Take Me On

  The refrigerator kicks on, a loud hum signifying something is on the verge of breaking.

  “Your mom talked to her great-aunt in California. She’s offered to let us live with her.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “She lives in a retirement community. As in no one over sixty-five.”

  “She’s gotten permission to let us stay.”

  I assess the kitchen. This house is the dirty dark secret of hell on earth, but the thought of leaving Kentucky cuts my soul. Leaving the state means we’ve given up hope and it wasn’t until this very moment that I realize I’ve held on to a shred. No matter how battered and bruised the shred is, it’s still faintly alive, praying that Dad will land a job and take us home. “Are we leaving?”

  “We’re going to try to hold on until you and Kaden graduate. We’ll go if things haven’t improved by then.”

  “You’ll find something. I know you will.”

  “How’s the college search going?” Dad rushes out.

  I freeze, unsure how to respond. I’ve kept the rejection private, though I crave to tell Dad. Once upon a time, he would have been the first person I approached with any problem because he always had the right words. He’d place an arm around my shoulder, kiss my temple and tell me, “Bad luck, kid. We’ll get ’em next time.”

  The hurt inside, knowing I’ve let him down with the gym and kickboxing and now college, it’s like being gutted open by a serrated blade. “The college search is going great.”

  “Do you have any scholarship leads?”

  No. “Yeah. Plenty.”

  “Good.” A pause. “Good. At least Kaden has the gym.” His voice cracks as his skin fades into the color of ash. The expression is off when all my memories of him are of a courageous fighter. I’ve watched my dad battle in the ring against opponents who were stronger than him and win. How did he become this broken?

  Dread causes my hands to jerk because I itch to stick them over my eyes. It’s awful to watch his undoing, knowing I’m partly responsible. If I had gotten the meds, he wouldn’t obsess over his mistakes and he could start sleeping at night.

  “Kaden will continue on at the gym, but I thought I’d have something to offer you for college. I had some money tucked away, not a lot, but enough to help, but then we needed it for the mortgage...”

  A strange noise leaves Dad’s throat as he slides his chair back. “Library.”

  Though it’s not open for a few more hours. Dad squeezes between the wall and the table and as he’s on the verge of leaving the kitchen, I open my mouth. “Daddy...”

  My father presses a hand against the doorframe, his knuckles shifting as he tightens his grip. I haven’t called him that in years. He peers at me from over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know, Hays. I know.”

  West

  The intensive care unit of the hospital has that slasher-movie quiet to it. That moment right before the psycho jumps out from behind a counter and hacks the people to bits. From the family waiting room, I can hear the occasional monitor beeping, the rustle of paper and the low murmur of conversation between the nurses. I loathe this place. It’s cold, sterile, smells of rubbing alcohol and is filled with death.

  Rachel shouldn’t be here. This place is the opposite of her. Unable to sit anymore, I jerk out of my seat. The guy on the other side of the room tugs his head up to look at me. We stare at each other. His wife is dying. I overheard him tell someone a few minutes ago.

  Dying.

  As I said, Rachel doesn’t belong here.

  I glance away and walk to the windows. My jaw hurts. The knuckles on both my hands are scratched to hell and throb like a bitch. I drove here hours ago. Abby visited Rachel and left. I texted Dad and told him I was here.

  Silence—from my entire family. From my way older brothers, Jack and Gavin, to Rachel’s twin, Ethan, to Mom and Dad. They want me to visit Rachel, but I can’t. Not with her here, not with her surrounded by people who are dying.

  I failed her. My heart pounds hard and the sharp ache creates an edginess. I shut my eyes, wishing I could leave.

  “West.”

  I turn to the sound of my mother’s voice. Tears have dug grooves into her makeup and her black mascara smudges in clumps near her eyes.

  Nausea slams into my gut. “Is it Rachel?”

  “We talked to the hospital’s specialist. The damage to her legs is severe and—” Mom chokes on her words, then clamps a hand over her mouth. She exhales and regains composure. “It was unexpected news.”

  I harden into a statue, yet her words sink in past my shock. More surgeries. More time in the hospital. “Is she going to walk again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I rub my eyes to readjust my equilibrium. This is my fault. If I had found another way to handle things, Rachel wouldn’t be in this hospital. She wouldn’t be fighting for her life.

  Mom’s heels click across the wooden floor toward me. When she raises her hand, I tilt my head away. I don’t deserve Mom’s forgiveness or her comfort. Persistent, Mom gently lays her hand on my jaw and moves her thumb as if her touch could erase the bruises. “Why do you do this to yourself? Why must you always fight?”

  “I don’t know.” I step back, forcing her to drop her hand.

  Mom puts distance between us and pours herself a cup of coffee. “Have you visited with Rachel?”

  “No.” A sweep of the room confirms the guy with the dying wife vacated. No wonder Mom’s being open about family business.

  A gruff clearing of a throat draws our attention to the doorway. Dad stretches to his full six feet and sets his pissed-off dark eyes on me.

  “Miriam.” He softens his tone when he addresses Mom. “The nurses need you.”

  Mom nods, and as she hurries out, Dad gently wraps his fingers around her wrist. She lifts her gaze to his and he bends down to kiss her lips. They do this. My parents love each other. Dad worships her, and it’s why he’s a control freak with us. If everything isn’t about business, it’s about Mom’s happiness.

  When Dad releases her, she leaves. Not once peeking in my direction.

  I stand taller when Dad enters, as if preparing for a physical fight. We’ve yet to come to blows during an argument, but the fire in his eyes says that day will happen. Sooner now than later, and I hate it. When I was a kid, Dad and I used to be close.

  “You didn’t come here last night like I asked.”

  I stay silent. The truth won’t help my case. I’ve been in detention more than any kid at my school and have been suspended more days than we’ve had off. Dad, in his own way, takes my shit, but he made it clear months ago that he’d be done with me at expulsion.

  “Did you go home or did you pass out at a party?” he asks.

  “Does it matter?” I’ve seen that expression before. He’s already made up his mind on me.

  “No,” he answers. “They’ve expelled you.”

  I utter something I’ve never said to him. “I’m sorry.” I am. For Rachel. For the fight at school. For making this horrible situation more complicated.

  His face remains emotionless. “I don’t care.”

  I blink and my shoulders fall a half inch. “I mean it. I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to the principal, to the guy I hurt, his family, whatever. I screwed up this time.”

  He points at me. “Damn right you screwed up. But not just this time. This is one of many mistakes, and I’m done with it. I told you months ago that I drew the line at expulsion. All you had to do was stay out of fights and stay out of trouble until you graduate and you couldn’t even do that. What’s worse is that you chose to cross this line with your sister in the hospital. What is this? A cry for attention? You don’t think that your mother has enough to deal with?”

  “
Fine. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

  “Your sister is in agony and from what I understand you had a hand in this nightmare.”

  My eyes snap to his. “I tried to keep her from Isaiah.” That’s where I failed, and I don’t care for the reminder.

  “You never bothered telling me she was seeing him in the first place! I’m her father, not you. I’m the one who makes those decisions.”

  I throw my arms out to my sides. “That would have required you to be home and not on your goddamn phone!”

  A muscle in his jaw jumps. I drew blood and I don’t fucking care.

  “Care to tell me about the money you took from your sister?” I don’t like the way his eyes slice through me, as if he shoved a blade into my chest and he’s enjoying watching me bleed.

  “I told Rachel I’d pay her back.”

  “Tell me about the money you took from your sister.”

  “I told you already. Gavin owed money to a bookie and I came up with the amount needed.”

  “You never told me you stole that money from Rachel.”

  “I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.” Without her prior knowledge or consent, but I swear I promised to pay her back.

  This is old news from days before Rachel’s accident. Not knowing I had the situation under control, Jack broke down and told Dad everything: how Ethan, Jack and I had been covering up Gavin’s gambling issues because Mom couldn’t handle the truth that her firstborn son was a gambling addict.

  But when Jack cried to Daddy, he neglected to bring up how Gavin tried to discuss his problems with Dad on three separate occasions and how each time Dad blew him off over a business meeting or Mom. So when Dad wouldn’t give him the time of day, Gavin did what needed to be done: he came to me.

  “Did you know Rachel was in trouble?” Dad demands. “That she lost some street race and owed money to a criminal? That it was your friends who took her to the race? That they introduced her to that life?”

  “Rachel doesn’t hang out with my friends.” And I’d kick their asses if Rachel crossed their minds.

  “She was at the dragway the night of the crash because you stole the money she earned to pay off the debt. She was there because you, for the millionth time, took matters into your own hands and instead of thinking for thirty seconds about the outcome of your decisions, you acted on instinct. This accident is on you.”

  “It’s a lie.” Everyone knows Dad was driving from the dragway with Rachel in the passenger seat when he stalled out the engine of her car. Everyone knows the tractor trailer that struck them had lost control. “Who told you this?”

  Dad steps in my direction, and if he were anybody else, I’d swear he was itching to take a swing. “Isaiah.”

  The name causes my insides to boil. “He’s a liar.”

  “If he’s a liar, then he’s a better one than you,” Dad snaps. “But I don’t think Isaiah is lying. He’s the one who’s been standing by your sister while you’re out getting into fights.”

  I step back, the near crazy making the room spin. Yeah, I thought I failed by not keeping Rachel from Isaiah, but then my last conversation with Rachel crashes around in my brain. Fuck me. This could be true. “You don’t understand. Rachel doesn’t want to see me.”

  She doesn’t, because if what Dad’s saying is true...if the last words Rachel said to me the night of the accident are true...I stole money she needed and because of that, I left her in danger.

  “You don’t want to see her!” Dad’s forehead crumples as if he’s exasperated. “All she asks is to see her family. When are you going to stop thinking of yourself? It’s time for you to grow up and become a man!”

  Fear and chaos claw from my gut into my windpipe. I shake my head, trying to make his words wrong. No—this isn’t all on me. It can’t be. “You’re the selfish bastard of the family.”

  Not me. Dad’s the one who hurts the people I love. That’s his role. Not mine.

  Dad rushes into my space, his breath hot on my face. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.” Adrenaline pumps into my bloodstream. I crave to hit him. He’s jonesing to hit me. The air is thick and tense with violence. It’s practically crackling with the shit.

  “I’m tired of dealing with you and your temper.” Dad pulls back, his face flushed red. “I’ve enrolled you at Eastwick. You start there on Monday and you’ll finish your senior year there. After that, I don’t care what you do. It’s time you learn how to clean up your own messes.”

  That’s right. Dad’s great at playing this game. Get pissed at me, mess with me, then my anger explodes and I’m the one still in trouble, but not this time. If he’s pushing me, I’m pushing back. “Did you find something you couldn’t fix with your money? Could you not pay off the board of trustees at school to keep me from being expelled? Or did you decide to finally put out the trash?”

  A vein on his forehead pulsates. “Do you have any idea how many chances that school has given you? How many chances I’ve given you? Your sister is here and she’s in pain, and you go out and party and fight and get expelled from school! I don’t understand you! I don’t get you at all.”

  “No,” I shout. “You don’t.”

  He hasn’t seen who I am in years. But I see the line. Hell, I’m stomping on it and because I hate the man in front of me, I cross it. “I’m impressed to see you here. Was this the afternoon you usually spend golfing or did your business partners take pity on Rachel and cancel the meetings themselves?”

  His lips thin out. “Don’t do this, West.”

  The warning is out and I should listen, but I get a strange high seeing him squirm. “You missed Little League games, middle school graduations, fuck...you don’t even have a clue if I’m home most the time. Who knew in order to get your attention we’d have to wrap our car around a semitruck?”

  Dad rakes a hand through his hair and angles his foot toward the door, but I’m not done with him yet. “When you stalled out Rachel’s car, were you on your cell? Because, let’s face it, your business has always come first.”

  The ice-cold glare he shoots me kills a portion of my soul. I struck a nerve that’s real. Too real. I meant it to needle him. I meant to rub against that constant I’m-better-than-you bravado. I had no idea I’d be right.

  “Dad,” I start. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Go home, pack a bag and get out of my house.” Spit flies out of his mouth as he points out the door. “Get out of my sight. Get out of my life. If you’re there in two hours, I’ll call the police and tell them to drag your ass out and send you to a group home.”

  Dad leaves and I follow him past the first couple of ICU rooms. He can’t throw me out. There’s no way he meant what he said. My vision tunnels and a low buzzing noise fills my ears. He’s not serious—he can’t be. “Funny. So what, I’m grounded? Two weeks? Three?”

  Dad keeps walking straight ahead. “This isn’t a joke. Get out of here. It’s obvious you don’t feel like you belong.”

  Fuck me, he’s serious. “Where do I go?”

  He doesn’t even look at me as he responds, “I don’t care. That’s what happens with trash, West. Once you toss it on the curb, you don’t care what happens to it.”

  My body grows cold and I can’t think clearly. Every thought I have splits apart and drifts into nowhere.

  “Isaiah!”

  I flinch at the terrified sound of my sister’s voice and my hand rises as if to block the sight of the room to my right. Rachel. She’s worse than they described: black-and-blue bruises over her face and arms, her exposed skin scraped and cut, her legs completely immobilized. Like in a bad sci-fi movie, wires and tubes run from my sister to beeping machines.

  My mind wavers and the floor trembles beneath my feet. Since entering the hospital, I’ve never made it past th
e waiting room. Never. Because I can’t handle this. I can’t handle seeing Rachel broken.

  The bastard that led Rachel astray leaps from his chair and catches her hand. He wipes her tears away and murmurs to her. Tattoos mark his arms. The guy hasn’t even shaved. He hovers over her, one hand grasping her fingers, the other smoothing back her hair. My fists curl at my sides. He’s touching my sister.

  “She has nightmares,” says Ethan from behind me.

  I glance at my brother, then slide away from the window, not wanting Rachel to spot me. Who the fuck am I kidding? I can’t stomach witnessing her like this.

  My mind can’t process what’s happening. It’s too much: seeing Rachel, my dad kicking my ass to the street, being within feet of the bastard who’s responsible for all of this destruction. “Why is he in there?”

  “She wants him, and Mom and Dad aren’t in the arguing mood.” Ethan sags against the wall. “Isaiah can convince her to sleep and she’ll force herself to stay awake if he’s not there.”

  Ethan resembles Dad with dark hair and eyes, which means we appear nothing alike except for our height. If I ever wondered what hell on earth looked like, Ethan would be the prime example. Days without sleep can turn anyone into a zombie. At least he’s not sobbing like he was the other night. Hell I can deal with; crying I can’t.

  I can’t hug him again and tell him it’s going to be okay. That would require me to be stable, and stable isn’t my strong suit. There’s a disconnection of emotion inside me as I step back...step away. It’s a dream. All of this is a bad dream.

  Feet shuffle behind me, footsteps of people walking into Rachel’s room. I can’t go in there. I can’t. Gravity draws me and it’s not in the direction my family prefers. I move toward the pull and Ethan slams a hand onto my shoulder. “She wants to see you.”

  I yank my shoulder out of Ethan’s grasp. “No, she doesn’t.” It’s safe to say no one here wants me.

  My brother says nothing more as I head for the elevator. As I said before, Rachel deserves better...including better than me.