Crash into You

He cups my face and forces me to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”



I nod. “Eric?”



“Is gone,” says Logan from the doorway of the office.



Isaiah helps me walk back into the garage. Logan’s right. It’s only the four of us. With her shoulders hunched, Abby stands beside Logan. She lifts her head only to share a wary glance with him, then Isaiah, but not me.



“What’s wrong?” I ask. Because I can feel it. A heaviness that wasn’t here before.



Isaiah swears under his breath. “I’m sorry.”



I hate the prickling in my stomach, a sensation foretelling doom. “For what?”



“I hit him. Eric. I came in and saw the two of you fighting him off, and I hit him. Hard.”



“Good.” I mean it. If I could have socked him in the jaw and caused the bastard to bleed then I would have, but I’m not that strong.



“You don’t hit Eric.” Abby nudges her foot at the concrete. “Not without repercussions.”



My stomach cramps. “Is he going to hurt you?” No, please no. My hands flutter near Isaiah’s face, terrified of Eric hurting him. “I’ll apologize. I’ll...I’ll...” I have no idea what to do.



Isaiah takes my hands. “He moved up the due date. We have to pay him in one week.”



My head becomes light and I sway. Isaiah places his hands on my waist to steady me.



“It’s unexpected,” he says. “But not impossible. We’re close to the total. Let’s race tonight, count our winnings and see where we stand.”



Okay. He’s right. Plus Isaiah would never lie. “All right.”



“Abby!” Logan calls out. “Where’re you going?”



With her hands in her pockets, Abby walks away from the garage. Isaiah holds on when I move to go after her. “I’m okay,” I tell him. “I need to talk to her.”



Isaiah releases me, but keeps his arm near my elbow in case I drop. “Abby!”



She continues to walk away and I quicken my pace. “Abby!”



Abby stops on the sidewalk and doesn’t turn around. I slow as I approach and think of Eric’s words and Abby’s description of her job. She’s a drug dealer.



A drug dealer. My first real girlfriend is a drug dealer. My entire world feels upside down and sideways; yanked inside out then pulled back out again. With new eyes, I look at Abby. She’s exactly the same as before: black hoodie, braver-than-I-could-ever-be jeans and long brown hair. She’s a beautiful girl—a mystery to me, and bold, but what I’ve never seen is how seventeen she appears. How...young, like me.



She’s what I should hate in the world, yet she’s come to be someone I love.



“Thanks,” I say.



She flips her hair over her shoulder. “For what?”



“For helping me with Eric.”



“He’s an asshole.”



“Yes. He is.” I hesitate. Eric called Isaiah an addict. He called her a drug dealer. Drug dealers are bad and Abby isn’t. She’s good. “Why?”



She shrugs, not even pretending she doesn’t know what I mean. “I inherited a mess, and someday, I’m not going to do this anymore. But right now, there are problems with my family and I’m the only one who can fix them.”



I understand inheriting a mess. My birthright is to make up for Colleen’s death and as for family problems, I understand those, too. “Can you come with us tonight? It gets lonely sitting in the stands by myself.”



Abby stares at me blankly, as if she never heard me speak. “I don’t use the drugs. I swear to God I’m clean. And I never bring them around you.”



“I believe you.”



She narrows her eyes. “Why?”



Because she stands by me. Because I think she loves me like I love her. “Because we’re friends.”



Abby smiles. “I knew there was a reason I chose you to be my best friend.”



Is it strange that that just made me incredibly happy? “Me, too.”



Abby and I both take interest in anything else but each other. I think this whole friend thing is completely new to both of us. From the open bay of the garage, Isaiah watches us with his hands shoved in his pockets. Logan stands right behind him. They’re a strange combo, but so are Abby and I.



There’s so much I thought I understood, but that’s not the truth. I avoid issues more than I try to understand. “Abby?” Deep breath. “Does Isaiah use drugs?”



She tucks her hair behind her ear again. “I think you should talk to him.”



It’s as if my soul became too heavy for my heart. That’s a conversation I don’t want to have.



Chapter 55



Isaiah



RACHEL’S LIGHT FOOTFALLS CAUSE THE wooden stairs to groan. “Seven hundred dollars. If you asked me two weeks ago if we could make seven hundred dollars in one week, I would have said yes, but after tonight...I don’t know.”



As predicted, we found plenty of guys willing to race us, but not as many who were willing to place bets. I carry her overnight bag in one hand and hold her fingers with the other. “Logan and I knew that this could be a problem. But I think we can make seven hundred in the next week. It’ll be tight, but it will happen.”



She continues to stare at the floor as we walk to my apartment. “I could hock more of my jewelry, but Mom figured out I got rid of one of the pieces. I told her I lost it. I’m not sure if she’ll continue to buy the excuse if I ‘lose’ any more.”



I let go of her hand, unlock the door and push it open. She enters first, flipping on the light as she goes. I love how she feels comfortable here.



“It feels hopeless,” she says. “Like we get two steps forward and take a trillion back.”



I can’t help but smile. Rachel does this sometimes—wallows, but I don’t mind. It never lasts long, and she’s usually repentant when she’s done.



“Do you trust me?” I ask as I close the door and lock the dead bolt.



Rachel blinks and the crimson on her cheeks tells me she snapped out of wallowing. “Yes.”



“Then you know that when I say I’m going to fix something, I do. On my life, Rachel, Eric will be paid back in a week.”



She fidgets with the ends of her hair. “I’m sorry. It’s just that everything seems so big all the time and...”



And here comes the repentance. I wrap my arms around her waist. “I want you to forget about it. At least for tonight.”



She bites her bottom lip and glances up from below heavy eyelashes. “Okay.”



Nerves are written all over her face. I kiss the top of her head and give her the room she needs by going into the kitchen and cocking a hip against the counter. Rachel’s never stayed the night with a girlfriend, much less a boyfriend.



She leans against the back of the couch. “If I ask you something, will you be honest?”



“Always.”



“Did you know that Abby is a drug dealer?”



Damn, straight to the point. I pull at my bottom earring. Abby warned me at the dragway about this conversation. I had no idea Rachel would yank out the guns this early. “Yes.”



“Why didn’t you tell me?” She inspects her nails like this is casual for her, but I know better.



“Because it’s Abby’s story to tell, not mine. She promised to keep her business away from you, and when Abby gives her word, she means it. If I thought you’d be in danger, I’d be in the middle of this.”



She scoffs like I told a joke. “You can’t get in the middle of anything.”



I say nothing because I don’t argue. Rachel’s safety and happiness is my priority. “What you did for Abby tonight was nice.” Nice is an understatement. For the first time since I’ve known Abby, someone gave her love.



“She’s my friend,” she says softly.



Rachel laces her hands together, unlaces and repeats. Something’s digging at her and I want her inner thoughts. “What’s bothering you?”



She lets her hands fall to her sides. “Zach offered to race against me. Since we need money, I should accept.”



The guy is becoming a switchblade in my thigh. “Did he say something to you tonight?”



“Yes, but he first brought it up weeks ago...”



“I know.” And I told him to stay clear of her. It’s too coincidental, Eric showing at the garage this evening then Zach approaching her at the dragway tonight, and I don’t believe in chance. Zach’s trying to pull Rachel into a race, but I can’t see the benefit of it. I can’t see how that would help Eric win.



“I want to help.” There’s hurt in her eyes, and it dawns on me that there’s more to her and Zach’s conversations than cars.



“What’s he saying to you?”



Rachel pauses as she chooses her words. She doesn’t do that often and my gut twists. “Do you trust me?” she asks.



A combination of dread and anger pummels my insides as the answer slams into my head. Zach is trying to create doubt. They’re trying to place a wedge between us.



“I trust you.” And she needs to trust me back. “I’ll take care of the money, Rachel. All right?” I’m not asking permission, but I am asking her to drop it. “And stay away from Zach.”



“Why? I know he can come on a little strong, but he really doesn’t bother me.”



My neck tightens as I contemplate telling Rachel my theory on Zach and Eric. But then I wonder if that would scare her. She already mentioned a few minutes ago how she feels overwhelmed by it all. “Can you just trust me?”



“Okay.” She glances around the empty apartment, reminiscent of her first night here. “Do you mind if I take a shower? I smell like burnt rubber.”



“Sure.” If she does, then I must reek like I bathed in it. “I’ll take one after.”



* * *



The subflooring is cold beneath my feet, and after the heat from the misty bathroom my body shudders against the temperature of the apartment. I change to a fresh pair of jeans and walk into the dark bedroom for a shirt.



In a tank top and pair of cotton drawstring pants, Rachel sits in the middle of my bed with her knees drawn to her chest. Her hair is blown dry and angles around her face. Light from the street highlights her perfectly, casting a heavenly glow.



I’m reaching into the laundry basket next to the bed for a T-shirt when delicate fingers touch my wrist. “Can I look at your tattoos?”



My mouth dries out when I meet her eyes. There’s no seduction there, but honest curiosity. My heart beats faster when I nod and join her on the bed. Rachel traces the dragon. Playing with fire again, her tickling caress strikes a match and creates a slow burn.



“Did it hurt?” she asks. “The tattoos?”



“Some areas more than others.”



“What was it like?”



As her fingernails slide down my arm to the knot tattooed on my forearm, shivers run through my blood. “Like someone with sharp nails scratching a sunburn.”



“Why do you do it?”