Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(109)

If I’m lucky, I can hightail it to my Jeep before Dad reaches the parking lot.

Like the rest of today, I’m not lucky.

“Ryan!”

I don’t have time for this. I open the Jeep’s door and toss my bag in the back. Dad grabs hold of the door. “What are you doing?

You have another inning to play and the game is tied.”

“Beth’s in trouble and I’m going after her.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to finish that game.” Dad’s face reddens and he places his hand on his hips. In twenty-five years, I’ll be his clone if I continue on my current path. My entire life I desired nothing more than to be him. It’s funny how life changes.

“If I don’t go after her, she’ll be gone.”

“Let her go. She needs to be gone. Since she entered your life you’ve lost focus on everything that’s important. You’re letting down your team, Ryan. You are single-handedly destroying your career in baseball.

Everything I’ve worked so hard for!”

A strange mixture of ice and heat fights through my veins as I go toe-to-toe with my father. “You haven’t worked hard for it! I have.

This is my life. Not yours. If I want to play baseball, I’ll play. If I want to go to college, I’ll go to college. If I want to talk to my brother, I will. If I want to go after Beth, I am. You are not making my decisions anymore.”

Spit flies out of his mouth as he yells at me, “You’re going to destroy your life over a drug-using waste of life?”

Power surges through me and my fist connects with his face. Adrenaline shakes my body and I watch as my father stumbles back.

“Don’t you ever call her that again.”

I jump into the Jeep, turn on the engine, and push the accelerator. I don’t lose and I’m not losing her.

Beth

I RUB MY HANDS TOGETHER and blow into them for possibly the thirtieth time. Hiding in the alleyway behind the bar, I stare at Mom’s apartment. Trent entered right after I arrived and he’s been in there for three hours. I have no choice but to wait. He’ll kill me if he sees me again.

The door to the apartment opens and the bald ass**le finally stumbles out. Fucking fabulous. He’s tweaking, which means he’ll be in a kicking babies mood. I’ll take a heavy he**in user over a tweaker any day.

Resting his weight against his car door, Trent fumbles his keys, drops them, and dips low to pick them back up. Yeah, ass**le, you belong behind a wheel. I hope you drive into a wall and die.

His car doesn’t start immediately. The engine whines as he turns it over twice.

Come on. The third time the engine groans to life. The car trembles when he backs it out and eases onto the main road.

I dash across the parking lot and bang on Mom’s door as I try the knob. It doesn’t give, but I hear Mom undoing the chains on the other side. She opens the door and wavers when she spots me. “Elisabeth.”

I push in. “Did you pack?”

“No,” she says. “I’m not sure we should do this.”

God, this guy is a slob. His clothes are everywhere and so are the little empty packets that hold his meth. I grab a garbage bag and head into the bathroom. “What do you need?”

She follows me and rubs her bare arm. I remember Dad doing that. It means she’s craving a hit. Withdrawal with her is going to be a bitch.

“Trent took care of me after I came home from the hospital. He says he’s sorry for how he treats me and he wants to start again.”

“Trent’s full of shit.” I pitch into the bag her toothbrush, hairbrush, then pause when I notice a small brown bag behind Mom’s tampons.

“What’s this?”

“I don’t know.” Her hand moves up and down her arm again. “Shirley put it in there when she brought me home.”

I snatch the bag. “I thought you said Trent took care of you when you came home.”

“I meant to say he came by here this morning.”

Inside the brown bag are a roll of fifties and a prescription bottle of the drug needed to help Mom detox from heroin. Thank you, Shirley. I try not to think about what she sold or what she did for the money. It’s here and I need it and that’s good enough for the moment. I throw everything into the garbage bag and go into her bedroom. The pickings are slim in the clothing department and I toss the less stained and torn clothes into the bag.

“Elisabeth,” Mom says in a whine. “Maybe we should put it off—by a day or two.”

“We are not putting it off by a day or two, we’re leaving. Where are the keys to the car?”

“I…don’t…know.” Which means she does know.

I swing the bag full of stuff and knock her liquor bottles off the bedside table. Glass shatters against the wall. “That’s what Trent’s going to do to your head one of these days. We’re getting out of here!”

Frustrated, I stalk out of the room and quickly glance toward the spare bedroom. The door is open for once and I freeze. “You have got to be f**king kidding me.”

I rest my head against the door frame—too dizzy with disappointment to stay upright on my own. On an old coffee table I found near a Dumpster a couple of years ago are several bags of white powder. Smaller baggies and balloons lay on the floor. I can barely whisper the words. “You’re selling heroin.”