Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits #1)(92)

Isaiah poked his head out from under the hood and gave me a crazy smile. “S’all good. Your dad told me I could go ahead and work on it.”

Okay. Sort of not my father’s style to let pierced, tattooed people hang out alone in our garage, but maybe he was too busy with Ashley to care. The door to the kitchen closed and Beth entered the garage with a can of Diet Coke. “All you’ve got is diet shit in your house. And fruit. Lots of f**king fruit. Don’t you have any frozen pizzas?”

“Ashley doesn’t like preservatives.” What was I doing? “Why were you in my house?” I glanced around and my heart dropped. “Where’s Noah?” My slow mind caught up with the fact that my father’s car was gone. “Where’s my father?”

Beth stared at me blankly, then snapped out of her trance. Lovely, she was high. “Oh, yeah, your stepmom went into labor and your dad said something about telling you.” She scrunched her eyes together. “Was there more to the message, Isaiah?”

He mumbled from under the hood, “Fuck, I don’t know. You were the one who was supposed to be listening.”

Beth giggled. “Right. I was.” Her giggling stopped. “Wow. When did it get to be night?”

My heart tripped in my chest. “Ashley’s in labor? She can’t be. She still has like …” I don’t know—something weeks left. Crap, how come I never paid attention? Dad had to be freaking out. “Lots of time left. The baby isn’t done yet.”

Beth tilted her head. “Do babies have timers?” Her smile grew. “If not, they should.”

Isaiah shut the hood with a feverish look in his eyes. “I need the keys.”

I experienced mind whiplash. Oh. My. God. He’d never asked for the keys before. I pointed crazily in the air toward the hook on the workbench, unable to do more than stutter, “There … there … they’re there.”

He grabbed the keys and hopped into the front seat of the car. I swore time moved in slow motion as he placed his foot on the gas pedal and inserted the key into the ignition.

In my mind, I saw Aires. His brown hair, long legs and ever-present smile. “It’s gonna run someday, Echo,” he once said. “Can’t you just hear the engine purring?”

Tears burned my eyes and I swallowed down the sob. Yes, Aires. It is going to run. I did this for you. How I wished he was here.

Isaiah turned the key and the sweetest rumbling sound filled the garage. He pressed his foot against the gas and hollered as the engine roared with life. “Oh, yeah, baby, that’s what I’m f**king talking about!”

He stepped out of the car with his arms wide open. “I’m getting me something for this.”

And I happily complied. I jumped into those arms and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

I let go of Isaiah, sat in the warm leather seat and clutched the vibrating steering wheel. Isaiah closed the door and I shifted the car into Reverse.

And then everything inside of me froze. I pressed down on the brake to stop. The hole in my heart that was supposed to be filled with this moving car … grew. “Isaiah, where’s Noah?”

NOAH

Carrie’s arms strangled my neck and, for a moment, I hoped she’d kill me. Death had to be better than this. I swallowed, but the heavy lump in my throat remained. Every muscle in my face pulled down and I sucked in air in an attempt to wash away the despair.

“I want to talk to Mrs. Collins first,” I choked out. “I haven’t completely made up my mind.” Goddammit. Why did everything have to hurt so bad? Every part of my body throbbed with pain to the point that I either had to die or explode.

“God bless you, Noah,” Carrie whispered in my ear.

I wanted a family. I wanted a f**king family and Jacob and Tyler already had one.

She sniffed as she released me, but her smile lit up the room like a thousand stars put together. “I know you’ll do the right thing by the boys. I know it.”

They had normal.

And I wasn’t it.

Carrie waited for a reply, but I couldn’t form a response to save my life. Joe placed a hand on my shoulder, saving me from speaking. “Mrs. Collins will be here soon.”

As if we were living out a bad sitcom, the doorbell chimed on cue and Carrie escorted Mrs. Collins into the kitchen. She wore paint-covered sweatpants and a Nirvana T-shirt. Joe mumbled something about giving us a few minutes.

The dishwasher beside me entered a rinse cycle. The rhythmic beating of the water against the dishes filled the room. Mrs. Collins tapped one finger against the black granite countertop. My gaze trailed to her face, expecting to see agitation for dragging her into this mess. Instead, the pain in her puppy dog eyes ripped open the dam of emotions I struggled to suppress.

Wetness invaded my eyes and I closed them, shaking my head repeatedly to stop any of it from falling. I did not want to hurt. I did not want to care, but dammit, this was killing me.

“Talk to me, Noah,” she said in the most serious tone I’d ever heard from her.

I glanced around the kitchen and back to her. “I can’t give them this.”

“No,” she replied softly. “You can’t.”

“And I can’t afford basketball camps and the private school they love so much and the gifts for all the birthday parties they’re invited to.” My throat became thick.