Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(72)

Yay and damn. Without Isaiah on board, I need a car and Mom’s piece of crap is our only way out of Louisville. On the rare good side, I don’t have to worry about Trent beating the shit out of either one of us today.

“Next time you come into my bar, I’m calling Isaiah to drag you back out,” Denny says. “Even if she’s crying.”

Next to a half-empty bottle of tequila,

Mom’s head lies in her folded arms. She’s thinner. The rush of emotions creates a light-headed sensation. This poor, pathetic creature is my mom and I’ve completely failed her.

“Let’s go, Mom.”

She doesn’t stir. I sweep the hair from her face. Several of the strands fall to the floor and stick to my hand. God, has she eaten at all?

Yellow-and-brown patches litter the left side of her face. On her right wrist, Mom wears a black brace. I nudge her with a tender touch.

“Mom, it’s Elisabeth.”

Her eyelids flutter open and her hollow blue eyes have a sunken quality. “Baby?”

“It’s me. Let’s go home.”

Mom reaches out as if I’m a ghost. Her fingertips barely brush my leg before her arm drops to her side. “Are you a dream?”

“When was the last time you ate?”

With her head still on her arms, she surveys me. “You used to buy food for me and make it, didn’t you? Ham and cheese on white with mustard tucked in the fridge. That was you.”

My insides wither like a plant without water.

Who did she think took care of her? I close my eyes and search for my perspective. Being at Scott’s has made me soft. I need to be more aware for both me and Mom. “Let’s go.”

I place an arm around her shoulder blades and yank at her body. “Come on. You need to stand. I can’t drag you home.”

“I hate it when you yell, Elisabeth.”

“I didn’t yell.” But I’m being a bitch.

Like most toddlers, Mom obeys a strong reprimand. Also like most toddlers, she often obeys the wrong person.

“Yes, you did,” she mutters. “You’re always angry.”

Even with me holding her up, she still sways from side to side. The door to the back room is shut. Hell. This means we’ll have to go out the front. Baby steps are a struggle for her and I calculate how long it will take me to get her home at this rate. So many things to do before I meet Ryan—grocery shop, figure out how to get the car out of impoundment, and nail down the date to leave.

Mom stumbles when we meet daylight. She tries to shield her eyes, but it affects her already fragile balance and I have to use both of my hands to keep her upright. She’s right. I am always angry, because right now a volcano is stewing inside of me. “What else are you taking?”

“Nothing,” she says too quickly.

Right. Nothing. “That bottle of tequila wasn’t empty. Are you becoming a lightweight?”

She says nothing and I let it go, reminding myself that there are things better left unknown. I drag her forward and occasionally she lifts her feet to help with the progression on the sidewalk. Several guys I used to go to school with fly past on skateboards. Two whistle at me and ask if I’m back to stay. The other…

He flips up his skateboard and takes a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. “Run out of money again, Sky? I’ll take a blow right now.”

Shame heats my face, but I force myself to stand taller as I haul my mother toward her home. “Fuck you.”

“I’ve missed seeing you around, Beth, but your mom’s more fun without you babysitting.” He drops the board and rolls away. Yes, being at Scott’s has softened me and it makes this experience a million times worse.

I wish Scott would have left me alone.

“We’ll move to Florida.” We slowly pass the pawnshop. “White sandy beaches. Warm air.

The sound of water lapping against the shore.”

My mom’s not a whore. She’s not. Please God, please let her not be. “We’ll sober you up and we’ll get jobs.…” Doing? “Something.”

Because Scott has custody of me we’ll have to be careful. I’ll be labeled a runaway. “We’ll go to the ocean. Give me a date and we’ll leave.”

“I have to bail Trent out first,” Mom whispers. “Then unpound the car.”

“Fuck Trent. Let him rot in jail.”

“I can’t.” Mom pulls on my hair to stay upright and the pain makes me want to scream.

Instead, I bite my lip. Screaming will draw more attention to us.

We reach the end of the sidewalk. Mom falls forward when she misses the step, and collapses onto the pavement. “Come on,

Mom!” I want nothing more than to sit on the ground and cry, but I can’t. Not with people watching. Not with Mom right here. “Get up!”

“I’ve got her.” The deep, smooth voice causes my heart to still and my lungs to freeze.

Isaiah effortlessly scoops my mother into his arms. Without waiting for me, he heads right for Mom’s apartment building.

Isaiah.

I blink.

My best friend.

My heart beats twice and both beats hurt.

Mom slips in and out of coherence as Isaiah carries her. When we reach her door, I slide the string of keys I used to wear as a necklace in elementary school from around Mom’s neck.