Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits #1.5)(81)

But Noah doesn’t do drugs. He stopped last winter, and he hasn’t used since, but I’ve never asked him if he quit because I assumed he quit. It all becomes confusing and overwhelming and...

“Those weren’t his drugs.” Isaiah breaks into my internal meltdown. “He’s had a few beers, but I haven’t seen Noah touch drugs in months. He’s clean. You know it. I know it.”

“I know,” I whisper, but this dread weighs me down, and I visit that playground of insecurity I’ve been attempting to avoid. “Why was he with her?”

“Don’t go there,” Isaiah warns.

I open my mouth to respond, and Isaiah doesn’t allow me the opportunity. “I mean it. He loves you. Period. So don’t go there.”

“I wasn’t.” I blink three times.

“You really would suck at poker.” Isaiah chuckles and I halfway smile, but it’s short-lived.

“What do we do?” I ask, because this is new to me, and there’s this sinking sensation that informs me that some of this isn’t new to Beth or Isaiah.

The two of them share a long look, and Beth inhales deeply. “We’re going to need bail money.”

I rub my eyes for so long that the sockets ache. Oh, my freaking God, bail money. “How much?”

“The charges they’re talking about...” Isaiah kneads the back of his neck, and I sort of wish I could shoot myself. “Best guess—couple thousand.”

Feeling light-headed, like a balloon that has been untied and whose air is being let out, I drop into the seat beside Beth. “How much do you guys have, because I don’t have that much.”

Beth places a hand over my wrist, and the friendly gesture shocks me with a jolt of electricity. I stare at her, absolutely bewildered. Her blue eyes flood with sadness as she answers, “Isaiah and I would be lucky to pull fifty dollars between us.”

It’s like my soul split open. Noah’s innocent of this. I close my eyes. He has to be. The man I love...the man I made love to...he wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t purposely hurt me.

A slow, painful pulse begins in the center of my forehead, and I massage my temples, hoping it will force the hurt and this entire night to go away, but life is never that easy.

Noah’s behind bars. A couple thousand dollars. Nausea rolls in my stomach.

I’ve got to get him out, and there’s only one way I can do that. I stand and both Isaiah and Beth jump to be near me.

I wave them off. “This is something I have to do alone.”

“What?” Isaiah asks.

I suck in a large gulp of air, but I still tremble with the idea. “I need to make a call. Just give me a few seconds alone, okay?”

Isaiah pops his head to the right as if saying he’s not okay with it, but is granting permission anyway. “Stay by the door where I can see you.”

I nod then step out into the night. Mist hangs and dances in the air, and I shiver. From the cold, from the situation, I don’t know, but I try not to overanalyze. This isn’t about me or how this call will murder the fragile relationship I’ve spent months developing. This is about Noah.

My cell has never felt so heavy or the buttons so hard to press. Even with the time difference, this will be a wake-up call. An unwanted one. One, to be honest, I had been told they’d be expecting.

For years I craved my father’s approval. For years I sacrificed my happiness to receive it. Leaving Kentucky with Noah was one of my first real strides toward independence. Through the weeks I had been traveling, I felt my father relax his stance and side with me instead of against me, but this will cause him to be full of disapproval and anger.

I swallow when the phone rings once. Clear my throat when it rings a second time.

“Echo?” My father’s voice is groggy with sleep and full of worry. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay, but...” Deep breath before I fall off the ledge. “It’s Noah. I need your help.”

Noah

With my head in my hands, I sit on a cold metal bench and count the two million ways I’ve f*cked up not only in the past twenty-four hours, but over the past week, too.

I’ve been fingerprinted, photographed and processed. I had everything. Everything. Isaiah told me the path I needed to take and because I’m messed up in my damned brain, I ran in the opposite direction.

We made love. I had Echo in my arms and because I’m terrified of losing her, I’ve trashed everything between us.

“My dad is going to freak!” With blotched cheeks and tears streaming down his face, the guy standing beside me in the cell is seconds away from getting his ass kicked by the ticked-off mob sharing our breathing space. “What am I going to tell him?”

“Someone get him to shut the f*ck up!” a guy with a Mohawk yells from the other side. Twenty of us share a large holding cell created for caging animals like me.

“Leave him alone.” I win the stare-down contest with Mohawk guy in less than five seconds. I f*cked it up with Echo and not a damn person here wants to mess with me—the stewing volcano.

“Thanks—” Blotched cheek guy starts, but I cut him off.

“Sit your ass down,” I mumble.

“My dad—”

“Is going to be pissed if he comes here to claim you in a body bag. So shut it.”