Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(117)

Onstage, the lady shakes my hand and offers me a plaque and a      certificate. They feel heavy in my hands—heavy and amazing. I did this. I won a      writing competition.

Mrs. Rowe is on her feet. So are a few of the college      professors who had read my story. And while their applause is appreciated, a      lump forms in my throat and drops. My parents aren’t here. And even if they did      know about the competition, they still wouldn’t be here.

I nod to the crowd, then turn toward the stairs. The applause      dies except for a loud clapping in the back of the room. A deep booming shout      gains my attention and the part of me that was sinking suddenly flies      higher.

I pause on the stage and Mark smiles. He cups his hands to his      mouth and yells, “Way to go, Ry!”

How could I have been so blind? He never left me. My brother—he      never left.





Chapter 60

Beth

THERE ARE MEMORIES THAT       EXIST in my mind that are so clear that if I focus on them enough I      could practically relive them. The sky was ocean-blue and two doves sat on the      roof of Grandpa’s trailer when Scott taught me how to throw a ball. Lacy’s dad’s      callused hand was cold the day he led me to the back of his police cruiser. Mom      bought me a Hostess cupcake the first night we spent alone in Louisville.

What ingrained those moments was that when I lived them, I      knew I would remember them always. When Scott taught me to play baseball, time      lost all meaning. I held the ball in my hand longer than needed so I could      remember the feel of the threading. I hesitated when Lacy’s dad told me to hop      in the car so I could take a mental snapshot of our trailer. I spent a half hour      nibbling at the icing of the cupcake before taking a bite, knowing that Mom gave      all her money to our new landlord.

The emergency room takes on the same slow-motion quality as      I run through the sliding doors. Scott brushes past me and talks to a nurse at      the station. My heart beats loudly in my ears. An orderly passes by and stares      at my head. I didn’t brush my hair. I didn’t do anything.

The nurse looks up from her computer and motions toward the      closed doors of the emergency room. Large letters on big signs warn me to stay      out, but if that’s where my mother is, no one can stop me. My hand aches as I      slam on the swinging door and I barely register my name being called behind me.      Both sides of the corridor are filled with curtained areas. Machines beep and      people softly whisper.

Walking in the hallway, the hulking figure that torments my      dreams turns a corner. I chase after him. Trent. Anger courses through me and      propels me forward. Past the beds. Past the nurse asking if I need help. Past      anything that is sane or rational.

At the end of a long, desolate hallway, he enters a room.      The other rooms surrounding it are empty. No nurses or doctors are on guard.      Trent stands near my mother’s bed. He doesn’t see me, nor does he see the fist      that strikes out and punches him in the jaw. “Fuck you!”

My knuckles throb and pain shoots through my wrist, but it      doesn’t stop me. Everything is a blur. My hands hit again and again. Trent slaps      me across the face, yanks at my hair, and I cry out when a knee hammers my      stomach. He tosses me like a rag doll and air slams out of my lungs when I crash      into the wall.

I try to refocus and go after him again. If I give him      enough time he’ll hit me and I’ll go down. On the floor with Trent is a bad      place to be. He prefers to kick. I hear a smack followed by the sight of Trent      stumbling across the floor.

“Elisabeth, are you okay?” Scott keeps his back to me. He      holds his arms slightly out to his sides waiting for retaliation.      “Elisabeth!”

“Yeah.” I shake away the stupor. “I’m fine.”

Blood seeps from Trent’s nose. Good for Scott. He broke it.      Trent glares at me, causing Scott to step toward him. “Touch my niece again and      I’ll kill you.”

Trent ignores Scott and the bald * keeps staring at      me. “I know you’re trying to take what’s mine. Put those thoughts in her head      again and the paramedics won’t be able to save her next time.”

“You f*cking son-of-a-bitch.” I leap toward him and Scott      wraps his arms around my waist, practically lifting me off the ground to prevent      me from mauling Trent. “I should have hit you with that bat when I had the      chance.” I wish I had taken the swing. “I wish you were dead.”