The skinny a**hole doesn’t bother opening it, but instead shoves it in the inside pocket of his coat. “You say you have it, you have it.”
A pair of cars roar down the dragway, silencing the conversation between us. When the noise dies down, Eric continues, “I don’t understand why you want to race here. There’s no money to be made.”
“You didn’t have to involve Zach,” I say.
“I like insurance policies, and Zach was one that didn’t pay out...at least for tonight. As with any policy, the interest builds with time.”
I assess the area and notice Zach’s car missing. He’s caused me problems over the past several weeks, but once he was a friend. No one should be underneath Eric, and what I hate is there’s nothing I can do about it. Zach made his choice and I’ve made mine. This is how forks in roads are created.
“Come back to the streets, Isaiah.” Eric pushes off the fence. “That’s your home.”
If Eric keeps living this life, someone will steal from him again, and one day, they may take his life in the process. Mistakes I refuse to make. “Naw, Eric. I’m done.”
“Never say never, my brother.” Eric gives that sly grin. “You’ll find me when you’re short on money again. That’s when we’ll stop this bullshit and you work for me. You’re not the first foster kid to age out of the system.”
My chin rises as he speaks my fears. “What makes you think I’ll come crawling to you?”
“Because I’m letting you and your girl go home injury-free. You’ll remember how I’ve given you grace and realize that I’m not your enemy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got other business to attend to tonight.”
Noah smacks my shoulder and the two of us leave, both occasionally glancing back. But we don’t need to. Eric’s moved on and so have we.
“That won’t happen,” says Noah. “You’ll make it after you age out.”
“I know.” I don’t, but I shove the doubt away. I can only handle one battle at a time.
Laughter representing our futures guides us to a streetlight. For Noah, the future includes a redhead, and mine includes a blonde.
When Rachel sees me, she runs right into my arms. “Are we free?”
“Free.”
“We should celebrate.”
“I know this place,” I say real slow. “On a hill.”
She blushes. “Think I’ve heard of it before.”
“Have you?” I ask too innocently.
“Yeah. From this really hot guy. You’d like him. He has a couple of tattoos and some earrings.”
I lace my hand with hers, but the smile on my face fades with the sound of one voice.
Chapter 74
Rachel
“RACHEL.”
My head snaps in the direction of my father’s voice. “What are you doing here?”
With his black tie off and the top couple of buttons of his wrinkled dress shirt undone, my father appears worn. The circles under his eyes indicate exhaustion. “Let’s go home.”
There’s no way...none... “How did you find me?”
“Your new phone. It has a GPS tracking device.” My own thoughts haunt me—too many bells, too many whistles.
Isaiah squeezes my hand. He subtly moves one shoulder in front of me, and I realize he senses danger. My eyes search for what alarms Isaiah and my mouth goes dry. A police officer strolls up to my father.
“What are you doing, Dad?”
He places his hands on his hips. “I want you to come home.”
The police officer talks into his shoulder unit and gestures to Isaiah. “Sir, we need you to step away from the young lady.”
I hold tight on to Isaiah. “Why did you bring the police?”
Dad’s lip pulls back. “He abducted you.”
Abducted? “I left with him.”
“Running away is just as bad. You created chaos and left your mother and me wondering if we’d ever see you again! How can you do this to her?” Dad turns his head to the police officer. “She’s seventeen. He either took my daughter or this is a runaway situation. I have an entire ballroom of people who can testify to that.”
“We weren’t running away!” Dad is twisting everything, and no matter what I say, no one will believe us.
“Arrest him,” Dad snaps. “Let’s go, Rachel. We’re going home before your mother sinks too low because she thinks she’s losing another daughter.”
What I feared from my brothers is now happening with my father. He’s separating me and Isaiah. “Please. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
Not true. We’ve done lots of things wrong, but for the first time in weeks, we have the chance to do something right.
“Sir,” says the police officer with more force. His hand moves to his belt and my heart trips in my chest. “Step away from the girl.”
“No,” says Isaiah in a voice so cold I shiver.
“She’s a minor,” Dad reminds Isaiah. “And has no business being here or with you.”
Noah approaches from the side with his hands in the air to show he’s peaceful. “Sir, Isaiah’s only seventeen. Officer, if you’re arresting him, I’d like to know the charge.”
The officer glances at my father. “Is that true?”
Agitation leaks into my father’s tone, and his jaw jumps. “I don’t know how old he is. He came into a party and took my daughter.”
“I left with him,” I hiss. “He didn’t kidnap me and we weren’t running away. I was coming home.”
“Let’s see some ID,” says the officer. “Then we’ll start to sort this out, but you should go home with your father.”
“Isaiah,” Noah interjects in an overly calm voice. “Show the man your ID. Now.”
“Step away from the girl first.” The officer’s hand twitches on his belt. “And slowly take out your ID. Everyone can go home if we do this right.”
Still grasping me, Isaiah slowly removes his wallet and tosses it in the direction of the police officer. “And no. I don’t have a record.”
The way they both stare at him, I know what they see: the tattoos and earrings and every worst nightmare. But Isaiah is nothing like that. He’s gentle and kind and strong... My body starts to quake and it’s not a panic attack. It’s my heart—breaking and ripping into shreds. “Isaiah.”
Isaiah’s silver eyes have turned to ice. “It’ll be okay, Rachel. Won’t it?” He nods at my father.
Dad all but sneers. If I had introduced them properly, would my father have given him a chance? “You either come with me peacefully or I have this police officer physically put you in the car. Your choice, but this entire fiasco you’ve created is done.”
“I don’t give a f**k who you are,” says Isaiah in a low tone that indicates the threat is very real. “No one touches her.”
Off to the side, Noah lets loose a string of profanities. “Go with them, Rachel. Otherwise Isaiah will give them a reason to put him in jail. We’ll work it out.”
“Not if you’re afraid of them,” Isaiah whispers. “I won’t let you go if you’re afraid of them.”
I glance at my father—years older than he was this afternoon. The way he rubs his eyes shows the worry mixed with the anger.
“I’m not scared of him.” I edge so that I stand beside Isaiah. “I’m scared of losing you.”
“Say goodbye to him.” Dad barely keeps his voice low as he glares at Isaiah. “Do not come looking for my daughter again. Contacting her in any way is out of the question.”
My arms go around Isaiah’s waist and my eyes immediately flash to his, searching for a solution. Isaiah always has a way to fix things, and too panicked to think, I’m desperate for help. “Isaiah?”
Isaiah touches my face. The same warm, loving caress he’s tenderly given me since I first met him. “We’ll be okay.”
My hand covers his. “Promise me.” Because Isaiah always keeps his word. He’ll move hell if he has to. Isaiah never breaks a promise.
“I swear it.”
The trembling turns to shaking. I can’t lose Isaiah. We just found the place where the world could be good. “I love you.”
“Don’t say it like that.” Isaiah lowers his head so that his mouth is near mine. “Don’t say it like goodbye.”
“Rachel!” my father snaps.
My lips touch his and I try so hard to memorize how they feel: warm and a bit sweet. I don’t want to forget this, ever. When I force myself to step back, my eyesight is so blurry that I can barely see in front of me. Isaiah shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts. Knowing he has to let me go—commanding his body to comply. “It’s okay. I promise. It’ll be okay.”
It’ll be okay. I repeat the words over and over again. He promised. Isaiah never breaks his promise.
As I get closer to my father, he extends his hands. “Give me your keys.”
“You can’t drive a stick,” I choke out.
“I’ll figure it out,” he snaps. “I don’t trust you anymore.”
Staring at Isaiah, I suddenly wish I had taken more pictures of us. I only have two. One of him I took for my phone. Another of us being silly next to my car. Two pictures. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough.
Feeling the loss, I snap a mental picture of Isaiah. His dark hair shaved close to his scalp, the stubble on his chin, the muscles of his arms, the kind tilt of his lips, even though his gorgeous eyes tell me that he’s in pain.
I reach into my pocket and hand my father my keys. The policeman offers Isaiah his wallet back and mumbles something to him. Isaiah locks his eyes on me, never once responding to the officer.
“Get in the car,” Dad says as he opens the passenger-side door to my Mustang.
I do, wondering if I’ll ever see Isaiah again. Not so long ago, I asked Isaiah if he ever thought love could hurt so bad. Little did I know, at the time, I had no idea what I was asking or how awful saying goodbye would really feel.
I slip inside, and the passenger side feels off and unnatural. Dad slams his door and thrusts the keys into the ignition. “I have never been so disappointed in anyone in my life.”
His cell phone begins to ring, and Dad yanks it from his pocket. With one glance, he drops it into the drink holder. It’s a familiar number—a work number. One he typically picks up immediately. I never thought I’d see the day when his anger would surpass the love he has for his job.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and wipe my eyes. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” he bites out, so forcefully that I shake.
My hand slams over my mouth to stop the sob. My throat begins to close as I desperately search for a way to explain. “You don’t understand. I love him.”
His cell ceases ringing and seconds later begins again. The same number, but this time it feels louder in the small confines of the car.