Take Me On (Pushing the Limits #4)(11)

My shoulders slump forward. Shit, Abby does know. “Why does she go there?”

“They sell awesome snow cones. The red one won a blue ribbon in the state fair last year.”

The pounding intensifies. This girl is like one of those damned flies that swarm your head and your food. “Let me guess—you’re lying.”

She winks. “You’re catching on fast, and here I pegged you for stupid.”

A muscle in my jaw twitches. I can’t stand this girl, but she did give me a place to crash, so I watch my manners and change the subject. “Did he tell you to bring me here?”

Figures the * would want something to hold over me: help with a bad situation, then he’ll squeeze me for something. Money, drugs. It’s gotta be the type of angle he used to snare Rachel. Why else would she have been around a guy like him?

“Isaiah’s initial response was to let you bleed out in the street, but then he got sentimental and thought Rachel would be sad if you died, so he called and asked me to take care of you. I told him Rachel would’ve gotten over you and that we could make her happy if we bought her a bunny, but he was so damned insistent. See, Isaiah and I have this past. I’ve known him forever because we met each other in a Dumpster—”

“Why here?” I cut her off, not caring about their tragic backstory. Everyone has a tale to sob over. Rich or poor.

Abby looks at me with wide eyes. “Because if I took you to my house that would start rumors. Really, West. I’m a single girl. I’ve gotta protect my image. We wouldn’t want people to think we’ve been doing something indecent.”

Talking to her is like watching a cat chase its tail. “Another lie.”

“I can pretend that’s my answer. I like pretending. You can create anything you want out of the world.”

“You’re possibly the most f*cked-up person I’ve met.”

“That’s not news.” Abby slides her phone back into her pocket. “Now, if we’re done ‘pretending’ to have a conversation, I’d like to go see my best friend. And, no, that’s not a lie.”

She turns on her heel and heads for the stairs.

“Abby,” I call out as I shove my feet into my sneakers. She hesitates at the landing and waits for me to reach her. “Tell me why my mom’s going to the bar.”

A wicked grin spreads across her face. “I could tell you, but there would be absolutely no fun in doing that.” And she walks up the stairs.





Haley

Every breath tastes of dust, spilled gasoline and oil. Layers of grime coat the cold concrete floor of the garage and my cheek has become numb against it. How long has it been since Matt abandoned me? Seconds, hours, days? At first I assumed he left to get help—to find sanity in the insane, but no...he left. He just left.

“Haley!” The voice is far away, yet a nagging inside me says it’s near.

Blood soaks my hands. It’s Matt’s blood—I think. Maybe mine. I don’t know. We argued. That’s all we do anymore...argue. It’s what we’re good at, but now it seems wrong. He hit me. I hit him back. And somehow neither of us stopped.

“She’s cold,” Jax says. “And look at her eyes. I think she’s in shock.”

It’s an effort to turn my head toward Jax. His whitish-blond hair is spiked into a Mohawk. His shirt goes up and over his head and he lays it on my arms and chest, but not my hands. No, he wouldn’t let it touch my hands. The blood would ruin his white T-shirt.

“Haley!” Jax poises his hands near me, not touching, just there...moving as if he doesn’t know what to fix first or worried that if he did make contact he’d become diseased, cursed like me. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” I don’t recognize my voice. I’m different now. Changed.

I’m up like I’ve done a sit-up and my older brother, Kaden, supports my weight with his chest. He lifts my wrists. “Are you bleeding?”

I shake my head. “No.” I don’t think so.

The room spins and so do I. Kaden drops my hands to grip my shoulders. “Easy, Haley. Is she hurt?”

I tilt my head and thoughtfully look at Jax. Am I? Matt slapped my face. It’s how the fight started. Is there a permanent bruise there? My own personal scarlet letter branding me as defeated?

Jax’s eyes dart everywhere. “She looks okay, but she ain’t acting right. Her knuckles are bruised. She’s definitely been in a fight.”

“There was blood.” That seems important to tell. “Matt and I have been together for a year.” Because that also feels important. One month after the end of my sophomore year, Matt and I began. Now, it’s the end of my junior year and Matt and I are over.

I nod. Yes, we’re over. There’s no coming back from this.

“Yes,” I repeat. “There was blood.”

“Who did you make bleed?” asks Jax. “Matt?”

Matt and I argued and he was mad, so mad. He slapped me, punched my stomach, then went for the head, and I intercepted him. I was a few hits in when he took advantage of my dropped guard and I absorbed the blow behind the ear. I collapsed to the floor and then he left. “I hit him.”

I stopped his initial attack and I made him bleed.