Crash into You. Katie McGarry

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СКАЧАТЬ into the driver’s seat, turns over the engine and glides her Mustang out of the auto shop. Grasping my lifeline to her, I watch as her red taillights fade into the distance.

      I smile, then groan as I inhale.

      I can recognize three girls by their scent. Tonight I learned that Rachel smells like the ocean. Beth reminded me of crushed roses. And this girl—wild honey. I may not see her, but she’s there. Every ounce of happiness flees with the realization that my life can’t be changed. “What do you want, Abby?”

      The shadow of a slim figure ghosts its way toward me from the side of the shop. “I hadn’t heard that you found a new plaything.”

      I cross my arms over my chest. “I haven’t.”

      She steps into the streetlight, brushing her long, dark brown hair over the shoulder of her tightly fitted hoodie. “Why so testy, Isaiah? She seemed cute. Spunky. I like cute and spunky. I had a bunny like that once, one of those large fluffy ones.”

      “You don’t seem like the bunny type.”

      “I’m not.” Her dark eyes wickedly flash over me. “Hence the word once.”

      “What do you want?” I repeat, glancing at the nonexistent watch on my arm. “It’s late.”

      Abby and I have a weird friendship, which is odd since Abby doesn’t do relationships. The sarcastic curve of her lips indicates that, in this moment, she’s temporarily placed our friendship on the back burner. “My, my. We are emotional tonight. But to answer your question, I was on my way to your apartment because we have business to take care of, and I decided to stall our plans when I saw cute and spunky.”

      She pauses, waiting for me to fill her in on Rachel. The only answer she receives is the buzzing from the overhead streetlight. “So does this mean you’re finally over Beth?”

      If Abby were acting as my friend, I might tell her. But life for Abby, especially here recently, is all about business. Even though she’s only on the verge of turning seventeen. “Cut to the chase.”

      “You are no fun,” she says as she reaches into the back pocket of her practically painted-on jeans and pulls out a wad of cash. “I saw Eric tonight. Well, I hid Eric tonight.”

      That catches my attention. “You hate Eric.” And Eric hates her. Their “businesses” often collide on the streets.

      “I like the idea of Eric owing me a favor.” Figures. Abby is always working an angle.

      “What’s this have to do with me?”

      Like a five-year-old on a playground, Abby grabs on to the metal utility pole with her outstretched hand and walks in a slow circle. “We had time to kill so we chatted.”

      “You chatted?”

      “Yes.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m capable of conversation at times. You know, will U of K make it to the final four this year, will the original Guns N’ Roses ever get back together, will I graduate from high school, and what people we know in common. Guess who came up in our chat?”

      I shrug and fake an innocent expression. “Me?”

      She scrunches her pixie face. “Smart guys make me so hot, but unfortunately, you do nothing for me. I’ve known you too long.”

      “Abby,” I say with a bit of impatience. “Are we gonna wrap this up or not?”

      “Eric said he owed you, so I volunteered to play mule.”

      “That was extremely generous of you.” My instincts flare. She wants something.

      “Yes, it is. But that is beside the point because now, sir, you owe me.”

      I shake my head before she finishes talking. “Wrong. You volunteered to mule my money. I don’t owe you shit.”

      Abby laughs and my mouth dries out. Where the hell is she heading? “We didn’t only talk about you, silly. Eric had a lot to say about two college kids who tipped off the police in order to create chaos so they could pull a gun on Eric and jack him.”

      I focus on keeping my expression from changing. Abby doesn’t give info because she likes to talk. She’s fishing.

      “How much did he lose?”

      “Five thousand dollars, and let me tell you, Eric is not happy.”

      I’m sure he’s not. Jacked in his own territory and he lost money. I’m sure Eric is on the warpath. “So if Eric got jacked then why is he willing to pay me?”

      “You know Eric—he doesn’t believe in banks or investing, which is a shame with the amount of money he brings in. One of these days someone’s going to shoot him in the head and find his secret cubbyhole full of cash.”

      Part of me wonders if Abby will be the one to do it. I let out a sigh. I took it too far. Abby’s all business with selling drugs, but she’s not a killer. At least not yet.

      Abby continues, “You saved some of his guys tonight by spotting the cops. He wanted to make sure he paid his debt to you.”

      “Not that I don’t find you interesting, but give me my money.”

      “I like you better when you’re around cars. You’re less tense then. Anyhow.” She rubs the wad of cash between her fingers. “I think I’m going to hold on to this cash as a reward for keeping my mouth shut.”

      “Give me my fucking money, Abby.” I’m tired of her games.

      “All right, but you should know that Eric was not only interested in the whereabouts of those two college boys, but also in a particular blonde we both just saw leave. You looked cute together—you and the blonde. I’m sure Eric would pay royally to know you were up on the girl.”

      A roar fills my ears as every muscle tenses. No one is going anywhere near Rachel.

      No one.

      Chapter 16

      Rachel

      HE NEVER CALLED. I WAITED. And he still never called. What I have a hard time comprehending is why I grieve for something that obviously was never mine to begin with.

      A few tables away, my brothers laugh. Each of them holds a bottled beer. In order to hide our youngest brothers’ involvement in underage drinking, Gavin and Jack stand in front of West and Ethan. Cold air drifts into the bottom of the large white tent housing the hundreds of guests and chills my ankles. The overhead heaters keep me warm, but the alcohol keeps my brothers warmer.

      A votive candle floats in a crystal bowl full of water and translucent rocks. My hand hovers over the single flickering flame. Every white-cloth-covered table contains one of these centerpieces. I’d bet I’m the only guest wondering how close I can place my hand to the flame before I get burned.

      Seated at the table farthest from the couples slow-dancing in front of the stage, I cross one leg over the other. It’s a continual fidget meant to keep my limbs from falling asleep, and each time I move, СКАЧАТЬ