Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(36)

“Is it Brian?” The anger within him builds like a snowball. The pan trembles in his hand. “I saw him talking to you at the party. If it is, stay away from him. The guy’s a prick.”

I open my mouth to tell him what type of friends he has, since they were the ones who took me to the drag race and left me to fend for myself. But then I remember that he’d crucify me if he knew that I hung out with them, participated in a drag race, ran from the police and then kissed a guy while alone in his apartment.

West moves the pan to catch the leaking oil as I remove the old filter. “There’s no guy, okay? I’m curious. You date a lot of girls, and I was wondering if you call every single one of them.” I wipe off the filter mount and finish the rest of what I have to say. “And what it means if you don’t call.”

My brother stays unusually quiet while I finish replacing the old filter with the new one and add new oil. When I motion with my head that he can pull the pan away, West finally answers, “The ones I don’t like, I don’t call back.”

My lips turn down and an ache ripples through my chest. I toss the old filter into the garbage, snatch West’s keys from the tool bench and open the driver’s-side door so I can start the engine to check for leaks. I wish I were alone. “That’s all I needed to know.”

West begins to say something else, but I flip the keys in the ignition and apply the gas so that the loud revving noise of the engine will drown him out. West’s words confirmed what I already knew from the silence: Isaiah never liked me.

I reach into my pocket and power off my phone. Why continue to wait for a call that will never come?





Chapter 21

Isaiah

MRS. COLLINS WAITED UNTIL THURSDAY to yank me from class. While not surprised by the summons, the delay did catch me off guard. I walk into the main office and freeze when I see the person sitting in Mrs. Collins’s office. My heart stalls. The bitch called my f*cking social worker.

In midsentence, Courtney notices me and immediately yells, “Don’t you dare bolt, Isaiah.” Her swinging blond hair gives her that pissed-off-racehorse effect again.

I give her credit. She knows what I’m thinking. I toss my books onto the row of chairs lining the wall and head for Mrs. Collins’s office. Odds are I won’t need that shit anymore. A screwup like this will mean a group home. Not that I’d let it get that far. I’ll run before anyone forces me to set foot into that hell.

Once inside, I lean against the wall next to the door. Mrs. Collins, a middle-aged version of Courtney, swivels back and forth in her oversize business chair. Tilting stacks of papers clutter the desk and look close to tipping. This lady has the organizational skills of a hoarder.

“Would you like to take a seat?” Mrs. Collins asks with a sweet smile.

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. The only chair available is the one that would trap me in the room. I’m only interested in easy outs.

“Isaiah, you should sit...” Courtney starts, but Echo’s head-shrinker cuts her off.

“It’s okay. You’re free to stand.”

Damn straight I am. “What do you want?”

Courtney rocks on the edge of her seat, as if contemplating joining me against the wall. She hates it when I stand and she sits. “You haven’t returned any of my phone calls.”

“So?”

“So? My job is to keep tabs on you. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You found me.” I snap a ta-da movement with my hands. “I’m alive. Can I go?”

Courtney’s a tiny thing. She shifts in her seat so that her knees are angled in my direction. “Your mom still wants to talk.”

My arms fall to my sides and I push off the wall. “My mom can kiss my ass.”

Mrs. Collins’s chair squeaks when it rolls toward her desk. “Isaiah, Courtney is here because I requested her presence on a school matter. If you don’t want to discuss your mother, then you don’t have to.”

“But...” Courtney shoots a confused glance at Mrs. Collins, and even I catch the subtle shake of the shrink’s head.

Mrs. Collins overpronounces her next words in a sweet tone. “He doesn’t.”

And I won’t.

“I asked Mr. Holden to join us,” Mrs. Collins continues. “He should be here soon.”

Trying not to show that I’m insanely curious about why Mrs. Collins is involving my automotive instructor, I retake my position against the wall.

Mrs. Collins taps a pencil against her desk. “How was your winter break, Isaiah?”

Noah warned me about this woman. When he was blackmailed into counseling last year, he said she enjoyed torturing him with questions. “Good.”

“Great!” The pencil keeps knocking against the desk. “How’s Noah?”

“Good.”

“Fantastic. And have you seen him recently?”

And that’s when it hits me—Mrs. Collins hasn’t told a soul that I’m living with Noah. This entire meeting is a bluff. “Yes.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

Her eyes light up. “You saw Noah this early in the morning? Were you at his place?”

“No.” I was at our place. “I saw Echo, too.”