Chasing Impossible

Page 39

The phone barely has a chance to ring all the way through once and there’s an answer. “Yeah?”
“It’s me,” I say.
“Jesus, Abby.” It’s weird to hear relief in Linus’s tone. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
I glance around and the deep blue sky with big white fluffy clouds appear to be mocking me with their happiness. “I have no idea where I’m at and other than some possible rope burns on my wrists, I’m fine.”
“Fucking asshole,” Linus growls. “I’m going to eat Eric’s heart for dinner tonight.”
“Tommy okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. He told us what happened and he’s real shook up. Are you free? Can you walk to some place that’s familiar? If not, describe to me where you’re at.”
Linus doesn’t know that Eric let me go and if Eric was the one who tried to put a bullet in me weeks ago, why would he play such an elaborate game? The immediate desire to return to Louisville stalls. “Eric told me Tommy shot me.”
Silence. A long silence. Long enough that my heart beats a bit faster with each passing second.
“Does he have proof?” Linus sounds so cold...too deadly.
“Other than words? No, but we both know that Logan could confirm if it’s true.”
“Let’s get you back first, and then we’ll tackle this. Describe to me where you’re at.”
“Well—” A stinging sensation from my scalp as the phone is jerked from my hand and a few strands of my hair go along with it. “Ow!”
“Abby!” roars Linus. “Talk to me, Abby!”
Isaiah is all brooding over me with his six feet in height and tattoos meant to scare stupid people and he pushes the red button that ends the call.
“Asshole.” I hold out my open palm for my phone.
Isaiah pockets my cell, but instead tosses me a bag of mini powdered donuts. “I’m in agreement with Logan. You need some space from Louisville. At least a few days’ worth.”
I open the bag of donuts with so much force that the paper tears and I drop to the ground. I shove one mini donut into my mouth and gnaw on the sugar in a really ticked-off way. Stupid Isaiah and Logan always stupidly getting involved.
My cell rings and Isaiah pulls it out just long enough to power it off.
“Linus is worried,” I state.
“That would require Linus to have a soul.”
He’s got me there. I eat another donut, but choose to take a smaller bite this time. Maybe I do need some time to think my options through and it won’t go well with Linus and Ricky up my ass and Tommy possibly trying to stick a knife in my jugular.
Isaiah eases down beside me and now we’re both sitting on the grass, leaning against his parked Mustang. “West brought you some clothes and Rachel said she threw in some other things you might need.”
Rachel. Good God, hearing her name hurts. Seems like weeks ago when I texted with her, but it was only last night. Isaiah should just tie me to the back of his car and drive me down that long and winding gravel road that leads to God knows where. “How is she?”
“Mad at you. Mad at me for not bringing her here to see you.” He raises his knees and rests his arms on them. “If you stop working for Ricky you wouldn’t have to be worrying about bringing problems to Rachel. I know you want to be her friend.”
I do. More than Isaiah could comprehend. Being around Rachel always made me feel normal. “When you started hanging out at Rachel and West’s were you ever amazed at how much food they had? I mean, it was everywhere. Overflowing out of the fridge, out of the pantry, on the tabletops. I swear they even used it for decoration.”
“Still not used to it.”
“I know you’re not all BFFs with her parents, but I liked them. Especially Rachel’s mom. She plays along well that I’m normal even though it’s obvious I’m not private-school material.” The lie I told Rachel’s parents when we first met.
“You make Rachel happy,” he says. “That’s enough for them.”
“Think we’ll ever fit in?” I ask. “If you could wash away the tattoos and I could wash away the muck of being a dealer, do you think we could ever fit in or do you think being a part of the bottom-feeders creates a stench that we can never shake?”
Isaiah raises one eyebrow as he takes in the world beyond us. It’s acres upon acres of land. Near the small cabin, there are trees, but mostly it’s miles of land. Along that land are rows and rows of cut grass. Never thought much of how hay is made. Never thought much about hay at all.
Logan was smart bringing me here. I have no idea where I am, how long it would take to find an interstate, and with his threat, no guy here will drive me back to civilization. I’m stuck, in more ways than one.
“I used to think like you,” Isaiah says. “Used to wonder if I’d be anything more than a street rat.”
“And?”
He shrugs. “What’s wrong with being different?”
I blink because I was expecting the just-say-no-to-selling-pot lecture. “Are you changing your mind on me being a seller?”
“Nope, but if you quit selling thinking you’re going to fit in, you’ll just end up selling again. I don’t like some aspects of where I came from, but having some distance from it, I realize there are things that I love.”
“Like Noah?”
“And Beth.”
I roll my eyes. Beth and I were never friends. I never cared how Isaiah used to be twisted up by her. Never cared that she kept him dangling for a period of time during their life. But Beth and I don’t have to be friends. Some people were never meant to be close.
“And you.”
I smack my knee hard into his. “Stop with the sentimental. I’m getting the vapors and will end up passing out.” I fake fanning myself.
Isaiah chuckles then it fades. “I’m serious. You’re the first person to see me as me. That—was powerful.”
I sigh because...well...Isaiah was the first person to see me too, beyond my dad and Grams, and I hate that he’s right on the powerful.
“I know you’re mad,” Isaiah says. “But I’m glad Logan told us about your grandmother.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “He’s worse than a narc.”
“He’s helping you. If I had known that’s why you were selling...” Isaiah’s fists curl. “I should have tried harder to figure you out.”
The donut bag crackles as I shift and I make-believe what life would have been like if I had told Isaiah, but then my imagination fails. Three years ago, he was on the verge of meeting Noah, if he hadn’t already. He had a job at Mac’s auto shop thanks to me. If Mac couldn’t help me, there’s no way his employee could have.
Yeah, Isaiah would have helped me if I had asked, but he’d also be enslaved to Ricky to make that money. I’m okay with only one of us being damned.
“Why keep your grandmother a secret?” Isaiah asks. “Why did you tell everyone she died?”
“Daddy said he was scared she would be used against him. He knew she wouldn’t be able to protect herself.”
Dad told me once that Grams could barely look him in the eye before he brought me home. Somehow, my presence bridged the gap between them even though she disapproved that Daddy talked to me about his business. In the end, it was the only thing he knew to talk about. It was his job, his hobby, his life. But he never pushed me to sell, not until he knew prison was unavoidable.
“He always kept where we lived a secret and when he figured out he couldn’t escape prison, he thought it would be easier for me and him if people thought she had passed.”
“Like how you’re fighting tooth and nail to keep Logan’s name out of this so he can’t be used against you.”
“Give the boy a prize.” I only wish Logan could understand this.
“Was she as bad then as she is now?” Isaiah asks. “Your grandmother?”
All the honesty pouring out of me over the past few hours almost feels like hives on my skin. “No. She was starting to show a few signs. I saw then. Dad didn’t. He had other things to worry about so I kept it to myself. When he went away though, her mental health declined quickly.”
Isaiah soaks it all in, just like the two of us are soaking in the rays from the sun. Don’t really remember the two of us ever doing this—sitting in the sun. Sunbathing sounds like an indulgence and we always seemed to skulk in shadows.
“Your father set you up to carry a heavy burden,” Isaiah finally says.
“Life sucks.”
“Yeah, but why don’t you let us carry some of it for a while?”
I pop my mouth open to tell Isaiah to back off when we notice Logan walking from wherever he had disappeared. He wears his baseball hat, the bill tugged low, and his pack is on his back. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he just looks so...alone.
My heart twists. I understand alone. “None of his friends knew?”
“No, and they’re really fucking pissed.”
“Are you?” I glance over at Isaiah to read his expression.
His shoulders move up then down before he tears at a weed in the ground. “I get it, but don’t. I consider him a friend.”