Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(53)

“If you get bored in the waiting area and you want to watch,      I’ll ask Coach if you can...”

I shake my head. “No.”

Ryan presses his lips together and heads toward the      entrance. I sneak a peek at his retreating form and my heart drops. Whatever      messed-up moment we just experienced doesn’t change anything. Ryan goes for      girls like Gwen and screws over girls like me. You can’t change destinies      already written. That only happens in fairy tales.

I do feel sorry for him. Scott’s going to kill him by the      end of the night. “Ryan?”

He glances over his shoulder. What do I say? You’ve been fun      to mess with, but I have to save my mom. I’m sorry that when you return to      Groveton tonight without me, my uncle will rip off your balls and my aunt will      serve them for dinner with a side of seaweed?

“Thanks.” The word tastes weird in my mouth.

He removes his baseball cap, runs his hand through his hair,      and smashes it back into place. I look away to keep the guilt from killing      me.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I blink, unsure what he’s apologizing for, but I don’t ask      for an explanation. I said my piece. He said his. We’re even.

A teenage boy leaves the building and holds the door open      for Ryan. He goes in while the other boy jingles his car keys. Thank you, fate,      for lending me a hand. I tuck the cigarette into my back pocket and smile in a      way that makes the boy assume he has a chance. “Can I bum a ride?”

*

Nerves vibrate in my stomach and I keep taking deep breaths.      No matter how many times I inhale, I still have a hard time filling my lungs      with air. Please, God, this one time, please let the * be gone. And      please, please, please let Isaiah agree to my crazy plan once I show up with my      mom in tow.

I thought about telling him about my plan beforehand, but,      in the end, I knew he wouldn’t agree to Mom tagging along. He blames her for the      problems in my life, but I know Isaiah. When I show up with her, begging to      leave, he won’t let me down. He’ll take us—both.

The Last Stop is empty, but give it another hour or two and      the bar will be filled. Even in daylight, the place is as dark as a dungeon. In      his typical jeans and flannel shirt, Denny sits at his bar and hovers over a      laptop, giving his face a bluish glow. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots      me. “Heard your mom lost custody.”

“Yeah.”

He sips a longneck. “Sorry, kid.”

“How has she been?” My mouth dries out and it takes      everything I have to act like his answer doesn’t matter to me.

“Do you really want to know?”

No. I don’t. “What do I owe you?”

He closes the laptop. “Nothing. Go back to where you came      from. Anywhere has to be better than here.”

I go out the back. It’s the fastest way to Mom’s apartment.      At night, the place is creepy in the shadows. During the day, the run-down      apartment complex just looks sad and pathetic. Management spray-painted parts of      the 1970s orange brick white to hide the graffiti. It’s a useless effort. The      elementary kids paint their swear words back on the next night.

Since most of the windows are broken, the residents use      cardboard and gray tape to cover the glass, except for the windows with the      roaring air-conditioning units that leak water like faucets. Mom and I never had      one of those. We were never that rich or lucky.

Asshole Trent lives in the complex across the parking lot      from Mom. The only thing sitting in his parking spot is the large pool of black      oil that seeps from his car when it’s parked. Good. I inhale again to still my      internal shaking. Good.

After Dad left, Mom moved us to Louisville and we officially      became gypsies, moving into a new apartment every six to eight months. Some were      so bad we left voluntarily. Others kicked us out after Mom missed rent. The      trailer in Groveton and my aunt Shirley’s basement are the only stable homes      I’ve ever known. The apartment near Shirley’s is the longest Mom has ever stayed      in one place and it sucks that Trent is the reason why. I knock softly.

The door rattles as Mom unlocks the multiple dead bolts and,      like I taught her to, she leaves the chain on when she opens the door an inch.      Mom squints as if her eyes have never seen the sun. She’s whiter than normal,      and the blond hair on the back of her head stands upright as if she hasn’t      brushed it in days.