Crash into You (Pushing the Limits #3)(114)

“Says the car genius,” he mumbles.

A clearing of a throat grabs our attention and we all pause when we see Mom in the garage door frame.

West and Ethan share a guilty glance. “Mom,” Ethan says. “We were just about to bring her back to the house.”

“Will you boys give Rachel and me a second?”

West wiggles his grimy hands in front of my face and wipes one particularly greasy finger across my cheek. Ethan squeezes my wrist before he leaves. I readjust myself and lean over to inspect West’s work. Not too bad.

“What are you working on?” Mom asks.

I shrug. “Nothing.”

Mom’s dressed in a pair of gray dress pants and a blue sweater. Dad took me to my appointments this morning while Mom visited Gavin in rehab. Because of the accident, my father’s original plan for Gavin and rehab tanked. But a few weeks ago, Gavin finally entered treatment. “How’s Gavin?”

“Good. He’s worried about you.” Mom peers into the hood. “Your father said your appointments went well.”

“Yup.” It feels odd being here with Mom after lying about my love of cars for so long.

Mom looks at me. She does this now—actually stares at me with her blue eyes and sees me. Not being used to it, I always glance away. Mom tucks a wayward strand of hair over my shoulder. “Gavin and I had a group-therapy appointment today. He promised to not keep secrets like his addiction from me anymore. I thought about it on the way home. I think I want a promise like that from all of you. Secrets have come too close to ruining this family.”

I pick at my flaking thumbnail. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Gavin.”

Mom shifts her weight. “I care that you didn’t tell me about you.”

Confrontation has never been a strong suit for either of us, and I wonder if the silence is killing her like it’s killing me. “You didn’t want to hear it. You wanted me to be Colleen.”

“Rachel—”

Preferring not to hear her deny it, I stare straight into her eyes. “I spent a good portion of my life overhearing you tell people that you dreamed of me becoming like Colleen. It’s true, so please don’t pretend it isn’t.”

Mom touches her wedding ring and turns the band. “I wish I could tell you that you weren’t the replacement, but we’d both know that would be a lie. Regardless of what you think, I have always loved you.”

I fidget with the tools my brothers left on the board. Over the past three months, Mom and I have danced around this issue. “You loved her more.”

“Not true,” says Mom. “But I do miss her. Too much. I’ve thought about it and think there’s some truth to what you said that night. I loved you, but I don’t think I ever saw you. For that I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” And it is.

“In my defense, you never gave me the chance to know you.”

I open my mouth to protest, and she waves it away. “Rachel, the problem in this family is that no one gave me credit. Instead of changing to make me happy, do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had told me what I was missing?”

And I snap my mouth shut. Part of me thinks I could have screamed until I was blue in the face, but there’s another part that wonders what would have happened if I had truly tried.

“So what’s going on here?” Mom leans over the engine like it might bite her and I realize that she’s trying.

“I was teaching West how to change his oil filter.”

“Is it hard?”

“I could teach you.”

Her mouth contorts. “How about you explain and I’ll listen.”

It’s a start. “Deal.”

Chapter 78

Isaiah

THE FRONT DOOR OPENS, AND I come face-to-face with Rachel’s father. Strands of gray highlight the area near his ears. He looks older than that night at the dragway, but in truth, I probably look older, too. Sleeping in hospital waiting room chairs does that to a person. He and I got to know each other real well during those periods that Rachel had surgery or slept.

Her father refused to leave her side when he wasn’t at work. The same was said for me when I wasn’t at work or at school. Turns out we have the same business hours.

“Come on in, Isaiah.”

I step into the massive front hall and, like always, I’m still amazed that people live like this. “How’s she doing?”

“Nervous,” he says, and from the way he rubs his head I can tell he is, too. Rachel relearns how to walk today.

Mr. Young’s eyes flicker to the spot a few centimeters below the tiger tattooed on my biceps. I carry a burn mark from when I saved him and his daughter three months before. If it weren’t for the fact that the dragway required me to carry a fire extinguisher during a race, Rachel may have died. And me along with her—because I never would have left that car without her.

“I’ve discussed what you proposed with Rachel’s mother, and we both agree it would be good for Rachel to get out. But we’re going to start slow. An hour and a half.”

An hour and a half—alone—with Rachel. I feel like a man stepping out into daylight after years of incarceration. “I swear I won’t be a minute late.”

Her father wears a knowing smile. “No, you won’t be, or it’ll be another few months before you step out of this house with her again.” Mr. Young accepts me with the condition that I follow their rules. For Rachel, I’d shovel coal into the furnace in hell.