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.

Chapter 38

Rachel

THE ENGINE SWITCHES FROM A growl to a purr as I shift down and ease into the bay of Isaiah’s garage. My heart does that nauseating skip, squeeze, beat once combination the moment I spot Isaiah. His eyes go right to mine, and the slight slant of his mouth gives me flutters.

Unable to hold his gaze, I stare at the console as I place her in Park. Oh, God, he is happy to see me. At least I think he is. My insides explode at the sight of him striding over. Last night, I fell asleep in his arms and woke up this morning to find my cell on the pillow beside me with the message Tomorrow typed into an open window.

I thought school was never going to end.

Isaiah opens my car door and his warm silver eyes smile at me. “Hey.”

I sweep my bangs from my eyes. “Hi.”

He offers his hand and I accept. His fingers wrap around mine and heat surges up my arm, flushes my neck and settles into a blush on my face. He tugs gently and I slip out. I’m not sure if my body vibrates from the rumbling of the garage door closing or from the blood pounding in my veins.

Our fingers lace together, and his other hand smoothly cups my hip. I suck in a breath, surprised that someone touches me so easily and with such care.

“You look nice,” he says.

“I’m in my school uniform.” White button-down blouse, maroon-and-black plaid skirt, and a pair of white Keds. Nothing spectacular.

“I know.” The seductive slide in his voice causes the back of my neck to tickle.

“Hi!”

We snap our heads to the right, and if it weren’t for Isaiah’s hold, I would have stumbled back. Practically on top of us is a girl with long brown hair, a black hoodie and the tightest jeans I have ever seen. I automatically hate her because those jeans make her look good.

Isaiah sighs loudly. “Rachel, this is my friend, Abby. Abby this is my girlfriend, Rachel.”

I have to restrain from dancing. He called me his girlfriend. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“What’s your favorite color?” asks Abby.

“Green?” That is a beyond odd question—I mean it’s normal, yet not.

“Tacos or spaghetti?”

“Tacos.”

“Disney World or Disneyland?”

“Neither.”

“Rolling Stones or Beatles?”

“Beatles.”

She squishes her lips to the left. “Oh, so close, but I can let the last one go.” Abby regards Isaiah with the same familiarity I have with my brothers. “We should keep her, but we may have to set up a visitation schedule. You know, control issues and all.”

My eyebrows rise. “Keep me?” Abby’s words crash in my mind. “Control issues?”

She pokes a finger at her chest. “My issues. Not his. You and I are going to be friends, and I don’t do friendships. Well, I obviously do,” she adds as her finger lazily points to Isaiah. “But he doesn’t count. See, we met inside of a Dumpster when we were ten.”

My eyes widen to the point I start to wonder if I’ll ever blink again.

“Abby,” says Isaiah, interrupting her before she can continue. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay.” The Rolling Stones’ “Miss You” plays from her phone. “Shit,” she says. “Hold on a sec.” She answers and heads outside.

“Wow.” It’s the only response I can think of.

“That’s one way to describe her. Look, if you don’t want to deal with her...”

“No,” I interrupt. “She’s your friend...”

And he interrupts me. “But if she makes you uncomfortable...”

My turn. “I like her.” From the moment she said that we’d be friends, I liked her.

I walk away from Isaiah and stand near the open hood of his car. Holy hell, he’s been busy. “You installed a cold air intake.” That will help increase the horsepower in his car.

Isaiah runs a hand over his freshly buzzed dark brown hair. He kept the shadowed stubble on his jaw. If it’s possible, the combination makes him so much sexier and more dangerous.