Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(43)

My dad and I—we’ve never fought. Strange, I guess. I know plenty of guys who go rounds with their fathers. Not me. Dad’s never given me a curfew. He believes I’m responsible enough to decide what trouble I want to get in and says if I go too far, I’m smart enough to dig myself out. He’s encouraged me every step of the way with baseball. More than most parents ever would. Dad watches out for me and this... this is him looking out for me again.

I nod several times before speaking, agreeing to something, but I don’t know what. Anything to make this confusion stop. “Yeah. It’s okay. This was on me.” I crumple the papers in my hand. “You’re right. This...” I lift the wadded paper. “It’s nothing. Stupid, even.”

Dad forces a smile. “It’s all right. Go in and tell your mom. She’ll be thrilled.”

I stand to leave and try to ignore the emptiness in my chest.

“Ryan,” says Dad. At the door, I turn to face him.

“Do me a favor—don’t tell your mom about the last round of competition. She’s been on edge lately.”

“Sure.” What would be the point of telling her? Mom has a way of knowing when I’m untruthful, and I’m not eager to discover that the words I just uttered to Dad are a lie.





Chapter 24

Beth

THE CLOCK READS NINE       FORTY-FIVE and Isaiah gets off work at ten. My finger, paused against      the speed dial button, goes numb. The sun set a while ago, leaving the room      dark. I haven’t moved from my spot on the bed. Scott hasn’t come in. Neither has      Allison. Not to lecture me on school or to scold me for yelling at Allison or to      call me to dinner.

I’ve dry heaved twice. Scott’s going to send Mom to jail. He      probably already called the police. The ironic part of this whole nightmare? I      tried. I tried and I failed. Imagine that.

At ten, I’ll call Isaiah and tell him to come and get me.      We’ll go to the beach. We’ll run away. Too bad I can’t convince Mom to go with      us. Isaiah and I could get her before the cops do.

I raise my head and a wave of hope floods my body, making me      dizzy. I could convince Mom to go. We could go away—together.

Someone knocks on the door. I slip the phone under the      covers. “Yeah.”

Scott enters the room and turns on the light. He wears a      black T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. For the first time, I see a hint of the      kid that took care of me when I was younger and, foolishly, my heart responds. I      move off the bed. I have to tell him I’m sorry. “Scott...”

Focusing on the carpet, he cuts me off. “I’m not in the mood      to hear you bitch. If you ever talk to Allison like that again, I’ll make sure      you regret it. She’s my wife and I love her.”

I nod, but Scott doesn’t look at me to see it.

He pulls his wallet out and slaps a card onto the dresser.      The name and number belong to Mom’s probation officer. “I talked to him this      evening. Nice guy. Did you know your mom will serve a ten-year sentence if she      screws up probation? Ten years. That’s not even counting what they’ll charge her      with when I tell them what I know. Your choice, Elisabeth. Either way you’re      living here until you turn eighteen. Your actions decide if your mom goes to      jail.”

The relief sweeping through my body makes me weak. He hasn’t      sent my mom to jail. Not yet. I still can make this work. The possibilities have      my mind racing. I’ll have to find a way into Louisville, to convince Mom to      leave with me, and then get Isaiah on board....

“Last chance.” Scott breaks into my thoughts. “I want      perfection this time.”

He smacks his hand against the dresser and the last      cigarette I bummed rolls out of a folder and onto the floor. Shit.

Scott crouches and stares at the cigarette before picking it      up. He acts like it’s a joint instead of tobacco. Crap. It might as well be a      needle full of heroin. “I can explain.” Actually, I can’t. But I heard Noah use      that phrase with Echo once and it bought him time.

As he stands, his hand shakes. Dad’s hands used to shake.      “This is bullshit. I bring you to my home.” He falters and I can see him trying      to rein in the anger. It scares me that he won’t look at me. “I give you a home      and you don’t even have the decency to try to follow my rules.”

Quiet anger frightens me. The drunks, the idiots, the ones      that rage easily—them I can handle. I know when to step out of their way. It’s      the ones that hold the anger in, the men that think about what they do and how      they do it, that scare me. They’re the ones that cause damage. A small voice, a      voice that sounds a lot like me when I was a child, sweetly murmurs that Scott      would never hurt me. That he was our protector. Once. I don’t know this man.