Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(85)

Mom stumbles when we meet daylight. She tries to shield her      eyes, but it affects her already-fragile balance and I have to use both of my      hands to keep her upright. She’s right. I am always angry, because right now a      volcano is stewing inside of me. “What else are you taking?”

“Nothing,” she says too quickly.

Right. Nothing. “That bottle of tequila wasn’t empty. Are      you becoming a lightweight?”

She says nothing and I let it go, reminding myself that      there are things better left unknown. I drag her forward and occasionally she      lifts her feet to help with the progression on the sidewalk. Several guys I used      to go to school with fly past on skateboards. Two whistle at me and ask if I’m      back to stay. The other...

He flips up his skateboard and takes a ten-dollar bill from      his pocket. “Run out of money again, Sky? I’ll take a blow right now.”

Shame heats my face, but I force myself to stand taller as I      haul my mother toward her home. “Fuck you.”

“I’ve missed seeing you around, Beth, but your mom’s more      fun without you babysitting.” He drops the board and rolls away. Yes, being at      Scott’s has softened me and it makes this experience a million times worse. I      wish Scott would have left me alone.

“We’ll move to Florida.” We slowly pass the pawnshop. “White      sandy beaches. Warm air. The sound of water lapping against the shore.” My mom’s      not a whore. She’s not. Please God, please let her not be. “We’ll sober you up      and we’ll get jobs....” Doing? “Something.” Because Scott has custody of me      we’ll have to be careful. I’ll be labeled a runaway. “We’ll go to the ocean.      Give me a date and we’ll leave.”

“I have to bail Trent out first,” Mom whispers. “Then      unpound the car.”

“Fuck Trent. Let him rot in jail.”

“I can’t.” Mom pulls on my hair to stay upright and the pain      makes me want to scream. Instead, I bite my lip. Screaming will draw more      attention to us.

We reach the end of the sidewalk. Mom falls forward when she      misses the step, and collapses onto the pavement. “Come on, Mom!” I want nothing      more than to sit on the ground and cry, but I can’t. Not with people watching.      Not with Mom right here. “Get up!”

“I’ve got her.” The deep, smooth voice causes my heart to      still and my lungs to freeze. Isaiah effortlessly scoops my mother into his      arms. Without waiting for me, he heads right for Mom’s apartment building.

Isaiah.

I blink.

My best friend.

My heart beats twice and both beats hurt.

Mom slips in and out of coherence as Isaiah carries her.      When we reach her door, I slide the string of keys I used to wear as a necklace      in elementary school from around Mom’s neck.

I briefly catch Isaiah’s gaze and I cower from the pain in      his eyes. He wears his uniform shirt for the garage he works at. Grease and oil      stain the blue material. Every day for three weeks, Isaiah has texted and called      and I haven’t answered him. I bury the guilt. He’s the one that betrayed me and      there’s nothing I can do about not responding to him now.

A horrible rancid odor slaps me when I open the door. I’m      dizzy with dread. I don’t want to know. I just don’t. We’re going to Florida.      We’re running away.

Isaiah follows me in and swears. At the smell, the damage,      or the trash, I don’t know. Nothing has changed from the last time I was here,      except the refrigerator door hangs wide-open.

“Did you forget to pay the cleaning lady?” Isaiah asks.

I half smile at his attempt to defuse the situation. He      knows I hate for anyone else to see how Mom lives. “She only accepted cash and      Mom was insistent that we use the credit cards for the frequent flyer      miles.”

I step over trash and broken pieces of furniture and lead      Isaiah to Mom’s bedroom. He gently lays her on the bed. This isn’t the first      time he’s helped me with Mom. When we were fourteen, Isaiah helped me pick her      up from the bar. He’s used to the cracks in the wall, the worn green carpeting,      and the picture of me and her taped over her broken mirror.

“Give me a few minutes,” I say. “Then I’ll go grocery      shopping.”