Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits #5)(23)

“You don’t want to hear this,” says Isaiah. “But Abby’s not going to leave this life.”

“Bullets change things.”

Isaiah shakes his head like I’m a kid not understanding simple addition. “Not for Abby. What reason does Abby have to sell drugs? Her dad’s gone and he’s not coming back. She never had a mom. She had a grandmother who died a few years back. Abby’s got no ties to drugs, yet she chooses this life.”

I run a hand through my hair and I stop pacing as I realize how exhausted I am. “Maybe she does it for money.”

Isaiah shrugs. “Could. I already told you everything I know on Abby. Beyond that, she’s a blank page.”

Could. “Who does she live with? Where does she live?”

“I don’t know. Abby doesn’t like sharing, not even with me.” His mouth firms up like he’s weighing his words, then starts again. “We all have choices. I hated foster care. Ended up in some homes and group homes that would make a serial killer shudder. At any time, I could have left. Ran away. Made the choices Abby’s making, but I didn’t. I stuck it out because there are devils even I don’t want to meet.”

Abby and I play. We play and I asked her to leave with me earlier, and she didn’t. We could have been in Bullitt County by now. We could be miles from here and from pain.

But she didn’t leave with me when I first asked and tonight I could have gotten killed over a girl who chose selling drugs over me. “What are you saying that I’m not hearing?”

Isaiah’s head falls back and hits the wall. He stares at the ceiling like it has the answer. “I’m saying you’ve seen too much. You know too much. You’re a good guy that doesn’t mind coloring outside the lines, but you’ve stumbled into areas that are off your page. You need to decide if not being fully honest to the police—lying—is that your thing?”

Drugs aren’t my thing. Yeah, I know people who’ve smoked pot a few times. They aren’t evil—just guys searching for a good time, just like my need for an adrenaline rush. I can’t smoke—can’t drink—it would mess with my blood sugar and I’ve got enough problems there without adding more. But selling? Getting shot at? There’s a difference between crazy and wrong.

“I’m saying,” Isaiah continues, “You need to figure out what you can live with. Each man has his own code—molded and decided by him. I know mine. So does Noah. West recently discovered his. You’re strong, Logan—mentally, physically. Can handle more than most. It’s why you hang so easily with us—but this is critical mass. Can you care about someone, protect someone, lie for someone who’s moral code stands in the face of what you believe?”

My temples pound like Isaiah just pulled the rug out from underneath me and I banged my skull against the floor. “When did you become a shrink?”

A slight tilt of his lips, but it fades. “I lived life on the streets and I’m pulling myself out. Once I’m completely out, I don’t plan on going back.”

“You and Noah rose above the streets,” I say. “Abby can, too.”

“Noah and I never went down the path that Abby was born in.” He hesitates. “Here’s the truth. If Abby isn’t willing to walk in your direction then maybe you should walk away and you should do it starting now.”

A lethal snake slithers through my veins. “Are you telling me to leave?”

Conversation—for me and Isaiah—doesn’t happen. Neither of us says a lot. Only talk when we have something worth saying and it makes me on edge that he’s pushing me so hard.

“Why stay? You don’t know Abby and she will never let you in.”

“You stick around.”

Isaiah lifts his head and stares straight into my eyes. “I owe her and it’s the type of debt I can never repay. I care for her, but she and I understand my boundaries. I can show up at a hospital, I can listen when she needs to talk, but even I know she can’t be saved and because of the choices she makes, she knows I won’t try. I don’t believe in suicide missions and that’s what Abby is. I’m glad you went after her in the alley, and I will owe you for that, but because we’re friends, I can’t watch you drive a car over a broken bridge without waving a red flag.”

My head spins and I end up where I started, crashed against the wall opposite of Isaiah.

“I’m not doing this because it’s fun,” he says. “I’m doing this because I like you. Let’s cut the bullshit. You’re into her and she’s into you—more than friends. Ask yourself, do you want to be with the person who deals drugs for a living? Do you want to be with the person who gets shot for doing their job? Do you want to be with the person who puts the people they care about in danger in return? I’m not busting your balls. If you can take that shit without flinching then I’ll be the best man at your wedding, but if you can’t, that’s fine, too.”

“There’s more to Abby than what you’re saying.”

“I hope there is.”

I wait for more of Isaiah’s wisdom, his arguments, but it’s what he’s left unsaid that’s the most damning. Hope—it’s what Rachel and I all have for Abby, but hope doesn’t make Abby’s choices less real.