Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits #1)(31)

Some of the worry lines disappeared. “I don’t think that’s her. That’s you. I’ll leave it alone if you try harder with Ashley. She loves you. And you used to adore her.”

Yeah, when on her eighteenth birthday, she let me stay up late and eat popcorn at the age of six or when she let me wear makeup on my first day of fourth grade. Crazy thing happened—she slept with my father and then left my family drowning in a wake of destruction.

“If you really want to show me you’re trying, let her take you dress shopping. She had a whole day planned and is devastated that she upset you. Let her have fun and I’ll drop the SAT retake.”

I raised an eyebrow. My father never negotiated. “Really?”

“The next SAT date is too late for your application deadlines anyway. We’ll have to work with what you got. Your scores should be good enough to get you into some of the best business colleges in the state.”

He typically said accounting, but he must have caught me wincing whenever he said the word. “I’m happy you’re back with Luke and even happier you’re going to the Valentine’s Dance. You loved getting dressed up and going to dances. I thought maybe that part of you died.” He stared down at my sleeve-covered arms. “I have to say, you’ve really made me proud.”

No freaking kidding. I made straight A’s, did whatever he said, and he’s proud of me for going to a dance. Let’s see, if he came to my room over a Valentine’s Dance, maybe he’d do something crazy for prom, like tell me he loved me. My father patted my knee and rose from the bed.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you ever check on Mom?”

The worry lines returned. “She’s not my responsibility anymore.”

“Then is she mine? I am her only living relative.”

A muscle in his jaw jerked. “Your social worker would never allow that and neither would I.” His eyes softened, his jaw unclenched. “Are you scared she’s going to hurt you? She will never hurt you or anyone else again. Don’t worry about her.”

But I did. My mother might be crazy and she’d tried to kill me, but she was still my mom. Someone should take care of her, right?

NOAH

I’d seen my brothers. Who knew a miracle could occur? And I’d get to see them again on the second Saturday of February. This called for a celebration. I hoped Isaiah got some weed because I planned on rolling the biggest damn J any of us ever saw.

Last to return for the night, I parked my piece of crap on the street. Dale worked swing shift at the local truck plant. We didn’t know from one day to the next what hours he’d work. I’d made the mistake of parking in the driveway once. Instead of moving my car, Dale took out my driver’s-side mirror.

Lights blared from every window in the house—not a good sign. I stepped into the tiny living room and noticed towels covered in blood. “What the f**k?”

Isaiah appeared instantly by my side. “The bastard beat the shit out of her.”

“I’m fine.” Beth’s voice trembled. She sat in the kitchen with her arm extended on the table. Her aunt Shirley cleaned several cuts and cigarette burns.

Beth’s entire body shook like a seizure. The right side of her face was bruised, scraped and puffy, and her right eye swollen shut. Blood soaked her favorite T-shirt. She raised the cigarette to her mouth and sucked in a long draw. “Mom’s new f**k wears a class ring. He must have stolen it from someone.”

“Son of a bitch. Why the hell did you go home, Beth? You knew this ass**le was bad news.” Three steps and I knelt beside her in the kitchen.

She took another draw as a tear fell from her left eye. “It was Mom’s birthday and the stupid bastard didn’t want to share her, so …” She shrugged.

Pure anger raged through my body, every muscle tightening, preparing to fight. “When are the police getting here?”

“They’re not,” said Shirley. She placed gauze over a burn and taped around it.

I fought for control. “And why not?”

“She’s sixteen and her mom was there. They’ll lock my sister up along with that no-good boyfriend. I don’t agree with how she lives her life, but I won’t send my sister to jail and Beth isn’t interested in it either.”

I waited for Beth to confirm the theory. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray, placed another in her mouth and fumbled with the lighter. It clicked several times as she unsuccessfully struck the wheel against the flint. I took it from her and, in one smooth motion, lit the cigarette.

“Thanks,” she said weakly.

The phone rang once, twice, a third time. It stopped ringing and Beth’s cell began to play The Cure’s “Lovesong”—her mom’s ring tone. Her hand shook as she flicked ashes into the ashtray. “She keeps calling. She wants me to come back home.”

“Why?” I snarled.

“He got tired of beating me and fell asleep, passed out, whatever. Probably woke up and missed his piñata.”

I tried to rub the anger out of my neck. “Call the police, Beth.”

“And what do you think’s going to happen to you and Isaiah if she does?” Dale wandered into the kitchen, his dark hair slicked back from a recent shower. “Your social worker has been a little nosy recently, Noah. We put a phone call in to the police, they’ll figure out Beth’s been living here. We can kiss you and Isaiah goodbye.”