Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(110)

“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*ck 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.