Crash Into You

Chapter 31

Isaiah

THE STREETLIGHT SHINES THROUGH THE slats of the blinds, creating a light ladder on the wooden floor. I fell into bed an hour ago, and at one in the morning I still can’t sleep.

Noah’s mattress creaks as he rolls and throws his arms out as if he’s searching for something. More like someone. When he comes up empty, his eyes crack open into slits. Echo’s staying at the dorms tonight, and he’s here because he’s pulling an early shift this morning. Noah messes his hands through his hair then lets out a disgruntled sigh as he resettles.

I swing my legs off the bed and my bare feet hit the cold subfloor. I rub at my bare chest, hoping to wake the rest of me up. My body’s tired, but my mind won’t shut off. I want to chase after the girl, but I don’t know how. Short of going to her house and scaling the walls like a punked-out Romeo, I’ve got no idea how to win Rachel. Besides, that Romeo shit is not my style.

Maybe a drive will clear my head.

“What’s eating you?” Noah asks with his eyes closed.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Except for the fact he said something, Noah appears asleep. He’s been working his ass off between school, studying, seeing his brothers and Echo, then squeezing in as many hours as he can flipping burgers to keep us afloat. The most I see him is when he sleeps at night. The kid is almost a walking corpse.

“You’re worried about the money for rent, aren’t you?” Noah mutters.

Fuck me. I slide both hands over my face then cup my mouth and my nose. On top of owing Eric, I owe Noah money for rent. I can’t believe I forgot. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I don’t want to fail you.”

“You won’t. You aren’t.” My shoulders roll forward like I’ve got a damn aircraft carrier on my back. I’ve thought time and time again about telling Noah the truth, but I haven’t. Only because there never seems to be a good time, but now I can’t tell him. I can’t let him shoulder this burden. Not when he already has too much riding on him. “It’ll work out.”

Noah opens his eyes and examines me. “Yeah, it will, so don’t do anything fucked-up over it.”

Pressure builds in my neck because I already know what he’s referring to. “Like what?”

“Like street racing. Seeing Beth in handcuffs gave me my fill of police stations for a lifetime. I don’t need you to be joining the ranks.”

My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans on the floor. I close my eyes. It’s gotta be Beth. She’s the only one who’d text this late.

Noah throws his arm back over his face. “Answer her, Isaiah. Beth’s going nuts over your silence.”

“Not interested in making her feel better.”

“Here’s some crazy shit—maybe I’m more interested in you feeling better. If you could find a way to let her go maybe I’d see you happy again. Like you were the night you brought Rachel home.”

Anger twists in my body. Noah’s talking about stuff he should stay away from. “Fuck you.”

Noah raises his hand and flashes me the finger.

I grab my shirt and start to lift off the bed, but when my eyes drift to my jeans my ass hits the mattress again. To hell with this. To hell with her. Beth fell in love with Ryan. For weeks she acted like she couldn’t stand him, but knowing her like I do...like I did...Beth didn’t like people who made her feel.

And damn me to hell, she felt something for him.

Without thinking too much about it, I snatch the phone out of my jeans. If Beth wants to talk, we’ll talk. I’ll tell her everything I think about her and Ryan and her idea that we can be friends.

The phone springs to life and my heart stalls out. It wasn’t Beth.

It’s weird how the anger and tension recedes. What rattles me the most is the flood of anticipation and nerves. Like swaying right on the edge of being high or drunk. The message from Rachel is simple, but the olive branch extended is weighted: Hi

I stare at it like it’s the answer to life after death. Shit, in my case it probably is: Hey

Can’t sleep?

No. You?

I can feel my pulse at every pressure point in my body. Seconds pass, and there’s a longer pause as I wait for her next message. Come on, angel. Don’t leave me hanging like you did on Saturday night.

At the dragway you said you liked me.

I lower my head. She’s going to make me put it in writing. I’ve never felt so much like a sideshow monkey as I do now: Yeah, I like you. A lot.

I pop my neck to the side. How fucking long does it take to write a response?

I like you too and I’m also scared.

I inhale air and release it like a man who’s been pulled from the bottom of a lake. She likes me. I want to see you tomorrow morning.

I have school.

I’ll meet you there.

You have school. Rachel texts back immediately. And your school starts before mine.

I chuckle. How have I ended up pursuing a girl as naive as her? It’s called skipping. What time do you get to school?

Isaiah!

I chuckle again as I imagine those beautiful violet eyes widening and her cheeks turning red at the thought of doing something wrong. I’m skipping. You’re not.

Noah turns over in bed to face me. “Did you just laugh, bro?”

“If I swing by the Malt and Burger tomorrow can you score me breakfast?”

He assesses me and the cell. “If it’ll get you to shut up and go to bed.”

A smile forms on my lips. “Go to hell.”

“Fuck you.”

“Original, man. Think I said that earlier.”

“Tell Rachel I said hi.” My best friend knows me.

My phone vibrates again. I can be there by 8.

I roll onto my back and hold the phone up as I text back: See you then.