Crash into You
Page 43

It’s a simple question, but a complex answer. “So I’ll always remember.”
Rachel traces the twists and turns of the Brothers of Arrow Knot, granting me silence. It’s my decision whether or not to continue the conversation. My angel does this—she opens the door and allows me the freedom to decide whether or not I want to step through. It’s strange, my entire life I’ve had doors closed on me and now that one’s open, I’m not sure how to enter.
I suck in air, guessing one way is headfirst. “That one’s for Noah.”
Rachel’s eyes flash to mine, and I take comfort in the happiness I created there.
“It’s a Celtic knot—it means warriors bonded as brothers through battle.”
The right side of her mouth tips. “Does that mean you and Noah have been on the same side of several fistfights?”
I chuckle, remembering a few we probably shouldn’t have taken on. “Yeah. But it’s more than that. Noah accepts people as they are. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t judge. He’s family.”
Though lately he’s been inching away by following his dreams. Someday, he’ll graduate from college, get a real job and marry Echo. Then they’ll be a family without me.
Rachel moves to kneel in front of me. Everything about her is softness and curves. Too innocent. Too beautiful. She admires her favorite tattoo—the tiger.
I sweep the bangs from her eyes. “I used to be weak when I was younger. The smallest kid in the class and the group home. I kept waiting for someone to save me.” Like how that old tiger must have waited for someone to release him from his cage. “One day I decided to save myself, and I stopped being weak.”
She touches the tiger. “So you got the tattoo.”
I shrug. Such honesty makes me uncomfortable. “Earrings first. Then I started hanging out with the type of people most avoided. Got in fights just to prove I’d never run. Then, when I scraped up enough money, I got the tattoo.”
Rachel withdraws her hand and prepares for the other question Abby warned would be coming. “Do you do drugs?”
“I have.” I won’t lie. Not to her. “I do drink. But I don’t like the feeling of being high or being drunk. Losing control isn’t my style. I make people believe I do drugs. It’s better if people are scared of me.”
“Why?”
I jerk my chin toward the window. “Life is different out there. I’ve survived because of what I make people think. No one messes with me, and that same reputation has kept you safe because no one would mess with anything that’s mine.”
She wipes at her forehead, but her bangs were already swept to the side. “Eric messed with me.”
“Because he knows we’re close to paying him off. He wanted to push my buttons and I fell for it. He wants us to fail. Eric wants more than money. He wants power, and it would be a strong message to a lot of people if he held power over me.”
Rachel picks at the lint on the blanket with her eyes cast down. My iron wall, the one she expertly maneuvered around, becomes cold underneath my skin. I’ve bared my soul and she has to be second-guessing being with me.
“This is who I am, Rachel. Accept it or not. The tattoos won’t wash off. The earrings will never change. I am who I am and nothing more. I’m loyal to a chosen few, I always keep my word and I’ll protect you with my life.
“I scare the hell out of most people, but you will never have anything to fear from me. Choose. Love me or don’t. But tell me now.” Because I can’t leave my heart open for her to rip out later. If I belong to her, then I do, and nothing will stand in our way.
She sits up on her knees and inches closer to me. Giving me my answer, she lets her warm, smooth fingers caress my cheek. “What’s the dragon for?”
I tunnel my hand through her hair, enjoying the silky rain, and I take a deep breath. She’s chosen me. Rachel’s decided to love me beyond the sharp edges. I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve her. “The dragon’s for the only good foster father I had. He’s the one who taught me everything about cars. He used to call me a dragon.”
Her forehead furrows. “Why?”
I smirk and the memory lightens my mood. “Because he said I was either breathing fire and destroying everything or I took the fire inside of me and created life.”
“Created life?”
“Fire can destroy, but it can also create—provide warmth, protection.” I still remember him explaining when I asked the same question. “He told me until I chose my path, I would always be capable of life and destruction.”
“Did you choose?” She weaves her arms around my neck.
My hands melt into the indentation of her waist as I wonder how far we should go tonight. Rachel takes my bottom lip between hers, and the kindling bursts into flames.
“I don’t think it’s up to me,” I answer. “My path chooses me.”
“You’ve chosen, Isaiah.” She kisses the side of my neck. “You’re life.”
“I’m still destruction.”
“Not to me,” she whispers.
“How far?” I ask while I still have a voice. Cupping her face, I reclaim her lips and gently guide her body next to mine on the bed. Rachel’s tank rides up and my fingers explore the satin skin of her belly. There are so many places I long to go, so many places I crave to take her.
“I want to go further,” she whispers. When I skim the waistband of her pants, her breathing hitches.
Further. Damn, my entire body responds. I don’t miss the way her hand fidgets with the hem of her shirt. Scared I’ll spook her, I don’t push her too far, but I’m all for reading body language. I place my hand over hers and her smile appears.
“You sure?” I ask.
She nods and her hand falls away. I lower my head as I slowly edge the material of her tank off her stomach. Jesus, her stomach is gorgeous. Flat and smooth. As my lips press the spot above her belly button I confirm how undeniably sweet Rachel is.
I kiss each and every centimeter of her exposed skin as I move up her tank. I linger over the material of her bra and Rachel fists the sheet with both hands. She’s so damn hot I’m about to forget slow and go for fast.
But I ignore those urges and guide the material up and over her head. I don’t know what the hell I did to have such a beautiful creature in my bed, but she’s here and I’m going to spend tonight worshipping this gift in front of me.
I roll my body over Rachel’s, and her legs tangle with mine. Elvis’s deep voice drifts from the apartment below. He sings about wise men and fools who rush in. I know as I hold Rachel in my arms that I, too, had no choice in falling in love.
We become lost in kisses, warm bare skin and touches. I move, and this time Rachel moves along with me. There’s a building, a sweet pressure. It’s as if we’re not even two separate people anymore, but one.
Hands are everywhere. Kisses on the lips, the neck and shoulders. I move faster and Rachel keeps the pace as her thighs press against my hips, bringing me closer.
Right as my world is about to be pushed over the edge, Rachel grasps on to my body and calls out my name. I wrap my arms around her, holding on as if I’m saving myself from dying. My body jerks, and behind my closed lids there are bright colors. I inhale, and it’s the scent of jasmine and when I open my eyes, I see an angel.
“I love you,” Rachel whispers, and her eyelids flutter with the delicious exhaustion.
I slip to the side and gather her into my arms. I want Rachel here every night for the rest of my life. It’s what feels right, what feels natural. “I love you.”
“I’m tired,” she yawns.
“Sleep, angel.” I rub my hand up her spine and revel in the feel of her body pressed tight to me. “Sleep.”
Chapter 56
Rachel
MY EYES POP OPEN AND a nervous adrenaline beats through my system. A nightmare. Just a nightmare. One of my mom and my father and of speeches...
I’m in the same position as when I fell asleep: one leg draped over Isaiah’s and my head resting against his bare chest. His heart has the same steady rhythm that I’ve come to depend upon. Slants of light filter into the room from the streetlamp. Time lost all meaning hours ago. With one hand wrapped around me, keeping me tucked close to his body, Isaiah dozes.
Tonight, Isaiah took me places I’ve never been, and the memory almost drives away all the fear from the nightmare....
The nightmare. Isaiah was in it, too. His words became a mantra: I’ve survived because of what I make people believe.
I swallow and cringe. My throat is raw from vomiting with the panic attacks. I’m exhausted, unable to sleep for long periods of time, and my body is wearing out further every day.
My mother wants me to give a twenty-minute speech at a dinner party for hundreds of guests. I’m not sure how much more my body can take, but I risk too much if I tell my parents the truth. If I can hold on until we pay off the debt, then I can introduce Isaiah to my family, and if I give this speech, then my mother will be proud.
Proud of me like she was always proud of Colleen.
While Isaiah creates an outside that pushes everyone away, I’ve created an outside in order to draw in my family. No, I’ve done it to win my mother’s love.
My body is breaking down because of what I make people believe.
I snuggle closer to Isaiah, and he locks his other arm around me. I ignore the voices in my head and focus on the one person who loves what no one else can: the real me.
* * *
My mind separates from itself as I scan my bedroom. I said goodbye to Isaiah an hour ago, and now my world is in tattered pieces. I did this damage in my search. My purple comforter is ripped off the bed. The pillows strewn across the floor. Every possible container opened and the contents poured out. Last night’s meager winnings crunch in my hand as I close my fist.
My body trembles as I circle the room again. The money...it’s gone.
Maybe I missed it. Maybe I got so panicked that it was right in front of me and I didn’t see it. I reach for my jewelry box again, and this time toss the contents as I come across them. As I dig to the bottom, I do see something new: a note. Before I can read the entire thing, I scramble across the floor to my bathroom and discover that my panic has entered a new stage: vomiting blood.
* * *
The door to West’s room bounces against his wall as I throw it open. Ethan and West drop their video game controllers and jump to their feet when they see what I can only assume is pure anger radiating from my face. My body shakes and I sway slightly to the side. My strength is gone. Damn them for doing this to me.
Ethan grabs my arm. “Jesus Christ, Rach. You’re dead on your feet.”
I smack him off, choosing to be supported by the wall instead. “You took my money.”
Ethan and West share a knowing glance, and for some reason they both appear relieved as their shoulders lose their tension. West readjusts the baseball cap on his head. “Yeah. That. Did you bother reading the note? We said we’d pay you back.”
Over months. It said they would pay me back over months. “That was my money!”