Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(134)

“Baby!” Mom’s hand joins mine on my throat. “Are you      okay?”

Dazed, I nod.

Mom snatches my biceps and yanks in an effort to get me off      the floor. “Let’s go.”

Ryan curses and I unsuccessfully struggle to stand. “Help      him, Mom.”

Ryan locks his other arm around Trent’s neck and yells, “Go,      Beth!” Trent battles against Ryan’s hold and Ryan’s face strains as he fights to      keep his grip.

Mom shakes her head. “Let’s go. Now. He’ll hurt me.”

Trent elbows Ryan in the gut, swings around and lands a blow      to Ryan’s face. Ryan falls.

“No!” Screams and pleas fly from my mouth. Blood covers      Ryan’s face. Trent stands and kicks Ryan in the stomach. I scream out in pain      when I place weight on my left arm. “Help him, Mom!”

“We have to go now, Elisssabeth.” Mom calmly slurs my name.      “I want to leave. I’ll go with you now.”

I turn my head and stare at the eerie image of my mother.      Her tired eyes with their constricted pupils look at me as if I’m a shadow      instead of her daughter. Mom squeezes my hand again. For the first time, she’s      not rubbing her arm.

Cradling my left arm close to my body, I grip the table and      pull myself to my feet. “You shot up?”

As I stand, Mom drops to the ground. In shame? In      exhaustion? Too high? I don’t know.

Refusing to watch Ryan die, refusing to make eye contact      with me, Mom covers her head with her arms and rocks over and over again.

Blood pours over my eye and my sight wavers as my body sways      to the side. My fingers accidentally hit Mom’s cordless phone near the edge of      the table.

Heroin.

It destroyed me nine years ago and one phone call cost me my      father.

Heroin.

If I call, my mother will go to jail.

Heroin.

My finger slides against the numbers and like nine years ago      I listen to the phone ring once, twice, a third time. The world turns black,      then reappears in a fuzzy tunnel. My knees buckle and I force consciousness for      a few more seconds.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”





Chapter 71

Ryan

I SET MY CELL TO THE LOUDEST      ringtone and place it on my chest before I rest my head on my pillow.      Beth’s supposed to come home from the hospital today and because of that I’ve      refused pain medication. I want to hear her voice on the other end of the line      and know that she’s only a mile down the road instead of thirty minutes away in      Louisville.

Then, for the first time in more than a week, I can sleep      deeply.

My body is one slow, throbbing ache. Every pressure point      pounds in time with my pulse. Broken ribs, bruised everything, and cuts. Each      and every injury worth the cost of saving Beth.

“Can you tell me why?” My dad’s voice carries into the      room.

My eyes flash open and I turn my head to see him leaning      against the door frame with his gaze pinned to the floor. It’s the first words      he’s said to me since I hit him. He’s been around. Present, but not speaking. I      don’t feel bad about it, because I haven’t talked to him either...until now.      “Why what?”

“Why you risked it all for that girl?”

“Because I love her. And her name’s Beth.”

No response. Sometimes I wonder if Dad knows what love is.

“Scott called,” he says stiffly. “He wanted to remind you that      there are rules now. He’s angry with both of you and he won’t be letting her out      of the house anytime soon.”

I return my focus to the ceiling. I can deal with rules as long      as I’ve got Beth. Scott’s been a mixture of grateful and pissed. In hindsight,      maybe I should have called him when I found Beth’s note, but I don’t think Beth      would have listened to him. She needed me.

“I don’t think you should continue to see her,” Dad says.

“Don’t remember asking.”

There’s silence and when I glance out of the corner of my eye,      Dad’s gone. Who knows if the two of us can fix what’s been broken.

My cell buzzes and my stomach plummets when I notice Beth’s      name above the text. She promised she’d call. Friends, right?

I half chuckle. It’s the first text she ever sent me. Always.