Take Me On(19)

In a flash, all my cousins and my brother race past us with their arms pumping hard to see who will reach the neighborhood park first.

Thanks to my mother’s crafty thinking, we’re all being rebels by breaking tonight’s curfew. Sometimes a little rebellion is good for the soul.

Maggie slips her hand in mine and does the same with my mother. She draws back as we walk forward then uses our arms to swing herself into the air. She’s getting too big to do this, but I can’t fault her for finding a bit of happiness.

“I don’t have a school project,” Maggie says, but thankfully she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut when Mom told Uncle Paul that’s why we all needed to leave the house.

“Yes, you do,” answers Mom. “Your weekly agenda says that you’ll be starting physical fitness testing next week. You need to practice, and who better to train you than your family.”

I try to suppress a grin, but I fail. Uncle Paul didn’t like my mother informing him that she was taking all of us to the park to help Maggie study, but because Mom asked him nicely and said please, he let us go. Personally, I think it’s because she offered to take the younger kids out. He gets irritated when they’re too loud.

Curfew is a loose term with my uncle. It can change from day to day, from moment to moment. It’s created to suit his whims and his whim tonight was to agree to let my mother empty out his house.

Mom releases Maggie’s hand and gently nudges her forward. “Go on now. Catch up with the boys. This is your first task in preparing for the test—running.”

Maggie starts to bolt after the boys, but I hold on firmly to her fingers. The park is in sight and the dark February night is chased away by multiple streetlights, but there are dark houses along the way.

I was jumped a few days ago and suddenly nothing in this neighborhood feels safe. “She should walk with us.”

Lines crinkle between Mom’s eyes as she studies me. “She’ll be fine. I see her, and Jax and Kaden are watching us from the park.”

Sure enough, the two of them have climbed the jungle gym and behave like soldiers as they scan the area surrounding us.

“Go on, Maggie. I want to talk to Haley.”

My stomach sinks as it hits me what’s going on. Just crap. Maggie yanks out of my grasp and races for the park. It warms my heart to hear Jax and Kaden encouraging her to run faster.

“So,” says Mom.

“So,” I repeat, feeling the need to hide the bruises on my face that I thought I had covered so well with makeup.

“I heard you talked to your dad this morning.”

“Yup.”

“I also heard that you talked to John about a scholarship.”

Figures John would snitch on me, but I ignore the twitch of anger because of the hope that spreads within me. Maybe this isn’t about the bruises. Maybe the makeup has worked. “Yes.”

“Alice Johnson’s son heard from Notre Dame.”

I stop, because the ache that I was rejected is still too fresh. Mom pauses beside me and places a comforting hand on my arm. “Did you get in?”

I shake my head because I’ll cry if I speak.

Mom stretches an arm around my shoulder and rests her temple against mine. “Why didn’t you tell us, Haley? Your father and I want to be here for you on this. And not just with the college search, with everything. It’s like you’re keeping everything bottled up all the time.”

I readjust, forcing Mom to drop her arm. “I was going to tell you,” I lie. “Things just got busy.”

“Haley,” Mom starts, but I don’t give her an opportunity.

“I told Maggie I’d race her on the monkey bars.”

Mom’s forehead furrows, but she nods, accepting that I’m ending the conversation. “No matter what, I’m here if you need me.”

If I need her.

I need her and Dad desperately, but since we lost our home everything has become distorted. “All right.”

“Believe me,” she pushes.

“I believe you.” I don’t and as we walk down the street, neither of us holds ourselves as if we believe the other.





Chapter 22




West

An insanity leaks into my brain that makes deciphering reality from fantasy impossible. The cold creeps past my skin, past my muscles, and burrows deep within my bones. My limbs feel numb. Mainly my toes and my fingers. I blow on them and I no longer sense heat.

I’m low on funds and low on fuel, but I can’t take the chill anymore.

With a flick of my keys, I start the engine and turn the heater on full force. This is my third night sleeping in the car. I think it’s my third. My stomach growls. Two in the morning, I’m freezing my balls off and hungry as hell. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore.

At home I’d be warm. I’d be in a pair of boxers under a pile of blankets. Stomach full.

I could go back. Pull in and walk through the door, but I stop the thought. Dad threw me out and if I walk in, he’ll throw me out again.

I roll to my side in the reclined driver’s seat, searching for comfort. Each night, I fall asleep, then wake up from the cold. And if the plummeting temperatures don’t jerk me awake, the demons haunting me do.

Exhaustion causes my eyesight to blur, but I force myself to stay coherent. I can’t fall asleep with the car running. I’ll be out of gas by morning. It’s in these moments when reality mixes with dreams that sleeping in the car becomes dangerous.

Wake up!

My eyes snap open and my entire body shivers. I dreamed it. I slam my frozen hand against the steering wheel. I dreamed again that I had powered on the car. My breath billows out in a cloud and my fingers hurt as I bend them. I pinch myself after I turn over the engine. I’m awake this time.

Awake.

The air first blowing out of the vents is cold, but within a few minutes hot air defrosts my frozen digits. I push a button and the radio plays. Not loud enough to draw attention, just soft enough to keep me awake.

This song played the last time I talked to Rachel—the night of the accident. She was pacing in a conference room in her golden ball gown. She was a replica of one of those fucked-up fairy tales she was addicted to when we were kids. Only Cinderella wasn’t a seventeen-year-old high school junior with severe anxiety issues.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” I say as if she can hear me now—as if her memory could have heard me then.

“You stole from me, West.” The gown crinkled as she completed the endless pacing loop in the small room. “You expect me to speak to you after that?”

“I was helping Gavin.” Our oldest brother. My breath is a white puff of smoke in the cold air. “I stole the money out of your room because he gambled too much. I didn’t know you needed it. You should have told me you needed help.”

In an extremely bold and uncharacteristic movement, my sister lifted her skirt so she wouldn’t trip and invaded my personal space. “Isaiah and I needed it. If anything happens to him...” She paused, then pressed on her stomach as if she was in pain.

Fuck it. I rub my eyes. She is in pain. The night of that last conversation we had was the night she went after Isaiah. She went after him to save him and she ended up in an accident. She ended up in pain.

And Rachel told me if anything happened it would be my fault.

A bell rings and I jump in my seat. My heart pounds hard once as my breath comes out in a rush. The cheap-ass alarm clock I bought continues to blare in the passenger side and the first light of day breaks in the east.

My neck is stiff from falling asleep against the driver’s-side door. My fingernails are blue. I stretch my legs and my knees automatically lock.

I slam the clock off and I stare down at the keys that had dug grooves in my hand. Fuck it all, I never turned on the car last night. The entire torture was just a dream.

Unable to take the car anymore, I stumble out and let the sharp cold air hit my lungs. Leaning against the front of the Escalade, I try to rub the cobwebs out of my head.

Dad was right to throw me out. I’m a worthless piece of shit that let my sister down. I failed her. I failed her so badly that she saw the writing on the wall. She knew her entire world was falling apart and she knew exactly where to rightfully place the blame—on me.





Chapter 23




Haley

With my hands shoved in my jeans pockets and my nose buried in the collar of my father’s old army sweatshirt, I run to keep up with Jax and Kaden. They were pissed to find me at the neighborhood bus stop this morning at four and their mood hasn’t lightened as the three of us walk-run the two blocks from our bus stop to the gym. The bus ran late and John hates tardiness.

The moment we step inside, Jax and Kaden bolt for the locker room and I survey the space, searching for John. Only the completely dedicated and insane show this early and they are currently in the middle of a three-minute rope jumping set. The bell on the timer rings and all of them drop to the ground and begin push-ups. Five more of those bad boy combos to go until they start the sit-ups.

“I’m not giving you a letter.” John sits behind a small metal desk in his cramped and disorganized office, banging on a laptop.

I rest a hip against the doorframe, seeking courage. I’ve got to be tough on this. Make him think I’m in control. “That’s not why I’m here. I want you to train someone.”