chestnut hair lies plastered against my sweat covered face. My hair is one of my only physical attributes that I have left untarnished–natural. I look around to survey my surroundings. I can see the screaming crowd directly ahead, as well as the backs of my band mates playing up the song to the best of their ability. Everything about this life is peaceful to me. This is my home, my happy place. When I’m on the stage, the screaming thoughts in my head are silenced. There is nothing more stress relieving to me than pounding on my kit.

  After our set is over, we make our way through the crowd and sit side by side at the bar. We frequent this place and are always guaranteed an empty seat, no matter how packed it is. Groupies come over like clock-work to get their lady lumps signed by the whores I consider my best friends. It’s rare that anyone is interested in my autograph, the only female of the group. But you know what, fuck them. I’m the best drummer in the city and I pride myself on that fact. So whatever, their loss. I sip on my beer, trying to hide my sour face. I’ve never really cared for it, but I drink it anyway to keep up appearances. I made the mistake of ordering a "chick" drink one time and it was one too many times. I still don’t know if I’ll ever hear the end of that one. Seems to me like my guys don’t realize I’m a girl.

  Newsflash, I have tits. Nice perky ones at that. Most of these guys will never notice that, though. I’m like a little sister to them, nothing more. My phone begins screaming "Bleeding Mascara" in my pocket. I pull it out and quickly make my way to the exit, shouting for whomever on the other end to hold on. I feel relief when I walk outside of the crowded bar and into the cool night air. It isn’t completely silent, the city life never really is, but it’s definitely a vast improvement from inside.

  "What's up?" I ask the unknown on the other end. Muffled sniffles greet me.

  "Hellllo? Who is this?" I ask, trying to hide my annoyance. If this is seriously some type of prank call, I’m not impressed. "Whoever this is, cut the shit. I'm not into kid games."

  "Nevaeh? Honey? It's Mother." There is another muffled sniffle. After I hear her say it, many memories revolving that voice flash into my mind. It’s familiar and I know it’s her, even though I shouldn’t. Considering it’s been six years since I’ve spoken with any member of my oh so loving family.

  "Nevaeh... I’m calling because...well, because...there has been an accident. It's Heaven, honey, she's gone." I can sense the distinct sadness evident in her voice and I truly feel for her. I can still hear her talking, but I’m having trouble connecting her words with the common English that I understand. It all sounds like nonsense to me. The only thing I can focus on is the strong beating of my heart. I thought that organ was long ago dead. I am wrong again, painfully so.

  After the phone call ends, I don’t feel better about the situation. I feel regret and guilt for not having spoken to my sister for so long. We were once best friends, until everything started to change. Identical twins, but looks were the only thing we’ve ever had in common. We are truly like night and day. She was perfect, always perfect. And now she’s dead. All of that perfection wasted. I’m shocked by the real reaso
n Mother called. I never thought she would suggest such a thing and I’m honestly surprised that I’m considering doing it. Even more than considering, I’m going to. Anything to take away the guilt.

  I’m going to have to fool not only those around me, but myself as well, in order to play the part perfectly. I have to let go of all of the things about myself I once held pride in. All of the talents I practice, the traits that make me stand out in a crowd and the things that I’ve worked hard to accomplish throughout my lonely existence. I have no other choice but to bury my former self with her in that cold fucking ground. To encompass her the way that she delicately deserves, to become her completely. Meaning I have to let myself die. Dead and gone the way that she really is. A fate that my parents wish upon me instead. Acceptance has never been important to me in life until now. I’ll follow through with this plan, if it means that everyone else is happy.

  This is going to be my last night before life as I know it will end. I decide to go back into that bar and pretend that nothing even happened. Lucky for me, I usually look angry, so they won’t really notice too much of a difference. I walk past the dance floor and directly to the liquid courage. I need a drink or several right now. I sit down at a stool and nod my head at the bartender. I’m a regular so they already know what I want. That’s a blessing and a curse. While I’m waiting, I look around at my surroundings. It feels odd how the world is still continuing to turn and I feel like mine has stopped completely.

  When I get my drink, I chug it down. I don’t care about the acid lingering at the back of my throat, I force it down with all the emotions I’m feeling. Not tonight, I refuse to waste the last moments of Nevaeh. I see Jamison on the dance floor. He’s grinding up against some girl. She’s cute, I approve. At least he doesn’t have his beer goggles on quite yet. Sometimes he just goes for anything that walks. Those are the times I have to slap some sense into him. I don’t even care if it’s right in front of the girl. That’s how our relationship is. Always honest. I feel ridiculously guilty that I won’t be honest with him when I leave. I push that thought away and instead order two lemon drop shots. I take them coinciding and almost puke right then and there. Again, I force it down. It’s absolutely disgusting. I’m starting to feel the head rush now.

  Whenever I drink like this, which is actually pretty rare despite my nature, I get extremely flirty. I don’t want to hook up. I just want to pretend that I’m going to hook up, It usually doesn’t take long before Jamison is pulling me from the bar kicking and screaming. Maybe I just relish in that attention from him. Or maybe I’m just a tease.

  I make my way out onto the dance floor. I can’t dance worth anything, but I know how to air hump just as good as the next girl. It doesn’t take too much to wiggle around and show off your assets. That’s all men really want anyway. It’s not like they’re standing on the sidelines with score cards and judging us on our dancing technique.

  I throw my hands in the air and open my palms, mirroring the release of all the bullshit and my inhibitions. Before I know it, someone grabs me by the waist and pulls me up against them. I almost don’t want to turn around. It’s a lot more freeing to think about a mystery man instead. I’m attempting to sway my hips to the same beat as the song. The alcohol has my timing off, but I’m having fun.

  Male hands start to move forward, a little too far, and I grab and move them back to my hips. It’s accepted at first. We dance together for a few more beats of the song, until those damn hands repeat their original movement all over. This time I get pissed. I turn around angrily and begin to shout, “Listen, grabby...this is just a dance... Hands on the hips or it’s over.” I’m seeing red at this point. When my blurred vision kind of comes to and I can see a single person, instead of double. I realize that I just yelled at one of the biggest guys I’ve ever seen. He’s huge in every sense of the word. He’s wide, he’s tall and he’s built. And me? Yeah, I’m fucked.

  “Maybe I want to do more than dance. I’m pretty sure you want more, too. Stop playing hard to get.” He attempts to say this in a sultry voice, but he sounds like an eighty-five-year-old smoker. It’s not attractive at all.

  “I’m not playing anything. I am hard to get. Sorry, buddy, but you don’t match my criteria. Thanks for the dance.” I firmly state and then turn around to walk away. He grabs me roughly by my arm and spins me back around. I fly hard into his sweaty chest. I almost throw up all over the front of his shirt. The room is spinning. He grasps my hips and I’m sure I’ll have bruises. I try not to let my whimper be evident.

  “Let...me...go.” I growl. I’m a little scared, but I’ll never show it. I’ve learned enough from when I was out on the streets. Never show weakness. He laughs, he actually laughs. I pick my knee up and throw it into his junk as hard as I can.

  “Laugh about that asshole!” He doubles over and clutches at himself. I turn around quicker this time. The dance floor is jam packed so it’s hard for me to push my way through the crowd. I see the edge of the crowd and let out a sigh of relief. My legs are wobbly and I know I’ve had one too many. I see Jamison sitting at the bar and I yell his name. He turns around and begins to walk towards me, grin on his face like I’m his favorite person in the world. The girl he was chatting up at the bar doesn’t look thrilled that he’s leaving her to come talk to me. Hate to tell her, but that’s just how it is. He almost reaches me when I feel a sharp pain in the back of my head and my hair being yanked back.

  “What the...” Jamison yells. He runs for me and I’m let go. I crumple to the ground. I couldn’t stay steady any longer and my head hurts something awful. I’m sure he took a chunk of hair with him. The dance floor backed way up and gave us room, even though the music is still blaring. The big dude, I never caught his name, comes forward and stands beside where I’m sprawled out on the dance floor.

  “This is none of your fucking concern.” He threatens Jamison.

  “I don’t know who the hell you are, but she is every bit my concern. I outta fuckin’ knock your teeth out.” Jamison drawls. I don’t want him to get in a fight, so I attempt to reach my arms forward. I can’t quite stand back up. My vision is blurry and my legs aren’t wanting to move. I latch onto one of his legs. I don’t see what happens next, but I’m picked up by Reid and taken back over to the bar. The bartender hands Reid a rag with ice in it and he places it gently to the back of my head. It makes me feel a little bit better.

  I look over to where Jamison is still verbally fighting with the Ogre. I wish that I wouldn’t have drank or danced or any of the dumb shit I just did. But once Jamison is heated, there’s no turning back. I can’t stop him and neither can any of the guys. We don’t even try. I see Jamison gesturing to his face with his hand and quicker than the blink of an eye, Ogre is throwing a punch. It lands right on Jamison’s jaw and his head snaps sideways. I think I scream, but it’s so loud in here.

  “Stop him!” I grab Reid’s arm and shake him. Reid just laughs and wraps his arm around my shoulder.

  “You know he’s going to be just fine, Kit. Like we’d ever let anything happen to Jamison. He always lets the guys he fights get one up. Then he lets them have it. His ego is bigger than my penis.”

  “Well that probably doesn’t take much.” I scoff and roll my eyes. My droopy, sleepy eyes.

  I look back over to where the action is and Jamison has the big dude on the ground, beating his face to a pulp. Reid and the other guys rush forward and pull him off. The other guy still appears conscious and everything, just very bloody and probably pretty sorry. Jamison whips his shirt over his head and tosses it at the guy. When he walks away, towards me and his eyes catch mine, his normal shit eating grin graces his face and I know he’s okay. When he reaches me, I’m honestly curious about what in the hell just happened and so quickly, too. That guy was ten times Jamison’s size. He wraps me in his arms and kisses the top of my head.

  “You okay, Kit?” he asks genuinely. I nod. My head still hurts, but I’m not going to complain about a little
pressure when I know his face is going to kill in the morning.

  “Are you?” I request almost on command. I know he’s going to say yes, but it’s just human nature to ask.

  “Better than ever.” He states confidently and even throws a small wink in there for good measure.

  “What did you say to the Ogre when you tossed him your shirt? I really liked that shirt.”

  “I told him to clean himself up. I let him know his piece of shit was showing.” The rest of the guys in the band begin to laugh hysterically. A ton of girls all flock over at once. Apparently the laughing is a cat call for easy kitties.

  The same girl Jamison was chatting up comes back over, but he doesn’t pay her any attention. Instead, he protectively picks me up and carries me out of the bar and to a waiting cab. I lean my head against his shoulder and am suddenly extremely tired. I feel like absolute shit.

  “I’m sorry.” I mumble.

  “Me too.” I bury my face against his chest, embarrassed. He leans back just enough to tilt my chin and force me to look up at him. “That I wasn’t right there to show that asshole to respect a beautiful woman. He could have stared on from afar and then fucked right off. If you wanted to dance, Kit, all you had to do was ask.”

  “You were busy.”

  “I’m never too busy for you.” He begins to play with my hair and my mind drifts away, back to when we first met and how much has changed since then. I fall to sleep in the car and I don’t wake up for even a second until morning.

  Chapter 2 (6 Years Before)

  The subway is dark and crowded. It’s hot, but oddly fulfilling. I like being surrounded by so many different faces. It makes me feel like, just for a second, that I’m not alone in a city so big. The city of lights, where dreams come true. Well that could possibly be the farthest from the truth for me. But at least I’m on my own, doing what I wanted to begin with. Playing music in front of people, for a little bit of pocket change, but still.