Raine, Raine, Run Away (Covewood #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Now

Raine

H onk.

Honk.

Splash.

I close my eyes and twist, feeling my entire backside get hit with cold water. I inhale sharply as a chill seeps through my clothes and onto my skin. And my heart.

“Are you kidding me?” I throw my hands into the air and shout toward the yellow taxi that ran through a puddle, ruining the expensive dress I have on. Luckily, I was able to turn just in time and protect the camera in my hands from getting wet.

“As if today could get any worse!” I add, not caring about the side-eyes I’m receiving from a few people who speed-walk past me. No one stops to see if I’m okay or offers to help. It always seems like the people here in the city only care about what is going on in their own lives. I’m just the background noise.

Back in my hometown, there are no rude taxi drivers, and if there were, I could guarantee more than just one person would have stopped what they were doing to make sure I was okay. The people of Covewood go out of their way to provide a warm comfort that clearly the people of Rockdale know nothing about.

But I’ve chosen not to live in Covewood , I remind myself. Lately, I’ve caught myself comparing my small hometown to the overly populated city of Rockdale, where I have lived for the last ten years. I chose to make this city into my new home because, at the time, I needed to hide away in a place that was the complete opposite of where I grew up, no matter how much it hurt leaving behind the people I love.

Covewood, Kentucky is full of rolling green hills, stretches of farmlands, and a giant lake. Rockdale, Virginia, however, is covered in tall buildings, metallic and salt-scented air, and beaches littered with people and trash. Side by side, these places are obverse, and that used to appeal to me.

But not anymore. Somewhere along the way, something has changed. I have changed. And admitting that truth is terrifying. Because the last thing I want is to return home and confront my past. I’d rather escape among the sea of constant moving feet, bottle up my feelings, and bury them with the rest of my skeletons.

I shake away my spiraling thoughts and instead focus on wiping away the small rocks and smudges from my backside.

“Ew,” a blonde woman snarls as she jumps away from me. She lifts her hands, the expression on her face studying me as if I have a contagious disease. “You just flung some of that ick onto my brand-new Prada heels!”

“Boo hoo, lady! I’m the one who had my favorite Max Mara dress ruined by some?—”

“Whatever!” she hisses and stomps down the street.

I squint my eyes and watch her, mentally wishing she would roll her ankle or break her ugly heels and fall down. The dark thought is enough to snap me out of my angry bubble, and I realize how hypocritical I am being. I quickly ask God to forgive me for thinking of harm happening to someone .

This isn’t like me . How in the world have I gotten to this place in my life?

Unhappy.

Unsatisfied.

And apparently, a total grouch.

Here I am, blaming the people around me when I know not all people who live in the city are self-absorbed. I have met some kind people since moving here. I, personally, seem to have lost the humbleness I had grown up with. If only I could go back in time and change my choices from ten years ago. Would life be better? But the thing is, it wasn’t just my choices that brought me here.

I weave my way through the crowd of people on the sidewalk. The noise of the city fades back into existence, becoming louder the farther I walk amongst these strangers. My ears are overwhelmed by blaring horns, clicking heels against concrete, and everyday chatter. It causes me to feel overstimulated and crave a breath of fresh air.

Unfortunately, there is no fresh air in the middle of the city. Smothering smoke and body odor cling to the atmosphere instead. The tall buildings block any breeze that could possibly swoop in and whisk away the stench. I miss the smell of freshly cut grass, blooming flowers, and murky lake water.

I miss Covewood.

Relief washes over me as I spot my white Honda Accord and quickly escape inside. Thankfully, I have a spare beach towel in the backseat that I use to protect the driver's seat from my soaked dress. Once I shut the car door, the busy sounds of the city outside set my teeth on edge. I need to go somewhere quiet, somewhere I can gather my composure instead of returning to the office like I had originally planned.

As I reach for my keys, I notice the tremble in my hands. Inhaling a deep breath, I squeeze my fingers together in an attempt to stop the shaking. This is how I know the old Raine is starting to seep through. The shaking. Always with the unsteadiness of my hands. The quivers give me away.

I look into my rearview mirror and use a makeup remover cloth to wipe away the splash of dirt from the side of my face and the smudge of mascara under my eyes. Taking the clip out of my hair, I run my fingers through my long dirty-blonde strands before replacing the clip. As I stare at my reflection, I give myself a pep talk.

“You’re okay. It’s not the end of the world. No need to have an anxiety episode today. You’ve come so far. You’re not that weak little girl anymore. You’re a strong, capable?—”

Honk.

Honk.

Honk.

I jump in my seat as a nearby car blares its horn, and I’m close to losing it. I swallow the acid that is rising in my throat, tuck my camera into its padded bag, and turn my key. I cannot get out of this city fast enough. As I drive down the street, I watch as the sun drops slowly, casting sunbeams in every direction while illuminating the city before me.

The buildings start to dwindle and become smaller the closer I get to the beach. I roll down the windows. The air is slightly chilly in late March, and I welcome the refreshing salty scent. Instantly, I feel my anxiety begin to dissipate. Twenty minutes later, I park my car and walk to the small bridge that leads to my favorite spot on the beach. As soon as my feet touch the sand, I take off my heels and wiggle my toes into its gripping sensation.

I exhale the pent-up air in my lungs and embrace the feeling of earth beads massaging the soles of my feet. The sand wedges itself into my toenails, dusts my skin, and coats the bottom of my feet like butter on toast. My stress begins to melt away with just a simple touch from the earth.

I walk along the beach for a moment, saying a thankful prayer that only a few people have gathered here this evening. The wind tugs at the clip in my hair, so I reach up and free my waves. The briny scent grows stronger as I march my way toward the water and enjoy the coldness of the ocean as it rolls upon the shore and onto my feet and legs.

Seagulls chirp above me, and it catches my attention. I watch as one swoops down and snags something, a French fry I suspect, and takes off toward the sky again. A few others follow him closely, squawking in protest, and shove against him. The French fry falls to the ground only for another to dive and clamp its beak against it.

Lately, I have felt like that French fry, certain people in my life swooping in like the birds, nipping pieces of me for their own pleasure, until there is nothing left of me to devour.

It was good for a while, being here. I didn’t have anyone who could hurt me anymore, nor did I give anyone the chance to. But as time goes on, it’s like I can hear myself from far away, begging for permission to come back. I’m beginning to feel incomplete. Restless. As if something very essential is lacking in my life, and I am in a perpetual state of searching for it, even though I don’t know what or who it is that I am looking for.

Acting on instinct, I reach for my cell phone and open up Facebook. I type in the name Ryland Quinn and click on his profile. He has it set to private, but I’m able to see his profile photos. I scroll through them for a while until I come upon a few photographs of the two of us together. I pause on an image of him and I sitting on the porch of my grandparents’ home, both of us laughing, his arm around my shoulders as I lean into him. I’m looking toward the camera, but his eyes are glued on me.

My mind always seems to find a way back to him , especially whenever I am near water. Many of my summers as a teenager were spent with Ryland. Whenever we weren’t at my grandparents’ farm, we were swimming in the lake by his house, jumping off the little wooden dock built by his grandfather, taking rides side by side in a pedal boat, and witnessing breathtaking sunsets together in each other’s arms. The ocean may be bigger, sandier, and smell of salt, but the second I hear the crashing waves and feel the water touch my skin, Ryland takes over my thoughts.

Maybe that’s why I love coming here. I have made sure to surround myself with things and people that are the opposite of him in hopes of trying to forget about how he broke my heart all those years ago. The water is the only thing that connects me to him now.

A ping on my phone grabs my attention, and I welcome the distraction, especially when I see it's a message from my best friend, Olivia.

Liv

Good evening. Don’t forget to FaceTime me later for our annual Bridesmaids rewatch. I’m making a homemade pizza and—ouch, my toe. Why did I have to drop my favorite mug onto my toe? Son of a biscuit that hurts. I forgot I was voice texting this, so enjoy this hot mess of a message because I am too lazy to go back and type this out myself. Love you.

I laugh out loud as I walk over to a spot that is far enough from the loud sound of crashing waves so I can call her. I take a seat, not caring that I’m still wet and the sand will stick to me, and hit the green icon to FaceTime her. A wave of relief washes over me as Olivia’s beautiful face appears on the screen.

“My toe is fine, I promise!” She giggles.

Our connection isn’t very clear. She freezes for a few seconds, and I hear the sound of clinking dishes, an opening door, and her feet shuffling. Finally, her face becomes clearer as she makes her way inside her house.

“Wow, you look like crap. Is everything okay?”

She is always one to be honest. “Yeah, I had a crappy day at work, and then some jerk taxi driver gave me an unwanted shower, which sent me spiraling into the darkness of my thoughts and debating all my life decisions. You know, a typical Monday,” I say and cross my legs to get more comfortable.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she says with a sympathetic smile. “What happened at work? Did Mr. Brown-Noser do something today?”

I work for a local magazine company as one of the head marketers in their digital content department. The Rockdale Journal has grown since I joined years ago. My team and I now have to manage the website, Instagram pages, and a newly developed podcast. Magazines aren’t what they used to be. Everything is slowly becoming digital, and the job keeps me busy.

What drew me to this career was my love for photography. It often feels like that is the only piece of my old self that I decided to keep. Photography has always been my escape, a chance at self-expression, my way of being understood.

Thomas, aka Mr. Brown-Noser, a nickname Olivia chose, wants nothing more than to steal my job. His purpose in life has been to try and outdo me each day, and today, he won.

“My bosses picked his proposal over mine.” I roll my eyes at the reminder.

“What happened with yours?” she asks before lifting a mug to her lips, a tea bag string hanging off the side. I notice it is the mug I sent her as a Christmas gift last year that reads “Distance is just a test to see how far love can travel ” and has a picture of Kentucky and Virginia with hearts connecting the two states.

I exhale. “They didn’t understand my idea, I guess. Or didn’t care to. I’m tired of focusing on the corporate businesses in the city. By doing this, we’re hurting the smaller businesses, and I suggested we start highlighting them instead. It feels like—” The rest of my words lodge in my throat.

“Like what?” Olivia asks, bringing the phone closer to her face. I can see the tan freckles across her nose, the flecks of gold within her green eyes, the light scar just below the right side of her jaw where she tripped on the playground in fifth grade and a wood chip stabbed her there.

She’s the one person, besides my grandparents, that I can trust with my whole heart. But saying these words out loud makes it become more real. I swallow against the discomfort before I continue, “Like I’m wasting my time here. My bosses use me for everything they need, but when it comes to what I want to offer the company, they keep turning me down and going with Thomas’ ideas. When will my work mean something again?”

She tsks and sets her mug down. “Your work has always been too great for them. Why don’t you quit already? You’ve been miserable for the past two years.”

I give her a knowing look, but she ignores it as she always does. “I’m just saying.”

“I know.” I revert my eyes to the beach ahead, watching the waves crash, wishing my best friend was sitting beside me instead of being on a phone screen. “Enough about me. How was your day?”

“Oh, you know…same ol’, same ol’. I managed to catch up on all my orders and baked a new scone recipe, which did not turn out as delicious as I had hoped, but I’ll get it there. Luke stopped by for lunch. And later I have a date!” She practically squeals the last part.

“Who is the newest victim?” I grin with the tease.

She squints in disapproval before continuing. “Some guy that my neighbor Edna swore to me, and I quote, ‘ is a hottie with a body .’ It’s untelling with that woman. The last two dates she’s set me up on turned out to be a disaster, but maybe the third time’s the charm.”

She shrugs, and I release a laugh. “Please keep Luke on speed-dial just in case.”

“Of course! It’s one of the perks of having a bestie who's a cop.” She eyes me for a moment before adding, “Speaking of dating, are things still weird between you and Samuel?”

I exhale a second time. The longest relationship I have had since leaving Covewood was with a wonderful guy named Samuel. We first met at a local coffee shop three years ago. He was standing in front of me in line and paid for my drink. He then asked if he could sit down with me, and we ended up spending most of our Saturday morning getting to know each other. Before we said our goodbyes, he asked if he could take me out on a date sometime. I said yes, mainly out of loneliness.

His company became comforting, especially since he was the complete opposite of Ryland in many ways. I liked the way Samuel looked at me with admiration and how he took my mind away from everything else. He helped me feel like I could become whomever I needed to be. And the first few years with him were blissful. I was swept away by how light life felt with him around.

It was easy to become someone who was spontaneous and flirty, someone who cared more about her looks and spent way too much money on clothes than I’d like to admit, all to keep him impressed—maybe myself too.

My favorite thing about Samuel is that he never pushed me to talk about my past, and I did the same for him. Our past never needed to be a part of our relationship. He cared for me as I was, and that was what I needed in my life at the time—until it started to feel fake. We somehow lost our spark.

“Yeah. I haven’t heard from him since the breakup,” I say.

On our three-year anniversary, Samuel asked me to move in with him, and I turned him down. Afterward, he became more reserved. For weeks, he didn’t bring it up again, and neither did I. We were both ignoring the issue, and as badly as I wanted to run away from it, after a while, it finally got to him, and he broke up with me.

Running away from problems has always been what I do best. And it has always resulted in some sort of destruction in my life.

“It was probably for the best,” I add, and her expression turns into pity.

“You were with Samuel for three years. Don’t you think moving in together should have been the next step for you both? I hate that you’ve always lived alone in Rockdale.”

“I had roommates before,” I snap, feeling defensive all of a sudden.

She lifts one brow, disapproving of my tone, and says, “Don’t look at me like that. Besides the two roommates you had in college, you’ve been alone . You never dated a guy longer than a year until Samuel came along. I kind of thought he was the one.”

The one is exaggerating a bit, but I understand where she is coming from. The reason why I didn’t date anyone for a long time was because I wasn’t willing to chance getting attached. I keep sturdy walls around my heart, and the moment things shift into something more serious, I run.

Samuel was the first man to take his time with me and keep the past where I wanted it to be— nonexistent . It was a relief being with someone who seemed just as guarded as I was, which was why I was so shocked when he asked me to move in with him. I panicked, basically shouting the word no inside the fancy restaurant, earning a few scolding and wide-eyed looks. I was mortified. And so was Samuel.

“You’re one to talk. You basically have the same dating history as me and have been living alone since college too,” I reply, earning an eye roll from my best friend.

“Okay, you got me on the dating part, but in my defense, the guys around here just aren’t marriage material, but I’ve been willing to open my heart to them, unlike you. You need to stop being so protective of yourself, Raine. You’re never going to find someone until you let go of the past and move on. You deserve to be in love and to be happy.” Her face softens, a knowing look crossing her face, and it stings.

I’ve been in love before, and I have no intentions of going through a heartbreak again. I’m not sure I can love again. It’s as if my heart broke ten years ago and didn’t heal properly.

Olivia walks through her living room into her brightly decorated kitchen and sets her phone on the windowsill above her sink. The sounds of running water and her clanking mug echo from the phone’s speaker. She studies the mug for a second and holds it up to the camera.

“This love should travel back home soon,” she proclaims, and a sinking feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. “I miss you.”

“I miss you more,” I admit with a huff.

“I whipped up a homemade detoxing soup and took it over to the farm this morning. I hope it helps your Mamaw get her strength back. I also took a basket of chocolate chip muffins. However, your Papaw doesn’t know that I made them with organic ingredients and no sugar. I hope he can’t tell the difference.” She grins as she starts gathering ingredients. The woman never stops baking.

“Oh, he will.” I laugh, and she does the same. I called my grandparents this morning, like I always do, but Papaw said that Mamaw wasn’t feeling like herself, that she was possibly getting over a cold caused by the seasons changing. I hate not being there to help them out, but it brings me comfort knowing I have friends who care for them.

“Thank you for checking on them often and for sneaking in some healthy foods. I don’t know what I would do without you, Liv.”

“I mean, your life would definitely be boring and less colorful.” She chuckles with a flip of her bright-red hair. I laugh as flour flies into the air and sticks to her freckled cheeks.

“I love you,” I say softly and blow a kiss to the screen.

“I love you too. I better get ready for my date. I’ll let you know when I’m headed home after so we can watch Bridesmaids !” she adds, and I’m already looking forward to it.

“Okay. Have a good time,” I assure her before we end our conversation.

Once her face is off the screen, I can feel the trembling in my hands return and the sting of tears in my eyes. I lock my phone and see my reflection within the glass. I do look like crap. My hair is a mess from the breeze. I grab the clip I slipped into my pocket and pull my hair back and put it back into place. I wipe away the few tears that slip down my cheeks and inhale a deep breath of the salty air.

When I ran away from home, I had no guilt about my choice. I truly believed that leaving was for the best for everyone, including my grandparents. But today, I’m not so sure. If I was there with them, I would be able to help take care of them.

A few times a year, I travel to Covewood to visit them. I make sure to avoid going into town, thankful that my grandparents’ farmhouse sits on the very edge of town and close to the interstate exit. It’s easy to slip in and slip out without certain people knowing I’m there. I still haven’t seen Olivia’s home in person or stopped downtown to visit my other childhood best friend, Luke, while he’s working. I most definitely stay away from the familiar cabins on the lake and the old house I used to live in, where my mother still resides.

I ask my two best friends to visit me at the farm when I’m there, making them promise not to tell anyone when I visit. Sometimes, my grandparents, Olivia, and Luke will travel to Rockdale to spend time with me here. However, my grandparents' visits have grown less frequent as the years gone by. And because of this, my guilt has grown, even more as I notice my grandparents’ aging increasing with each visit.

I’m missing out on so much with them, and I know they won’t be with me forever. I will be devastated if something happens to either of them. And if something does, I will be miles away. I didn’t think about this when I ran.

I’m left feeling more unnerved than I was hours before. The roar of the ocean does nothing to comfort me. Something feels off, the tightening deep in my core agreeing with my thoughts.

I look around and see an older couple walking along the shoreline, a young child tossing sand into the air as his mother lies on a beach towel, and a man reading a book several feet from me. I take a deep breath, bring my hands together, bow my head, and close my eyes.

God, I know it’s been a while since I last prayed to you, and I’m sorry for that. I promise to make a better habit of it. I’m begging you to please watch over my grandparents, especially my Mamaw, who isn’t feeling well. I want to ask you to please heal her. And please let them forgive me for not being there. Amen.

I sit in the sand for a few moments, trying my best to envision my Mamaw healthy and vibrant. Once I open my eyes, I stare toward the ocean for a long moment, lost in thought. I sense movement and blink to clear my vision. Time passes, and the movement reappears. I watch as a dolphin bops up for a breath, a puff of water and air shoots into the sky, and then it sinks back into the curtain of water. I watch as the dolphin does this several times, and a wave of peace washes over me. A peace that I know only God can bring to my heart.

The trembling in my hands stops. The guilt within my heart evaporates. And a calm takes over my body like a warm hug.

Mamaw is going to be okay.