Huddled in a jean jacket, Melanie slides from the middle of the bench to create room for me. I perch on the edge farthest from her. Once again, she wears cowboy boots and big hoop earrings. “You listen to country music, don’t you?” I say.

“Yes,” she answers. “Garth Brooks used to be your favorite.”

I rub my forehead, not wanting to hear anything she has to say in regards to me.

“Do you remember?” she asks.

“No.” Yes. “Did you bring the money?”

“Yes. I’ll give it to you when we’re done.”

In the distance, a crow caws. How long do the two of us have to sit here to satisfy Courtney’s curiosity over my visitation request? Five minutes? Fifteen? In my head, thirty seconds has been long enough.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Melanie asks.

I narrow my eyes at the ground, confused as to why I answer, “Yes.”

I hate myself for wanting to tell her, but what I hate more is the realization that I brought Rachel to show her off to Mom, even at a distance. To prove to her that I didn’t need her for the past eleven years and that I don’t need her now.

“She’s pretty.”

“There’s more to Rachel than that.”

“I’m sure there is.”

Occasional tufts of green sprout from the dried-up yellow-and-white grass. A large box of brown dirt lines the swing sets. It’s early spring and all I smell is cold and earth.

“Why I went to prison...I did it for you,” she says. “To protect you.”

A dangerous pulse beats through my veins. “You don’t get to talk about this.”

Melanie angles her body toward me and lowers her voice. “You want your money, then listen. This has to be said.”

“No.” The imaginary collar around my neck tightens, and I tug at my shirt. “It doesn’t and the deal was that I show. Not listen.”

She continues as if I never spoke. “Life isn’t made-for-television movies or books with happy-ever-afters. Sometimes the choices we’re presented with are bad or worse.”

“You don’t think I know that? For one year of my life, I had the shit beat out of me by other kids because I was the smallest. Don’t you dare talk to me about choices. You had one and you blew it.”

Melanie holds her hands out, pleading. I begged those boys to stop. They never did.

“I had nowhere to go,” she says. “I had no help. It was me and you, Isaiah. We were out of money, and I thought it was the safest way. You were hungry and I lost my job and we were late on rent and they were going to throw us out. The shelter scared you. You were so small for so long. I was the only one around to defend you, so I made the decision....”

Her words begin to weave past my skin, and I refuse to let her twist and demean me. I stand. “You don’t get to make yourself feel better. Give me the money.”

Melanie places her hands over her lips to hide their trembling. I resist the deep-rooted urge to feel sorry for her. “The fucking money, Melanie.”

She stands and unexpectedly hugs me. I stiffen, holding my arms at my sides. Pressure at my back pocket tells me she’s giving me the cash. “Twenty-three forty-five Elmont Way. 2345, Isaiah. That’s where I live. You want the money, I’ll keep paying. Courtney can schedule the visitation. But if you need someone, find me. 2345 Elmont.”

I step away from her and head back to Rachel, knowing I will never need Melanie.

* * *

I pull into the parking lot of Tom’s garage, ease my car next to Rachel’s and cut the engine. Rachel granted me silence and for that I’m grateful. I would have thought spending eleven years without my mother would make me immune to her, but it doesn’t. It just makes old hurts ache more.

As if sensing the blood oozing from my internal wounds, Rachel places her hand over mine. “Are you okay?”

No. “My mother went to prison when I was six. She was released two years ago and for some reason, she wants back in my life.”

I can’t look at Rachel, so I stare out the driver’s-side window. New gang graffiti painted in red marks the warehouse across the street. An old man wearing a knitted cap, Tom’s old overalls and pink mittens pushes a shopping cart loaded down with blankets and clothes. Rachel doesn’t belong here, and she shouldn’t be with me.

Her hand squeezes mine. “I’m sorry.”

“I loved her.” And everything inside of me burns in pain. Terrified I’ll hurt Rachel, I remove my hand from hers and grip the steering wheel. My hold so tight I’m convinced the leather will buckle. “I defended her for years because I always thought she’d come back for me.”

I close my eyes and try to erase the unwanted memories of the group home: how the boys would taunt me over my size and my faith in my mother; the crushing blow to my face and soul when the oldest broke my nose while yelling at me that I was no different from any of them, that I was there because she was never coming back. By the time I left the home, I no longer believed in my mother or love.

“Everything I’ve known has always been twisted,” I say. “I don’t want to twist you. I don’t want you to slip into my world and leave everything that’s good about you behind.”

“Isaiah, look at me.”

I do. If only because there’s a power in her voice I haven’t heard since she told me to back off her car the first night we met. “The only way you’d twist me is if you left. You’re a great guy, and someday, I’m going to make you see it.”

Rachel has hit too close, and I lean away and flip the keys in my hand. “Do you need to go home before the races tonight?”

She fiddles with the cuff of her coat, not meeting my eyes. It bothers me that I hurt her by pulling away.

“No. Dad’s traveling. Mom’s with the foundation, and West and Ethan have plans, but they said they’d cover for me if I wanted to drive tonight.”

“We’ll celebrate tonight when we win.” I force the cheer, hoping it’ll bring that spark back in her eye. “I’ll take you someplace special.” Someplace I’ve never invited a girl before.

She scrunches her face. “You’re always sure of yourself.”

“Yeah, I am. When I say I’m going to do something I do it.” My word is the only thing I truly own.

“So...where’s your special place?”

“Patience,” I tell her as I open the door. “You need some patience.”

Chapter 48

Rachel

WE WON AGAIN TONIGHT, MORE than we lost, and because of that, Isaiah is taking me to his special place to celebrate. Logan and Isaiah didn’t win as much as the weekend before, but Isaiah promised we’d have enough time to make the money needed to pay off the debt.

The debt. Eric. A shudder runs along my spine and I repress any thought of my nightmares.

It’s been a long day: skipping, Isaiah meeting his mom, spending the evening at the dragway and now this. According to Isaiah’s radio, it’s 12:01 which means today is Saturday. I’m pressing my luck being gone so late, but Ethan said he’d cover for me, so he will.

I watch in the side mirror as Isaiah heaves an aging wooden barricade back over the abandoned road. The forest is thick around us, and I can only see a few feet into the black night. Goose bumps form on my arms, and I run my hands along them in order to ease the chill the shadows create.

The interior light springs on when Isaiah slips back into the car then fades just as quickly as he shuts the door.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod, but wonder if he misses it in the darkness. Fear of the unknown pushes me to a make-believe edge in my mind and I have to breathe in deeply several times to keep from falling off the ledge. Each time I inhale, Isaiah’s scent fills my nose and I’m reminded that whatever happens, wherever he’s taking me, I’m safe.

Isaiah would never let anything happen to me.

The engine growls as Isaiah presses on the gas. It’s an upward path, curving continually higher. Through sporadic breaks in the trees, I can spot lights below us, and because of Isaiah’s speed, they appear like fireflies dancing in the night.