Crash Into You (22 page)

Chapter 45
Isaiah

I EASE MY CAR TO
the curb, and Rachel dashes out of school like a robber running out of a convenience store, her blond hair trailing behind her in the wind. I chuckle and reach over to open the passenger side. She falls into the car with her cheeks red from the cold. “Let’s go!”

Weaving her hand in mine, I kiss her knuckles and place her palm over the stick shift with my hand securely covering hers. I step on the clutch and apply pressure to her hand so that she’ll shift into First. “You’re letting me drive your car?” she asks.

“Shift,” I correct. “But I’ve never let a girl shift my car before. Feel honored.”

“I do.” Rachel leans over and kisses my cheek. The sweet scent of jasmine and the ocean washes over me. On the open road, the rpms build, and like a perfectly synced machine, I step on the clutch right as Rachel shifts to Second.

The excitement is hard to contain, but it’s weird. I’ve never been eager to share news with anyone, and I want her to be excited along with me. The engine begins to strain, and in effortless coordination, she shifts to Third while I press the clutch.

A stirring in my heart overcomes the excitement for a second. Rachel is perfect for me. She never needs words because she understands my rhythm.

“I passed the ASE certification test,” I say, as if I’m telling her it’s Thursday.

Rachel doesn’t disappoint as she gasps. “Oh, Isaiah! That is amazing. No, fantastic. No...the best news ever. I knew you’d pass. We have to do something to celebrate! What, though? I don’t know. What do you want to do? Whatever it is, it has to be special.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at her. “I’m doing it.”

A grimace stains her face. “What? Driving? You always drive.”

How can she not see it? “I’m spending time with you.”

Silence. Except for the purring of my engine. The floorboard barely vibrates beneath me, and I wonder if she also notices the sensation. I scratch the thought. I don’t have to wonder. Someone like her relishes the feel of a car’s every movement—just like me.

“I’m proud of you,” she says as simply as when I announced that I passed. My chest hurts as if she punched through a wall. Taking her hand off the stick shift, I kiss her knuckles again and keep her fingers pressed against my face until I have to place her hand back so she can shift down.

These feelings inside of me, I don’t understand them, but I do understand Rachel and I know she understands me. I want her in my life in a way no one else has ever been. When I can talk without my voice breaking, I say to her, “I’d like you to come somewhere with me. It’s not special, but I’d like you there.”

Chapter 46
Rachel

AFTER SCHOOL ENDED, ISAIAH DROVE
me back to the lot to get my car and then I followed him to the garage to leave it there. Once again in his car he circles a small park east of Tom’s garage. It’s not quite far east enough to hit my area of town, but far enough away from his area that I’m not terrified. Because of the cold, gray day, the park is relatively empty.

Empty except for the woman with blond hair standing next to a car several spots down from ours. From the moment we pulled in, she’s stared at Isaiah and me. Also in the park is a middle-aged woman with short, dark brown hair. From the bench nearest the swings, she subtly watches us. Isaiah fell into a heavy silence the moment he placed the car into Park.

“I don’t like being stared at,” I say quietly. Isaiah glances at me then to the two women.

“She’s my mom,” he says with a short gruffness. “The one next to the car is my social worker.” His fingers tighten into fists as he rests the back of his head against his seat. “I asked to meet with my mom, but now I’m not sure I can.”

“You’ll see her when you’re ready.” Wrapping my fingers over his, he grasps my hand like I’m a life raft. I shouldn’t revel in this moment, but I do. He’s searching for strength, and I’m more than happy to provide it. In fact, doing so makes me feel stronger. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “No. But thanks...for being here.” In a swift movement, Isaiah leans over and kisses me. His mouth barely opens so he can tease my bottom lip. A move that causes my heart to stumble.

Before I can kiss him back, Isaiah breaks away. “Stay here.”

Chapter 47
Isaiah

WITH HER LONG TAN COAT
slapping against her knees, Courtney intercepts me before I step onto the grass. “I have a million questions, Isaiah.”

I shove my hands into my jeans pockets. “I don’t know, I don’t care or none of your business.”

“What?”

“Every possible answer to your millions of questions.”

She smirks. “Very funny.”

I wasn’t joking.

Courtney glances at my car with a smug expression. “Who’s that?”

“Answer number three.”

My social worker ignores me and continues to evaluate Rachel like she’s a lab rat. “She’s pretty. Does she go to your school?”

“She is and no.” If I don’t give her something she’ll keep digging. “She goes to Worthington Private.”

Courtney blinks rapidly. “Wow. No kidding. That’s...impressive.”

I jerk my chin in Melanie’s direction. “I got things to do.”

She sighs. “Are you sure about this?”

No. “I’m here and she’s there.”

Courtney waves me on, and I can feel the heat of her stare burning into my back. Not believing I had a change of heart, she questioned my motivations when I asked her to schedule this meeting. Gotta give Courtney credit...the girl knows her shit.

Huddled in a jean jacket, Melanie slides from the middle of the bench to create room for me. I perch on the edge farthest from her. Once again, she wears cowboy boots and big hoop earrings. “You listen to country music, don’t you?” I say.

“Yes,” she answers. “Garth Brooks used to be your favorite.”

I rub my forehead, not wanting to hear anything she has to say in regards to me.

“Do you remember?” she asks.

“No.” Yes. “Did you bring the money?”

“Yes. I’ll give it to you when we’re done.”

In the distance, a crow caws. How long do the two of us have to sit here to satisfy Courtney’s curiosity over my visitation request? Five minutes? Fifteen? In my head, thirty seconds has been long enough.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Melanie asks.

I narrow my eyes at the ground, confused as to why I answer, “Yes.”

I hate myself for wanting to tell her, but what I hate more is the realization that I brought Rachel to show her off to Mom, even at a distance. To prove to her that I didn’t need her for the past eleven years and that I don’t need her now.

“She’s pretty.”

“There’s more to Rachel than that.”

“I’m sure there is.”

Occasional tufts of green sprout from the dried-up yellow-and-white grass. A large box of brown dirt lines the swing sets. It’s early spring and all I smell is cold and earth.

“Why I went to prison...I did it for you,” she says. “To protect you.”

A dangerous pulse beats through my veins. “You don’t get to talk about this.”

Melanie angles her body toward me and lowers her voice. “You want your money, then listen. This has to be said.”

“No.” The imaginary collar around my neck tightens, and I tug at my shirt. “It doesn’t and the deal was that I show. Not listen.”

She continues as if I never spoke. “Life isn’t made-for-television movies or books with happy-ever-afters. Sometimes the choices we’re presented with are bad or worse.”

“You don’t think I know that? For one year of my life, I had the shit beat out of me by other kids because I was the smallest. Don’t you dare talk to me about choices. You had one and you blew it.”

Melanie holds her hands out, pleading. I begged those boys to stop. They never did.

“I had nowhere to go,” she says. “I had no help. It was me and you, Isaiah. We were out of money, and I thought it was the safest way. You were hungry and I lost my job and we were late on rent and they were going to throw us out. The shelter scared you. You were so small for so long. I was the only one around to defend you, so I made the decision....”

Her words begin to weave past my skin, and I refuse to let her twist and demean me. I stand. “You don’t get to make yourself feel better. Give me the money.”

Melanie places her hands over her lips to hide their trembling. I resist the deep-rooted urge to feel sorry for her. “The fucking money, Melanie.”

She stands and unexpectedly hugs me. I stiffen, holding my arms at my sides. Pressure at my back pocket tells me she’s giving me the cash. “Twenty-three forty-five Elmont Way. 2345, Isaiah. That’s where I live. You want the money, I’ll keep paying. Courtney can schedule the visitation. But if you need someone, find me. 2345 Elmont.”

I step away from her and head back to Rachel, knowing I will never need Melanie.

* * *

I pull into the parking
lot of Tom’s garage, ease my car next to Rachel’s and cut the engine. Rachel granted me silence and for that I’m grateful. I would have thought spending eleven years without my mother would make me immune to her, but it doesn’t. It just makes old hurts ache more.

As if sensing the blood oozing from my internal wounds, Rachel places her hand over mine. “Are you okay?”

No. “My mother went to prison when I was six. She was released two years ago and for some reason, she wants back in my life.”

I can’t look at Rachel, so I stare out the driver’s-side window. New gang graffiti painted in red marks the warehouse across the street. An old man wearing a knitted cap, Tom’s old overalls and pink mittens pushes a shopping cart loaded down with blankets and clothes. Rachel doesn’t belong here, and she shouldn’t be with me.

Her hand squeezes mine. “I’m sorry.”

“I loved her.” And everything inside of me burns in pain. Terrified I’ll hurt Rachel, I remove my hand from hers and grip the steering wheel. My hold so tight I’m convinced the leather will buckle. “I defended her for years because I always thought she’d come back for me.”

I close my eyes and try to erase the unwanted memories of the group home: how the boys would taunt me over my size and my faith in my mother; the crushing blow to my face and soul when the oldest broke my nose while yelling at me that I was no different from any of them, that I was there because she was never coming back. By the time I left the home, I no longer believed in my mother or love.

“Everything I’ve known has always been twisted,” I say. “I don’t want to twist you. I don’t want you to slip into my world and leave everything that’s good about you behind.”

“Isaiah, look at me.”

I do. If only because there’s a power in her voice I haven’t heard since she told me to back off her car the first night we met. “The only way you’d twist me is if you left. You’re a great guy, and someday, I’m going to make you see it.”

Rachel has hit too close, and I lean away and flip the keys in my hand. “Do you need to go home before the races tonight?”

She fiddles with the cuff of her coat, not meeting my eyes. It bothers me that I hurt her by pulling away.

“No. Dad’s traveling. Mom’s with the foundation, and West and Ethan have plans, but they said they’d cover for me if I wanted to drive tonight.”

“We’ll celebrate tonight when we win.” I force the cheer, hoping it’ll bring that spark back in her eye. “I’ll take you someplace special.” Someplace I’ve never invited a girl before.

She scrunches her face. “You’re always sure of yourself.”

“Yeah, I am. When I say I’m going to do something I do it.” My word is the only thing I truly own.

“So...where’s your special place?”

“Patience,” I tell her as I open the door. “You need some patience.”

Chapter 48
Rachel

WE WON AGAIN TONIGHT, MORE
than we lost, and because of that, Isaiah is taking me to his special place to celebrate. Logan and Isaiah didn’t win as much as the weekend before, but Isaiah promised we’d have enough time to make the money needed to pay off the debt.

The debt. Eric. A shudder runs along my spine and I repress any thought of my nightmares.

It’s been a long day: skipping, Isaiah meeting his mom, spending the evening at the dragway and now this. According to Isaiah’s radio, it’s 12:01 which means today is Saturday. I’m pressing my luck being gone so late, but Ethan said he’d cover for me, so he will.

I watch in the side mirror as Isaiah heaves an aging wooden barricade back over the abandoned road. The forest is thick around us, and I can only see a few feet into the black night. Goose bumps form on my arms, and I run my hands along them in order to ease the chill the shadows create.

The interior light springs on when Isaiah slips back into the car then fades just as quickly as he shuts the door.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod, but wonder if he misses it in the darkness. Fear of the unknown pushes me to a make-believe edge in my mind and I have to breathe in deeply several times to keep from falling off the ledge. Each time I inhale, Isaiah’s scent fills my nose and I’m reminded that whatever happens, wherever he’s taking me, I’m safe.

Isaiah would never let anything happen to me.

The engine growls as Isaiah presses on the gas. It’s an upward path, curving continually higher. Through sporadic breaks in the trees, I can spot lights below us, and because of Isaiah’s speed, they appear like fireflies dancing in the night.

It’s only then when I realize where we are and what we’re doing. “This is Lovers’ Leap.”

Isaiah’s only answer is the minuscule tilt of his lips. I sit up and my hands press against the dashboard of the car as I try to catch a glimpse of the rocky cliff that has become urban legend from the front windshield. I’ve seen this place safely on the ground as I’ve passed it by on the freeway. My eyes, like everyone else’s, driven to the sky to ogle the place where people years ago drove off a cliff in a drag race and died.

There’s just something magnetic and curious about the morbid.

But as Isaiah races around the bends of the road, I lose the sense of somber and replace it with curiosity. “Is it scary?”

“No.”

The fir trees and climbing oaks grow so close together and near the road they appear to smother each other until a clearing appears. Isaiah shifts down and eases to a stop. With a flick of his wrist, he turns off the ignition and has the keys in his hands. “Come on.”

Isaiah’s out of the car and around the front to my side before I can slide from the seat. In a slick movement, he closes my door, links our hands together and nudges me ahead. I glance over my shoulder at the thick forest behind me and shiver at what lies in wait there, but Isaiah has no interest in what we’ve already seen. His eyes and body are pointed forward.

“What do you think?” he asks.

My breath catches in my throat when I see the splendor panning before me. Thousands of tiny lights twinkle all around the ground below and in the middle of the panoramic view the skyscrapers of Louisville soar into the air. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah.” But he’s not looking at the view, but at me. I bite my lip and look away.

“So, am I the really the first one you’ve brought here?”

“Abby’s been here, but I didn’t bring her. She follows.” Isaiah lets go of my hand and jumps onto the only thing separating the two of us from a drop of death—a crumbling stone wall.

My heart smashes past my rib cage. “Be careful!”

“It’s safe.” Isaiah holds his hand out to me. “I won’t let you fall.”

My eyes drift to the dark hole on the other side of the wall. From the ground, the drop looked staggering, but Isaiah said he wouldn’t let me fall and from the sincerity leaking from his face, he means it more than he means anything else.

As if in a tunnel, I outstretch my arm, and just as my fingers hover over his, my cell pings. Isaiah’s eyebrows draw together and my blood flow halts. We both know it has to be Ethan.

Isaiah jumps down and I pull the cell out of my pocket. With one touch, the phone lights up.

Ethan:
you need to come home.

My pulse quickens. Have I been busted?
why?

Isaiah shifts beside me, but remains patient. He knows my twin typically leaves me alone and that a text from him can mean problems. The seconds stretch into an eternity:
come home

Me:
what’s the problem?

Ethan:
I think you’re lying to me. I don’t think you’re driving.

The entire world sways to the right, then to the left, before refocusing. What does Ethan know? From behind me, Isaiah wraps his arms around my waist, engulfing me in the warmth and strength of his body. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“I don’t know.”

Me:
you’re paranoid

Ethan:
r u with the guy you skipped school with?

Adrenaline shoots down my arms and into my fingers as I break out of Isaiah’s embrace and press buttons on the phone.

“Rachel?” Isaiah’s eyes become storm clouds as he watches me raise my cell to my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” I glance at the beautiful skyline. Isaiah brought me here to celebrate his and Logan’s wins tonight at the dragway and to celebrate his passing of the ASE. This glorious overlook is Isaiah’s special place, a place he’s never brought anyone else. This moment was huge and Ethan is ruining it.

Ethan answers on the first ring. “Come home, Rachel.”

Fire rages inside of me as the voice sinks in. It’s not Ethan—it’s West. “Give the phone to Ethan.”

“No,” says West. “You two have that screwed-up twin thing, and he’ll cover for you.”

Yes, he will. “This is between me and Ethan. Not me and you. He covers for me. I cover for him. And in case you never noticed, both of us have been covering for you for years.”

I hear shifting, a button hit wrong on the phone, then static. “Rachel,” says Ethan. My head drops. They put me on speaker. “Come home.”

“We had a deal!” I kick at a rock and it skips into the brush. “Twin amnesty, remember? How can you sell me out?”

“We had amnesty when I thought you were going for a drive.” There’s an unfamiliar edge to Ethan’s voice. The same tone Dad used on West when West was caught fighting at school. “Guess what we just heard about at a party? Something about you skipping school with some punk in a black Mustang. I told them they were crazy and then they showed me the damned picture on their cell phone. I’m going to say this one more time. Get home, Rachel, and get home now.”

I could crush brick with the amount of anger seething in me. “Both of you are such hypocrites!”

“Don’t want to hear it,” says Ethan. “It’s like we don’t even know who you are anymore. Running around with some punk, ditching school, lying to us about the panic attacks....”

Something cracks inside of me. A dam I had created over the years to hold in every emotion unwanted by my family. “You want me to lie about the panic attacks, remember? Anything to keep Mom happy!”

On their side, the phone rattles as if someone grabbed it. West lets loose a string of profanities. “Rachel!” he shouts. “Here’s the truth,
baby sister,
you need someone to take care of you. You always have. It’s our job to keep you from making bad decisions and the one you’re making right now is colossal. Your track record proves you need Ethan and me making these decisions for you.”

I end the call, throw the phone across the crumbled blacktop and shriek at the top of my lungs. West’s words roll in my mind.
You need someone to take care of you. You always have.

“It’s not true!” I yell out into the night. “It’s not.” Tears burn my eyes.

The warm touch first slides against my hip, followed by a brush on my cheek. My bones become weary, almost too heavy for my skin. Isaiah heard the conversation. He heard me admit my weakness. I said out loud, in front of him, that I suffer from panic attacks.

“Are you in trouble at home?” The urgency in his tone is clear.

I nod, then shake my head. “With my brothers.”

“Are they going to rat?”

I tremble at the malice in his tone. “I don’t think so. Somebody saw me skip with you. This is bad. So bad. Without them covering for me, I can’t make it out. And if I can’t make it out then you can’t drive my car.”

And I can’t see you.

It’s like I’ve been sucked into a tornado and I’m a rag doll being torn apart. My thoughts all twist and my body begins to feel cold and warm all at the same time. “And if you can’t drive my car then you can’t race and we can’t make money if you don’t race and then there’s Eric—”

“It’s okay.” Isaiah cups my head and guides me into his chest. His lips graze my forehead as he whispers, “It’s okay. Calm down. It’s okay. I promise.”

I don’t know what to say, and as hard as I try to keep from crying, more tears fill my eyes. I suck in air and each inhale shakes. I sniff and I sniff, but none of my efforts keeps the chaos on the inside from trying to break free to the outside. “I don’t know how to make my family like you.”

“I don’t care if they like me. I only care about you.” Isaiah soothingly rubs my spine and hair.

A winter wind blows, freezing my cheeks, but a single traitorous hot tear escapes from my eyes and I hold tighter to Isaiah, terrified of becoming unglued. “But they cover for me. This is how I see you! What if I can’t see you?”

“We’ll make it work.” His words are all low-pitched, all gentle, but the twirling tornado inside of me picks up speed, becomes a monster all its own.

“It won’t work.” The strangled words emerge between a sob, and I hold my breath to keep any more from bursting free. I can feel my brain tearing away from my sane mind, the sadness and anger spiraling into panicked hysteria. “I don’t want to be without you. I like who I am with you, and I don’t want to go back to who I was before.”

“I love you, Rachel. So this will work. No matter what or who stands in our way.”

My body rocks as if Isaiah used a defibrillator on my chest. He loves me.

His words gain traction in my head...he loves me. My heart patters faster and faster. Not because of anxiety but because of hope. Gathering air into my lungs, I rest my head against his shirt, which is wet with my tears. His heart has a slow, steady beat. One that never panics. One that is always strong. “You love me?”