Crash Into You

Chapter 37

Isaiah

THE GUARD LEANS OUT OF his little boxed-in brick house at the entrance to Rachel’s neighborhood and assesses me like I’m a serial killer broken out of death row. “Who did you say you want to see?”

“Rachel Young.”

His hand falls to his hip as if he’s packing, but both the rent-a-cop and I know that the only thing he’s carrying is thirty additional pounds of beer and nachos in his stomach. “I think you have the wrong neighborhood, son.”

Not in the mood for his games, I push redial on my cell and Rachel immediately answers, “Are you here?”

“At the gate. Do you mind informing your militia that I’m not here to rape and pillage?”

She sighs. “Put Rick on.”

With his mouth set into a pissed-off line he takes my cell and turns his back to me. His whispered words have an edge to them and after a few seconds he hands me the phone back. The gate lifts in front of me, but my car remains idling next to him.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Don’t tell her parents.”

“Or what?” he asks.

“Or what is right.” I place my foot on the clutch and shift into gear. It’s not a threat I’ll carry out, but it’s an empty one worth issuing to keep Rachel safe and happy.

Following the directions she texted, I wind my way past mansions the size of miniature castles with far more land between them than needed for a single family.

At the end of its very own road, Rachel’s house sits entirely illuminated against the night sky. It has white columns and white marble steps and what the fuck is she doing with me?

I drive around the front loop and kill the engine. Therapists, social workers, teachers...they’ve spent years looking down their noses at me, but they were hard-pressed to make me feel smaller than shit. Being here in front of Rachel’s, that’s accomplished what very few have been able to do.

I force myself out of the car, up the steps, and before I can ring the bell, the door swings open and Rachel greets me with a smile. “Hi.”

She’s in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and her hair’s pulled up on top of her head with loose pieces falling around her face. Not an ounce of makeup covers her face and she’s barefoot. Each toe painted a mild form of red. Except for the dark circles under her eyes, I’ve never seen something so gorgeous in my life. “Hey.”

Rachel sweeps her hand for me to enter, and I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans when I step in. People have a fancy-ass name for this type of area of the house and because I’m not fancy-ass, I don’t know it. It’s a hallway that’s a room but is bigger than some of the foster homes I’ve lived in.

“I don’t think anyone will be home before eleven, but if you don’t mind, I think I’d like you to only stay an hour just in case.”

“Going gangster with boundaries. I like it.” The tease is there in my voice, but I can’t stop the sweep of the place. Huge-ass winding stairs. A skylight above me. Several double-doored rooms off to the sides and probably a whole other wing down that hallway straight in front of us.

Rachel tries to smooth out her hair, but the pieces only fall back to her shoulders. “Sorry about this. I know I should have tried to change, but...”

That’s when I notice how pale she is, how sick she looks, and a warning sensation crawls along my spine. Something’s wrong. “You’re beautiful.”

Rachel lowers her head, but I can tell she liked the compliment. “We can watch a movie or listen to music or—” She closes her eyes and goes from pale to drained of blood. Her forehead scrunches like she’s in pain, and I reach out to snatch her as she leans to the left.

“That’s no fucking headache,” I growl.

She sucks in air through her nose. “Migraine. I get them occasionally, but I’ll be okay.”

Fuck this. I bend my knees and have Rachel up in my arms before she can protest. “Where’s your bedroom?”

Her mouth falls completely open.

“You need sleep. I can come with you or I can put you down and I’ll leave. Your choice.”

“Isaiah,” she protests.

“Rachel.” I use the same tone back.

“Fine. Upstairs on the left.” Giving in, she weaves her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder. I can’t help but note that she fits perfectly.

Taking two steps at a time, I climb the stairs, cut to the left and pause when I come to two open doors. One room is painted pink. The other purple. Both look very girly and very perfect. The pink room looks younger, but neither fit my image of Rachel. “Which one?”

She points to the purple room. “That’s mine.”

I do a double take at the pink room before entering Rachel’s and gently place her on the mattress of the four-poster bed. The sheets and blanket are twisted in ways that suggest a restless sleep. Five pillows lie on the floor and three remain on the bed. Rachel eases over and pats the empty space beside her. “Do you mind?”

The question is, does she mind? I look over my shoulder, half expecting her father or the cops to show and when I spot nothing, I sit on the bed beside her, leaving my booted feet hanging off. If I keep my shoes on, I’ll remember not to go too far with a girl I’ve only kissed twice and who’s in pain with a migraine.

Rachel messes with her fingernail and steals glances at me every few seconds. Girls are normally forward with me. The type that mess with me know what they want, what I’ll give, and they’re prepared to act so they can get it. This change of pace makes me almost as nervous as her.

I stretch my arm so that it goes around her back, but leave my hand extended so that she knows if she wants me to hold her, she’s going to have to move in my direction. Rachel immediately slides over, places her head on my chest and wraps herself around me. I tuck her closer and nuzzle the top of her head.

Everything inside of me relaxes, and I didn’t even know I was tense. Remembering she has a headache, my hand drifts up and I begin to rub her temple. I don’t like the idea of her being in pain.

“I didn’t know you had a younger sister,” I say softly.

“I don’t. That’s Colleen’s room. She died before I was born.”

My fingers freeze. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know it’s going to sound like an awful thing, but it doesn’t bother me. I mean, it does, because my parents and my oldest brothers are seriously torn up about it, but I didn’t know her. Mom wants me to miss her, but I can’t. Especially not when Mom’s shoving her in my face every five minutes.”

There’s an edge in Rachel’s tone I’ve never heard before. “What happened with your mom today?”

Rachel picks lint off my T-shirt and the small pinches of her nails nip my stomach. I close my eyes and slightly shift to keep from thinking about the fact that she’s touching my stomach, even though it’s through a thin piece of material.

After she’s found every fuzz ball of avoidance, Rachel finally answers, “My sister died of cancer so my mom raises money for the Leukemia Foundation.”

“Admirable.” Though I feel an impending derailment to the good deed. I’ve seen that shit plenty of times with rich people. They sweep in, do their one good deed for the year to cleanse their soul of all the fucked-up things they do the other three hundred and sixty-four days. And most of the time, they jack up that one day, as well. “But you still haven’t told me what happened with your mom today.”

Rachel releases a strangled “Humph.”

I begin to massage her head again, except this time I give in to temptation and run my hand through her hair between rubs. Rachel’s shoulders relax and she melts further against me. The sweet scent of jasmine reaches my nose, and I only want to lie like this forever.

“Waiting, Rachel.”

“My mom has me make speeches on Colleen’s behalf.”

Rachel gets uncomfortable if I stare at her longer than ten seconds. I can’t imagine her in front of a crowd. “Do you want to?”

Her head rocks a no against my chest.

“They why do you?”

“Because I want to make her happy.”

Not having had a mom to want to make happy since I was six, I’m at a loss over what to say so instead I run my hand up and down her spine. I may not understand, but I care.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

A weighted silence builds between us, and I begin to count the unspoken beats. One. Two. Three. Four.

“Sometimes I hate Colleen,” she whispers like she’s in a confessional. “Does that make me an awful person?”

I think of seeing my mom today and of the anger still festering deep inside. If someone had told me she died four years ago when she was in prison, would I have honestly missed her? If someone told me the dad I never knew croaked, I could guarantee there wouldn’t be any tears. If Rachel’s an awful person then I must be related to Satan. “No, it doesn’t.”

Rachel pulls her head off my chest, and her violet eyes have a glaze that shows the extent of her headache. “Are you just saying that?”

I brush my fingers under the dark circles of her eyes, wishing my touch could make her better. “I saw my mom today.”

She blinks and an ache fills my chest. When I opened my mouth, that wasn’t what I thought I would say.

“Do you see her often?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen her since I was six.”

“Oh, Isaiah.” Rachel grips the fingers of my right hand and rests our joined hands on my stomach. “Are you okay?”

I start to say yes, but then think about Rachel telling me about her mom and Colleen. “No.”

She squeezes my hand and I squeeze back, grateful that she doesn’t say a thing. There are no words for what happened today. For neither me nor Rachel. Being born into the world is the greatest crapshoot there is. Some are born lucky, others aren’t. For the first time, I see that this rule transcends money.

“I wish I could make you feel better.” Rachel places her chin back on my chest and flutters her eyelids like it’s a struggle to keep them open. She’s in pain, and she wants to take on mine.

Not sure how to handle her statement, I rub her temple again while gently guiding her head so that she rests her cheek against me once more. “This makes me better.”

Rachel shifts her mouth to the side, clearly not buying it.

“How are you?” I ask to deflect.

“Tired,” she mumbles.

So am I, but when I’m with her, the weight of my problems doesn’t feel as draining. “Go to sleep. I promise I’ll be gone before anyone knows I was here. Remember, be at the garage tomorrow after school.”

“After school,” she repeats.

Rachel snuggles close, and I tighten my hold. I have a feeling tonight I’ll roll over in bed searching for Rachel, because this moment right here is the closest I’ve come to having peace in a long time.