Walk The Edge (Thunder Road #2)(98)

Addison’s head ticks back. “No, but what do you mean Kyle and a picture? Is Breanna in trouble? Is—”

No time. The seconds are counting down in rapid succession. The explosion’s imminent and Kyle will be part of the damage. I’m through the crowd, scanning faces, and there’s footsteps behind me, and unlike on Friday, they aren’t trying to stop me, but they’re moving with me as if we’re a synchronized machine.

The son of a bitch is by his car, chatting with a freshman girl who believes he’s God.

“Get her away,” I growl, and Chevy maneuvers past me, catching the arm of the freshman and navigating her away with a smile and a daisy popping out of thin air. She’s confused and amused, and she’s officially out of the impact zone.

Like the moron he is, Kyle’s dumbfounded as he regards Chevy’s show and he doesn’t see my fist until it makes contact with his face. A smack of flesh against flesh and Kyle falls sideways into the hood of his car.

Before he can recover, I grab him by the lapels of his football jacket and drag him to his feet. “You’re a f*cking dead man.”

His eyes widen with fear, but his lips twitch like he’s attempting to laugh. “Only sent the picture to her parents, but if she doesn’t write that paper, it’s going live.” He puts his hands over my wrists. “I’m in control of this game now. We found the back door you placed on our phones and we won’t be falling for your shit anymore. Because you care for her, you won’t do a thing to me. If you do, I’ll make sure everyone knows that she’s your whore.”

I go cold on the inside and the world tilts. He’s dead. The guy in front of me is inhaling air, but he’s as good as dead.

My fingers curl tighter, but there’re hands on my shoulders. The power of horses pulling me away and Chevy’s in my face. “Not now. We’ll take care of this, but not now.”

Kyle is ripped from my grasp and the world is in fast-forward as the pieces on the board shift to his side. I promised Breanna I could save her from this. I promised I would protect her. Like everything else in life, it’s completely f*cked-up.

The * works his jaw. “I’m going to the office to get your ass kicked out over this. Have fun working on your GED, *.”

My gut cramps and I circle to find Oz and Chevy acting as if they’re ready to catch me when I fall.

“What’s going down, brother?” Oz asks.

The world grows hazy on the edges, but my bike becomes clearer as I walk toward it. I mount it and Oz is in front of me with his arms stretched out wide. “What’s going on?”

“Find me Pigpen,” I say. “He’s the only one that can help me.”

Oz yanks out his phone and Chevy pats Oz’s arm as the two of them head for their bikes. My motorcycle grumbles beneath me and I tear out of the parking lot as if I’m being chased by the flames of hell.





Breanna

MOM WENT TO WORK and so did Dad. Elsie, Zac, Paul and Joshua are off to school. Clara and Liam have been tasked with babysitting me, but like they did when I was younger, they suck at it and I’m sitting on the front porch.

I used to love autumn. The sound of the wind chimes tingling as the northern wind gently pushes through to the south. The way the leaves float to the ground and the constant chirping of crickets.

In essence, fall is the signal of everything dying, but I love how the world seems more vivid then. But today, I don’t enjoy the subtle warmth of the air or the radiance of the leaves. I feel only empty and alone.

I overheard Mom and Dad this morning and Dad mumbled something about how he never thought I’d be a Terror whore. I lower my head as my heart hurts. He believes I’m a whore.

The front door opens and Clara yells, “She’s out here sulking.” Then to me, savoring her power trip, “We didn’t give you permission to leave the house.”

They didn’t. “Why do you hate me?”

I expect myriad answers and excuses, but it’s the silence that surprises me enough to glance over my shoulder.

“I don’t hate you,” she says quietly.

“Yes, you do.”

Clara nibbles on her top lip, then closes the front door as she struts out. “I hate how everything comes easy for you, so sue me for enjoying something being hard for you for once.”

I laugh and then laugh harder when I realize how crazy I sound. “You’re mistaken on the easy.”

She snorts and leans on the porch railing. “You have no idea what hard is. Do you know what it has been like to be your older sister? Everyone’s like Look how smart Breanna is, Why can’t you be more like her? and then there’s my favorite pitied comment of Poor Clara, everything will always be a struggle for the poor dear because she’s stupid.”

I flinch. “You’re not stupid. You’re as smart as I am. In fact, you’re smarter—”

“Save it,” she spits. “Mom and Dad have been giving me the pep talk for years. You know what the world looks like to me? Chaos. My mind tries to merge letters together, it starts to do math problems from two years ago. I can’t focus. Not like you. I’ll never be you.”

For years, this is the same conversation we’ve had. That somehow I’m responsible for her misery and I’m sick and tired of the guilt. “I’d switch brains with you if I could.”