Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(103)

No, no, no, no. NO! This isn’t how our talk was supposed to play out. “But you have to.”

The room becomes suddenly restrictive and I stand. I need to get out. Everywhere I turn there’s a window or an entrance to another room. There’s not a damn door to the outside in this huge f**king room.

“Elisabeth,” says Scott real slowly. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

“You have to help her!” Because I can’t, and the realization cracks my sanity. “Send her to a rehab. Get her clean. She’ll be better then. You don’t understand. She never had a shot. We never had anything. No one ever helped us.”

“I sent her money,” Scott says softly.

There’s a roaring in my head and I freeze midstep. I’m in the kitchen and I have no idea how I made it here. “What did you say?”

Scott walks over to the island. “I sent your mother money every month. I opened a bank account for her and every month she drained it.

I wasn’t man enough to call you, but I was man enough to pay for my mistakes. Allison found the account a couple of months ago and thought I was having an affair. I brought her here, to Groveton, to prove to her that I wasn’t lying about you or your mother and when I got here I didn’t like what I found. So we stayed, but I promised Allison I would cut off your mother. She obviously wasn’t using the money to help either one of you.”

“You’re lying.” I slam my hand against the counter. “You’re f**king lying!” He has to be.

“I can show you the statements if you’d like.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t…. I can’t breathe. I can’t.

“Elisabeth,” says Scott. “Sit down.”

I try to suck in air, but my lungs won’t expand. Grabbing on to the side of the counter, I bend over in my search for oxygen. Scott’s wrong. He has to be wrong. Mom would never have done this to me. Never. Why can’t I f**king breathe?

“Elisabeth!” Scott shoves a stool out of the way and catches me as I fall to the floor. He sits beside me as I lower my head into my hands.

“Just breathe,” he commands.

My intake sounds like a wheeze and I feel as if my mind is splitting into halves.

“It’s okay,” Scott tells me.

But it’s not. Nothing is okay.

Ryan

BETH DIDN’T SHOW LAST NIGHT. I’m not surprised. My parents are back in town, plus Beth spent the whole day and into the evening at the hospital Saturday and needed a day to rest. I hoped she would come though. I only saw her for a few seconds on Saturday and that was in front of Scott. She seemed so broken. I need to hold her and tell her I love her and I need to hear the words back.

I’ll catch her before school begins and spend the day trying to put a smile on her face. Lacy, Chris, and Logan will want to help. Between the four of us we can distract her.

I open the fridge, pull out a Gatorade, grab my keys from the counter, and swerve to avoid steamrolling my mother. “Sorry. I’ll see you at the game later.”

And officially introduce Beth as my girl to my parents. There is no way either of them would make a scene in public.

“It’s early. Sit down.” Mom brushes past me.

She’s polished for the day. Dress pants.

Sweater set. Pearls. Mom will be on the social club prowl by lunch. Dad walks into the kitchen from the formal dining room and barely glances at Mom. The vacation was supposed to save their marriage. Last night they slept in separate bedrooms.

My keys jingle in my hand. “I have some stuff to take care of before school. Can we talk later?”

Mom eases into a seat at the table and gestures for me to follow. I c**k my hip against the frame of the door instead.

“Fine.” Mom opens her right hand and like an accordion my condoms fly onto the table.

“Would you care to explain?”

My keys dig into my hand as I try to keep my anger in check. “You went through my room?”

“We’re your parents. We have the right.”

I survey Dad and he patiently stares at me from the other side of the room. Panic combines with nausea and adrenaline, but I’ll be damned if they see it on my face. How much did they go through? Did they find my plaque from winning the writing competition?

Did they turn on my computer? Did they find my stories? This is exactly how they treated Mark when he first came home from college this summer. Right before he told them he was g*y.

“I counted them,” Mom says. “There’s one missing.”

I’ve never hated my mother before and, right now, I do. “What do you want?”

“Who is the girl?”

“I’m not telling you.” Not when Mom is going to downgrade Beth to the girl I used a condom with. Mom will take something that was beautiful and twist it into something dirty.

“Is it a girl?” Dad asks.

My grip on the Gatorade tightens. “What is wrong with you?”

Dad pushes away from the door frame with muscles tensed. Mom hops out of her seat and directly into the path of me and Dad. “We heard a rumor yesterday when we went to dinner. I know it has to be untrue because you would never go against our wishes. I would have discussed it with you yesterday, but you were out. I did what I had to do to get some answers.”