Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(105)

“No. I don’t.” I stride between the tables, keeping my eyes locked with hers. The closer I get, the more she straightens. Her hand falls from her stomach, and the tear clears from her face. Rachel gazes at me as if I’m a dream. I extend my hand, palm out. “I need help.”

Her blue eyes lose their glaze, and the hue of violet I love so much returns. “So do I.”

My fingers tighten around hers and I gesture to the parking lot. “Is your car here?”

She nods. “Good,” I say. “Because Zach will only race you in your Mustang.”

The smile she flashed to me the first night we met brightens her face. “Then let’s go.”





Chapter 70

Rachel

WITH MY HAND IN HIS, Isaiah sets a blinding speed and I match it. People stand, unsure what to do. Confused and rapid conversation erupts around us. I should be freaked by the way they stare at me, but instead, I get hit with an adrenaline rush and I feel—alive.

In the hallway, I’m desperate to keep pace, hoping to leave my family behind. I kick the heels off my feet, and Isaiah flashes a crazy grin. “Blacktop’s cold.”

“I can’t drive in heels. Besides, you can carry me.”

I love how he laughs.

“I’ll need clothes,” I say.

“Zach would pay double for you to race him in that.”

“I’m serious.”

“We’ll call Abby and Echo once we get in the car. They’ll find something.”

“Rachel!” my father yells from down the hallway and I stop cold. The blood drains from my body.

Isaiah rounds on me, concern clouding his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I need my keys.”

He yanks a key out of his pocket. “Had one made. In case you lost yours.”

“Rachel!” My father slows and warily eyes us as Isaiah moves in front of me.

“My father won’t hurt me,” I whisper to him.

“It’s not him,” he mutters. “It’s your * brothers I’ve got a problem with.”

Taking his hand, I step by his side. Isaiah shoots me an unsaid warning.

“Dad,” I say with a mixture of complete fear and courage. “This is Isaiah.”

Isaiah nods. My father gapes. Overall, the first introduction could have gone worse. One by one, my brothers join my father. Each one of them a different level of angry.

“What’s going on?” Dad asks.

I turn my back to my family. “Go get the car,” I whisper to him.

Isaiah glares at my brothers. “I won’t leave you here.”

“I’m going with you. Just do as I ask.”

As if it physically hurts him, Isaiah walks out the door. I inhale deeply, hoping I made the right decision as I confront my family. With wide eyes and a hand on her dress, Mom slowly joins my father. “Who was that, Rachel?”

“My boyfriend,” I say. “His name is Isaiah.”

My father’s skin becomes a strange shade of purple as he loosens his tie. “What you’ve done tonight...with that boy...and that speech...”

I cut him off. “I only did what you and Mom asked. You wanted me to talk about Colleen, and I did.”

His anger grows, as does the level of his voice. “That was an embarrassment!”

“It was the truth!” I scream.

My father blinks and my mother tilts her head. She peers at me as if looking at someone she’s never seen before. Maybe she is, because the person in front of them is me: the Rachel I’ve hidden for years. I grab Mom’s hands, squeezing, begging for her to see. “Look at me.”

“I am,” she says softly.

“Look at me!” I scream. “I’m not Colleen. I’m not even a bad replica. I’m Rachel. I hate purple and I hate malls and I hate shopping and I hate being a disappointment.”

“But you said you learned to like...” And she closes her mouth.

“Because you wanted to believe.” I snatch my hands away and point at my brothers. “At least look at them. Two of them want nothing more than for you to love them, and the other two spend their entire lives trying to be perfect. Meanwhile all of us are screwed-up.”

“Rachel.” My father’s tone drops to a mixture of sad and tired. “Not now.”

“Why not now?” My skirt swirls as I face him. “Have you ever thought that you created this? If you had given Mom an ounce of respect and treated her as an equal instead of like a child, that she would have found a way to get over her grief?”

Mom’s eyes flit between me and Dad. “What is she talking about?”

I glare at Gavin, waiting for him to confess. Instead he lowers his head and leans his back against the wall. Disgusted, I stare at Mom. “They do the same thing to me that they do to you—protect. But I don’t need their protection. I’m strong and I have a feeling you’re strong, too.”

“She still has panic attacks,” says West. “I know you think you’re strong on your own, Rach, but you need us.”

My heart hurts as West and I stare at each other. Lines worry his forehead and the hurt that I see—is it possible that all his concern, his worry, his overprotection...could it be that he really just needs me to need him?