34. After the rain
AFTER THE RAIN
“ T hanks for coming. Talia will see you out.” Mack said. The building didn’t empty all at once.
The executives were first – measured handshakes, practiced smiles, promises that floated just long enough to feel like something. Spring watched them go, cataloging faces, body language, the way none of them would quite meet Preston’s eyes. Not because he’d failed – but because he hadn’t.
Then it was just Mack.
He stood there longer than necessary, one hand on Preston’s shoulder, grounding him. Spring clocked it immediately. This wasn’t a manager counting money. This was a man steadying a son who’d just stepped back into himself.
“That was it,” Mack said, voice low, almost reverent. “That’s the one.”
Preston let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in him for years.
“I told you,” Mack continued, softer now. “I told you, you still had it. You just forgot who you were singing for.”
Spring felt something flutter in her chest as she watched Preston nod.
Mack didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. He gave Preston a look that said I got you from here , then glanced at Spring with a small, knowing smile before grabbing his jacket.
“Make your calls to your board,” Mack said to her. “I’ll handle the rest.”
When the door finally closed, the studio settled into a quiet that felt earned.
Spring stayed where she was for a second, letting the moment breathe. She watched Preston as the adrenaline drained from him in slow waves – his shoulders lowering, his jaw unclenching, his hands finally still.
She stepped closer. Preston huffed.
“Be honest.”
“Of course.”
“You wish you had that for the documentary, don’t you?”
She giggled as she bumped his shoulder lightly, and the two of them smiled longer than they had since Cameron was alive. “It would’ve been great footage,” she said. “No question. You were incredible.”
“Did you have any doubt?” he asked, confidence slipping easily into his voice.
She turned and really looked at him then. Not the performer. Not the legend everyone in the room had just applauded. Just him. Her smile faded as she searched his soft brown eyes. “No,” she said honestly. “No, I didn’t.”
Something shifted between them. A quiet current she felt before she understood it.
She caught herself and let out a small, awkward chuckle. “Well… speaking of the doc, this wouldn’t be a bad time to get some notes for the documentary,” she said, regaining her composure. “If you’re up for it.”
“I’m feeling forthcoming,” Preston said, leaning casually against the wall. “Ask away.”
She pulled a small notepad and her voice recorder from her bag, clicked her pen, and tried to focus on the page instead of the way he was looking at her.
“So,” she began, voice steadying into interview mode, “tonight was the first time you’ve performed in a long time. What made this the moment to come back?”
He studied her for a second before answering. “Timing,” he said. “Sometimes you don’t choose the comeback. The moment chooses you.”
She scribbled a note, nodding. “And how did it feel?” she asked. “Performing in front of a room like that again.”
Preston shrugged slightly, but there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. “Like riding a bike,” he said. “Except the bike remembers every place you ever fell off.”
She wrote that down. Then, before she could stop herself, she glanced up again.
He was still watching her. Like he knew exactly what she was trying not to feel.
Spring cleared her throat and looked back at the notebook. “So,” she said gently. “What was the inspiration?”
He didn’t answer right away. He turned to her instead, eyes searching, like he needed to anchor himself to something real. To her .
“Honestly,” he said finally, “I found my muse.”
She nodded and stood silent. He didn’t fill the air with words either – his eyes said it all. “Well, I think I got enough for the documentary,” she finally said.
They stood there, the silence no longer tense, just full. The studio lights hummed softly around them, witnesses instead of pressure. After a spell, Preston said, “I wanted to thank you for earlier. I couldn’t have done that without you,” he said.
Spring shook her head. “You’ve always been able to do it.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t believe it until you were here.”
That landed deeper than she expected.
The tension between them was growing. Preston took a step closer. “There’s something I want you to hear,” he said.
She tilted her head. “Should I be scared?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe.”
He walked over to the console and pressed a few buttons, and the speakers came alive – soft at first, then fuller. Familiar, but cleaner. Warmer. Like a memory that had been restored instead of rewritten.
Spring inhaled sharply. “Kiss in the Springtime,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“Remastered,” he replied. “Since Mack got the masters back, we touched it up.”
She closed her eyes as the opening chords filled the room. The song wrapped around her the way it always had – gentle, aching, honest. When she opened them again, she didn’t realize she’d started humming until her voice joined the track, barely above a whisper.
Preston froze where he stood.
She wasn’t trying to perform. She never did when it mattered. She sang the way people breathed when they were finally safe.
She smiled, almost embarrassed, and shrugged. “You know I’m a sucker for this song.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “You always were.”
She listened for a moment, then started singing again, this time clearer, more confident, letting the lyrics carry her where they always had.
I don’t think I can fight this…
Lie to myself, I just cannot pretend…
Her voice wasn’t perfect. It didn’t need to be. It was hers.
Preston crossed the room without thinking about it. He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin.
She kept singing.
Now I’m spending my time, getting you off my mind…
And I don’t think that I want these thoughts to end…
When the chorus came, her voice faltered – not from nerves, but from feeling too much all at once. She laughed softly, breathless, and stopped.
He looked at her like he always used to. Like he was seeing her, not the moment. “You sound good,” he said.
She shrugged again, but this time there was no deflection in it. “You always made me feel like I could.”
The song kept playing.
They didn’t rush. They never had, even back then. Their closeness felt inevitable, like a page turning instead of a door slamming shut.
When he touched her – just her hand at first – it felt familiar in the best way. Earned. She laced her fingers through his without thought, as if that part of them had never forgotten.
“You know this complicates things,” he said, not pulling away.
She finally met his eyes. “Things were already complicated.”
That made him laugh – soft, disbelieving. “Yeah,” he admitted. “They were.”
The lyric floated through the room again.
I know that crossing this line ain’t right…
But it damn sure don’t feel wrong…
She leaned in first.
The kiss wasn’t urgent. It was sure; a quiet agreement rather than a question.
The rest unfolded gently – hands, breath, closeness – nothing rushed, nothing taken. Just two people letting the moment be what it was instead of what it was supposed to be.
He kissed her neck, forcing a moan from her, a spot he’d discovered many years ago. Still made her quiver.
He took his tongue and moved it to her collarbone as he hoisted her up on the console.
She clawed at his shirt to pull it off, exposing this chiseled ginger-brown chest. She kissed his chest muscle as he ran his hand through her hair, moisture soaking her panties.
She spread her legs, an invitation to take off her jeans.
Preston obliged, pulling her jeans and panties down and burying his face inside of her nectar.
“Holy shit,” she moaned.
His tongue knew where to go, when to linger. He tasted parts of her that hadn’t been touched in years. She pulled off her top as his mouth was planted firmly on her clit. It swelled as she put her hand on his head, pressing him deeper into her.
“Oh my God.”
It was the only warning as she gave in to her pleasure. He didn’t stop until she was too sensitive and could hardly breathe.
She sat there shivering as he pulled down his pants. His nine-inch girthy dick was rock hard, waiting to enter her. Still recovering from her orgasm, she pulled him into a kiss, inviting him to enter her. He slid inside of her slowly, and with each thrust, worked his way to her core.
“My god, I missed this,” she moaned.
He said nothing, instead picking her up off the console and pressed her body against the wall, and returned his dick inside of her.
Hard and precise, the way she’d learned to love when they first began to make love.
The images she would masturbate to over the years.
Everything she learned about making love, she learned with Preston, and being with him in this moment was bliss.
He thrust her against the wall and bit her nipple as she yelled out. “Preston. Baby. Give it to me.”
He obliged and picked up the pace. Harder, then faster, then harder still. Her nectar began to saturate her thighs.
He wouldn’t stop touching the spot she forgot she needed. When she came the second time, it was more intense that the first. She lost all vigor in her body.
Preston slowed down. “You tapping out, Nubia?” he said as he slowly stroked inside her.
She giggled, still recovering from the orgasm. “I…I wasn’t ready.” She placed her hands on his chest. “ Lay down.”
Preston obliged, laying on the floor.
Spring took a breath and grabbed some nearby water, then straddled him and slid on his throbbing dick, slowly at first, since she was still sensitive. Preston filled her fully, and she’d missed this feeling.
He moaned as he watched her breasts bounce in the hue of the studio lights.
She slowly pressed her body into his and then picked up the pace to a quick bounce on his dick.
She moved left to right and his dick slipped in and out of her wet pussy.
He slapped her on her ass, something that had always turned her on, that always told her he was close.
He gripped the small of her back as she pounced on him over and over. She could feel him swelling as his eyes began to roll into the back of his head.
“Fuck,” he groaned. He came deep inside of her, filling her with his seed. She felt the warmness of his release which turned her on, forcing her into her final orgasm for the night.
“Damn it, baby! I’m—” she moaned as she joined him in orgasm.
Their release felt like euphoria as they gazed into each other’s eyes, remembering this moment and all the ones that came before.
She collapsed on his hardened chest.
Spring rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.
She moved closer to feel his warmth, close enough that the room seemed to narrow around them. He lifted his hand, like he wasn’t sure he still had permission, brushing his thumb along her wrist, then her palm.
She didn’t pull away.
“I forgot how easy this felt,” she admitted.
“So did I.”
The kiss came without urgency. No rush. No spectacle. Familiar and new all at once – like a song she hadn’t heard in years but still knew every word to.
Spring registered everything in flashes: the way his breath steadied against hers, the way his hand rested at her back like he was afraid she might disappear, the way the world finally went quiet.
The studio – his sanctuary, her lens – held them as they let the night soften, finding each other again in the space between everything else.
Later, the world would complicate it. But right now, Spring rested her forehead against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow, and thought – not for the first time – that maybe some things don’t come back to haunt you.
Maybe some things come back to remind you who you were before the noise.
And who you still are.