Crash into You (Pushing the Limits #3)(81)

“Isaiah...I love you, too.”

Chapter 51

Isaiah

A NORTHERN GUST HEAVY WITH moisture sweeps across the hill, and Rachel shivers. Cold water droplets hit my bare skin. There’s a chance we could lose our mild winter tonight to snow.

I stand, snatch the blanket off the ground and love how Rachel automatically accepts my offered hand as I guide her to my car. She hesitates as I open the passenger-side door. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

There’s innocence in her eyes, an innocence I lost years ago, so I know there’s no underlying meaning in her statement. I move the seat and Rachel slides into the back. Freezing rain pelts like bullets as I follow. I shut the door and rain patters against the car.

“Did you get wet?” I ask her.

Rachel shakes her head as she grabs for the blanket. I lean into the front, turn the engine over, crank the heat and click on the parking lights to illuminate the console. I slip back beside Rachel and wonder how the two of us ended up like this. “I’ve never had a girl in the backseat of my car.”

The wrinkles in her forehead scream disbelief. “I’m not stupid, Isaiah. I know I’m not your first kiss or...you know.”

No, she’s not. “Sounds awful, but I respected my car too much to bring girls...” I’m right. It does sound awful.

Rachel grows quiet. The rain drives harder against the windshield and even with the heater running, the temperature plummets. “Honestly, do you not want me in your car?”

“Rachel, you’re the only girl I’ve wanted in this car.”

Her body trembles as if she’s having a seizure. “Ar-re y-you s-sure?”

I wedge my hands beneath her legs and lift her onto my lap. Rachel relaxes her head into the crook of my neck as I bundle us in the blanket. “Never been more sure of anything.”

Resting my cheek against her, I inhale her sweet scent. “You remind me of the ocean.”

“It’s my perfume.” I hear the smile in her voice. Her hand peeks out of the blanket and I knot my fingers with hers.

“My mom took me to the ocean once,” I tell her. “I think her parents lived in Florida, and she went there for help.”

I don’t remember much other than the visit was short, there was a lot of yelling, and the wallpaper in the entryway curled near the floorboards. “We left and spent the day at the ocean before we drove back to Kentucky.”

Rachel squeezes my fingers. I like that she doesn’t feel the need to make me better with words when I tell her something from my past. She understands that all I need is the strength in her touch. “I’ve always wondered if Mom’s parents didn’t welcome her because of me. They refused to take me in when my mom went to prison.”

“What did your mom go to jail for?”

Noah and Beth were the only people I’d told about where my mom was, and I never discussed the why. “Armed robbery.” Plus child endangerment.

Her thumb moves against my wrist as a silent acknowledgment of how much it cost me to tell her the truth and that she’s done asking questions. I kiss her forehead, a thank-you for not pushing me to places I can’t visit.

Rachel shifts forward on my lap, unbuttons her coat and slides it off. “Little warm.”

I take the lighter she still grasps in her hand and place it in the cup holder. When I go to move the blanket she stops me by cuddling back into my body. “I chose the blanket over my coat.”

Tonight has been a constant give-and-take between us, and I’d like her to give a little more. “Do you see a therapist about your panic attacks?”

When I’m greeted with the sound of the rain tapping the top of the car, I switch tactics. “Noah’s girlfriend, Echo—she’s had some issues and she sees someone. It helps her.”

“I used to. In middle school and a little in my freshman year, but then I stopped.” Rachel’s pause highlights her struggle for words. “My mom worried. Constantly. It wasn’t normal. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. My older brothers said that she was just as manic as when Colleen had cancer. And then I had several panic attacks in high school.”

Her breath catches as if the memory causes her physical pain.

“I had a couple of harsh attacks in a short period of time and ended up in the hospital. I...I...” It’s as if the words are programmed not to leave her body. “I hated it. I hated how Mom hovered. I hated how my oldest two brothers would compare me to Colleen. I hated how West and Ethan would look at me as if I was dying.

“So...when I got out of the hospital...I found a way to hide the attacks...the anxiety...and eventually my family believed I defeated the panic and for the first time in my life they didn’t see me as weak.”

Weak. I hate the word, especially from her. “If you still suffer from this, you should get help. Screw your family.”

“There’s no way for me to get help without them knowing. Isaiah, I can’t...”

“I see you, you see me, remember? You’re going to have to trust me on this. If you have these attacks then we’ll fix them. I only care about you. Not your family.”

“You are bossy.”

“Protective,” I counter, and run my hand along the length of her leg.

Rachel lets out a contented sigh. “I wish we could be like this forever.”