Crash into You (Pushing the Limits #3)

Crash into You (Pushing the Limits #3) Page 46

Chapter 61

Isaiah

MY HEAD THROBS. A PULSE that originates from the twelve stitches on my forehead and vibrates my skull. If it weren’t for my head, I’d probably feel the rest of my body. The doctor called me lucky. Lots of bruises. No broken bones. No internal injuries.

I’d feel luckier if someone would tell me about Logan. The bastard...my friend...a lump forms in my throat...I saw blood.

I raise my hand to my head. The tubing of the IV line rubs against my forearm.

“You shouldn’t touch it.”

With the sight of her, my stomach twists to the point that the doctor may have to rethink internal injuries. “I’m not in the fucking mood, Beth.”

A chair scrapes against the floor, causing the pounding in my head to increase. “We could be twins,” she says. “I’ve got a nice-size scar over my eye, too.”

I drop my arm and stare at the girl I had thought I loved since I was fourteen. When I met her, she had straight black hair and an attitude that scared the shit out of bikers. The prickly disposition Beth used to carry as a physical shield no longer drapes her aura. There’s a peacefulness that surrounds her that I never noticed in all our years together.

“You got your scar because you wouldn’t listen,” I say.

Beth flashes her patented sarcastic grin. “Twenty dollars I’ll find out the same thing about you.”

Back in October, I stood in this same hospital waiting to hear if she was alive. Her mother’s boyfriend tried to kill Beth. Her boyfriend, Ryan, saved her. Once I heard she was fine, I left. Beth obviously doesn’t live by the same policy.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Shirley and Dale.”

My foster parents—her aunt and uncle. They stopped in a half hour ago. They were part pissed I interrupted their long weekend at the lake, part pissed that my social worker is now up their ass and even more pissed I hurt myself. Who knew the two of them gave a slight shit.

“How’s Logan?” I ask.

The peacefulness fades from her face. “We don’t know. They took his dad straight back and he hasn’t been out since. No one will tell us a thing. Ryan’s going nuts.”

I place a fist to my forehead. “I’ve fucked it all up. If something’s wrong with him...”

I could never forgive myself.

Beth places a hand over mine and squeezes. “He’s an adrenaline junkie. We all know it. If it wasn’t with you, it would have been with someone else at some other time. At least you were there. At least you could call the police. You can’t fix everything.”

“You don’t know how deep I’m in.”

“No, I don’t. Because we’re not friends anymore.”

“Not the time.”

“I love you, Isaiah. I always have, but I’ve never been in love with you. Both of us were so damn fucked in the head that neither of us understood the difference between friendship and love. We’re friends. We always have been. I know you know what I mean because Logan’s told me about Rachel.”

My eyes snap to hers and Beth waves me off. “He never betrayed you. I annoyed the hell out of him until he told me, and all he would say was that you look at Rachel like Ryan looks at me. In all the years we knew each other, you never looked at me like that.”

Beth opens her mouth to continue, but I cut her off. “I know.”

“You do?”

I return Beth’s grip. “You let me take care of you.”

She raises an eyebrow, highlighting the scar above her eye. “So?”

“Rachel doesn’t. She always wants to take care of herself. Drives me crazy.”

Beth laughs. “Then it must be love. I drive Ryan insane.”

There’s an ache that goes deeper than the physical wounds of my skin. “I really did care for you.” Beth’s right—I didn’t love her, at least not in the way I love Rachel, but it doesn’t negate the fact that I had feelings, even if she didn’t return them.

“I know.” She repeats the answer I gave her. “I also know you love her, but is there room for me? Just as what we were good at? As friends?”

Friends with Beth. I assess the small devilish pixie, and it’s one of the first times in my life I’ve seen her desperate for an answer. I rub my hand over my head. This could be really good, or the worst mistake ever. But because Beth’s right again, I nod. She and I were always at our best as friends. “Friends.”

A female clears her throat at the doorway, and Courtney walks into the room. Beth stands. “Noah and Echo are on their way,” Beth says. “And I dropped Abby off at Rachel’s. They should be here soon.”

“Thanks.” Noah’s going to blow a gasket, and I’m not sure Rachel will want to show.

Courtney slips into the seat Beth abandoned. “How are you?”

I motion toward my arm with the IV. “I’ll be better when they spring me.”

“Isaiah...” She inhales deeply and exhales. “What the hell were you doing?”

“How’s Logan?”

Courtney shakes her head so sadly that her ponytail slumps. “I don’t know. I’ll be honest...the longer his dad stays back there, the more anxious I become. He’s got a lot of friends out there, and you’d think his father would want to give them good news.”

I shut my eyes, not allowing Courtney to see the fear there...the weakness.

“The police believe your story, Isaiah. That you tested a nitrous system on an abandoned road and it failed.”

“It’s not a story,” I say. “It’s the truth. Something went wrong and I lost control.”

“Regardless of what happens with Logan, the police won’t press charges. Logan’s father waived away the option of holding you responsible.”

“Yay for fucking me. At least I won’t be in prison like my mom, right?”

My vision blurs for the second time today. This time it’s because of tears. For years, I’ve been fine. But now, emotions are everywhere and I can’t control a damn thing.

“Do you know why I asked to be your social worker?” Courtney asks.

I peer at the blood pressure machine, wishing I could stop feeling. “Why?”

“Because I grew up in foster care, too.”

The heart rate monitor increases speed, and Courtney pretends she doesn’t notice that her bombshell affects me. “Entered at six, just like you. I had the good homes, the bad ones and the group homes. I even have a tattoo from my pissed-off years.”

My chest moves faster as my emotions threaten to consume me. I reach for anger, because it feels better than hurt. “Is that what you think I am? Pissed-off?”

“Oh, Isaiah.” Courtney stares straight into my eyes. “Pissed-off is the easy emotion. Having been in the same exact position you’re in...” She flutters her hand at the hospital bed and then grows still. Her mouth attempts to quirk up, but her lower lip trembles. “I’d bet, right now, you’re feeling very alone.”

Alone.

Logan’s got a dad beside him. Me? I’ve got a social worker. I shake my head, fighting the hurt. “What’s wrong with me that nobody wants to keep me?”

Why no one wanted to love me. Right now, I don’t feel badass. I feel seventeen and crave for someone to tell me that my friend will be okay.

Her fingers find mine and I don’t draw away. “Nothing,” she says firmly. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

I suck in air, close my eyes and exhale out the emotions. Courtney withdraws her hand, and I’m grateful she doesn’t push me further.

“Can you find out about Logan?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. “I’ll be back.”

Chapter 62

Rachel

ABBY GRIPS THE PASSENGER DOOR. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Throw up in my car, and that will be the last thing you ever do.” Spotting the exit for the hospital, I cut over two lanes and shift down. Isaiah’s been teaching me some tricks after school. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be using those skills to race to the hospital to see if he’s alive.

“You were doing ninety and switching lanes like we were being chased by the police.”

“Are you sure he’s here?” Because I’d prefer for Isaiah to be at any of the other hospitals in the county over University. This is where they bring the awful trauma cases.

“Yes.” Abby loosens her hold on the door as we approach the stoplight at the end of the ramp. “Echo told me.”

Isaiah called me and I never called back. My last words to him were in anger. What if he thinks I don’t love him? My fingers beat against the steering wheel, counting how long it takes for the cross light to turn yellow. “Are you sure she said University?”

“Yes.”

“That’s where they take the worst trauma patients.” I admit my fear out loud.

Abby releases a heavy sigh. “It’s also where they take people with no insurance. He’s a foster kid, Rachel, and a line item on the government’s budget. That is where they’d take him. Not the fancy-ass hospital with the flat-screen televisions.”

Like Isaiah taught me, my foot hovers over the gas while my other presses on the clutch. My fingers grasp the gearshift. A solid wall with no windows, a practical fortress, University Hospital looms over us two blocks ahead. I watch the cross light turn yellow, and my eyes flick to my light, waiting for the green.

In one instantaneous movement, I lay off the clutch, step on the gas and shift into gear the second the light flips. Next to me, Abby curses.

Abby and I run past the sliding glass doors of the hospital and hesitate. The bland waiting room with beige-painted cinder block walls is cramped with people. Wet coughing hacks, crying babies and the sound of someone vomiting makes me turn my head. In the corner, wearing too many layers of clothes that haven’t been washed, a man hunches over and talks to himself.

Abby nudges my elbow. “Over there.”

My heart soars out of my body when I spot Isaiah. He’s hugging his roommate, Noah. Strong arms wrapped around each other in a brief embrace. They separate, and I cover my mouth when I see the wound on his head, the bruises forming on his face, the blood dried on his clothing.

Stepping forward out of the shadows and touching Isaiah’s arm is one of my many nightmares: Beth. She smiles up at him, and when he smiles back my heart shatters.

Chapter 63

Isaiah

WITH NO CLUE ABOUT LOGAN’S condition, I walk into the waiting room. Hearing that Noah was on his way, Shirley and Dale left, but told me I could crash in their basement if I needed. After all, the state still pays them for me.

I see red hair and curls first. Echo chokes me. It’s nice to have a sister. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” I glance at Noah from over her head. With his hair hiding his eyes and hands on his hips, I can’t read my best friend. “How’s Noah?” I mutter.

“Scared,” she whispers. “Mad.”

I nod at Noah. “S’up, man.” He embraces me—a strong crush of arms and muscles. We hold it for a second, keep it tight and then let go. The two of us are brothers.