Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(31)

“My business. Not his.”

“I also find it curious that Fuzzy Bunny isn’t here with you if you liked her so much.”

“I never brought Beth here,” I say in defense.

“You never smiled at Beth like I saw you smile at her.”

I shift, uncomfortable that Abby saw something so intimate between me and Rachel. “You said you had a gift.”

I hear plastic rubbing together in her hand and, because Abby carries very little on her, it has to be a baggy. “Patience, Grasshopper. If I’m giving this type of gift then I want to know it’s for a good cause. Answer me about the girl.”

Flooded with the urge to tell someone, I pull on my bottom earring. “Yeah. I liked her.” Because saying it makes it real, and it was real. “But we would have only been friends.”

She’s silent except for the sound of her heel occasionally hitting the brick wall. “I liked this guy last year, but I blew him off after a couple of days. He came from a good home and was a good guy. Sometimes it’s better that we let the good catches go, you know?”

Her feet continue to kick against the wall. Abby’s not one to share, so that statement had to take a lot out of her. “Yeah. I do know.”

“I hear you need money,” she says.

That grabs my attention. “Says who?”

“No one.” Abby smirks. “You don’t street race and you did. The only reason I could come up with is that you’re low on funds.”

“Wanna give me my money back?”

“Hell no.”

Gotta respect her for that.

“I know someone that’s interested in your skills with cars, Isaiah. He’s been watching you for a while and he’ll pay well.”

“Does your friend give out W-2 forms?”

Abby chuckles. “One thousand in cash for every car you jack. All you need is a lot full of empty cars and your hotwiring capabilities.”

“Not interested.”

“If you change your mind...”

“I won’t.” I’m not interested in becoming a criminal. Once you enter the land of illegal, someone, somewhere owns you.

She withdraws a joint from the baggie. “This is the last of my supply. Once this is gone, I swear not to sell again for the rest of this year.”

Easy promise, since there are only minutes left until the new year begins. Abby’s not a fan of what she does, but she’s good at business and at selling. If she could ever get the hell off the streets she’d probably become someone. “You don’t have to sell,” I say.

“You didn’t have to street race.”

Point taken.

Abby stares out over the blinking lights of the city. “I saw my dad today.” I hear the hurt in her voice.

My heart aches for her. Before I can think of something to say to help her feel better, she continues, “I was going to share this with you, but now I don’t think I want to.” Abby extends the joint to me. “You can have it.”

I roll the joint in my hand: two inches long and thin. I first smoked up in eighth grade and hated the loss of control. But hanging with the people I knew, surviving in the homes I lived in, I learned quick how to blend in and conform. It’s amazing what you can convince people of just by touching a joint to your lips. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”

She shakes her head. I place the joint between my thumb and forefinger and snap it over the thirty-foot drop. Abby claps. “Well played.” She hoots, then yells, “Happy f*cking New Year, nature. You can have your shit back.”

Abby lapses into silence. Somewhere in the distance below, glass shatters. Most likely a home invasion. The sad part is, neither one of us flinch.

“I knew you’d gone straight,” Abby says. “I take that back—not gone straight, but that you weren’t as hard-core as everyone thinks.”

“I know,” I respond. Abby is the one person who has always known. When everyone else was higher than kites, she’d look over and realize that I was sober—because she was, too.

“If I had asked, you would have smoked it with me,” she says.

I nod. Because she wouldn’t have wanted to do it alone, and because the only reason she would have done it is because it hurt her so much to see her dad. “I would have taken a hit.” One. Because that’s the most I’d ever take with anyone.

Her phone beeps. “One minute to the New Year.”

I stare at her in shock. “You set your alarm?”

Abby raises her face to the sky. “Maybe next year will be better.” She’s been saying that forever. I reach into my jacket and extract a lighter. Abby smiles because she knows what I’m about to do. “Do you want me to count it down?” she asks.

“Up to you.”

Abby watches her phone and counts from ten to two. The moment she says one I flick my lighter and hold the single flame into the night.

That’s right, world: one more year has passed and I’m still f*cking here.





Chapter 18

Rachel

I OVERSLEPT. LAST NIGHT, I had a hard time falling asleep as my mind replayed the events of winter break. I worried over Isaiah and Ethan and school and Mom and lies and...Isaiah. Like always, sleep eventually came, but not without consequences.