Dare You To

“I’ve got a ride.” I motion to my Jeep, parked next to his truck.

“My goal is to make sure you ain’t gonna be fit to drive home.” He revs the engine to keep it from stalling out. “Let’s go.”

BETH

OFFICER MONROE PUSHES OFF the wall the moment I slip out of the girls’ bathroom. “Beth.”

I don’t want to talk to him, but I’m not real giddy for the long-lost uncle reunion either. I pause, folding my arms over my chest. “I thought I was free.”

“You are.” Officer Monroe has clearly mastered the Johnny Depp puppy-dog eyes. “When you’re ready to tell me what happened last night, I want you to call.” He holds out a card.

Never going to happen. I would rather die than send Mom to jail. I brush past him and walk into the lobby. Hurting my eyes, the sun glares through the windows and the glass doors. I blink away the brightness and spot Isaiah, Noah, and Echo. Isaiah leaps to his feet, but Noah puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers something to him, nodding to the left. Isaiah stays still. His steely-gray eyes implore me to come to him. I want to. More than anything.

Two people cross in front of Isaiah, and pain slices my chest. It’s my mom. Like some sort of deranged baby monkey, she clings to her asshole boyfriend. Her eyes are desperate. She sucks her cheeks in as if she’s trying to hold back tears. That bastard has engulfed her in his disgusting life. I swear to God, I’m going to drag her back out.

Trent yanks her out the door. It’s not over, asshole. Not even close.

I’m about to step toward Isaiah when I hear it. “Hello, Elisabeth.” A shiver snakes down my spine. That voice reminds me of my father.

I turn to face the man who’s hell-bent on destroying my life. He resembles my father in looks as well: tall, dark brown hair, blue eyes. The main difference is that Scott’s built like an athlete, whereas my father had the body mass of a meth head.

“Leave me alone.”

He gives Isaiah the judgmental once-over. “I think you’ve been left alone for too long.”

“Don’t pretend to care. I know your promises are worth shit.”

“Why don’t we get out of here, now that you’re free to go. We can talk at home.”

Scott puts a hand on my arm and is unmoved when I jerk away. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes,” he says in an annoyingly even tone. “You are.”

The muscles in my back tense as if I’m a cat arching its back to hiss. “Did you just tell me what to do?”

Fingers wrap around my wrist and gently pull me to the left. Isaiah hovers over me and speaks in a hushed tone. “Do you need a reminder you’re in a police station?”

I sneak a peek and notice Officer Monroe and another cop watching our dysfunctional family reunion. My uncle regards Isaiah and me with interest, but keeps his distance.

My body is nothing but anger. Rage. It beats at my lungs, wreaks havoc with my blood. And Isaiah is standing here telling me to rein it in? I have to let it go because it’s consuming me. “What do you want me to do?”

Isaiah does something he’s never done sober. He touches his hand to my cheek. His palm feels warm, strong, and safe. I lean into it as the anger drains from his simple touch. Part of me craves that anger. I don’t care for the frightening emptiness left behind.

“Listen to me,” he whispers. “Go with him.”

“But—”

“I swear to God I’m going to take care of you, but I can’t do it right here. Go with him and wait for me. Do you understand?”

I nod as I finally comprehend what he’s attempting to tell me without saying the words. He’s going to come for me. A shimmer of hope breaks through the emptiness and I fall into the safety of Isaiah’s protective arms, our bodies pressed tight to one another.

RYAN

IN THE BACK FIELD that borders three farms, a field party rages without me, Logan, and Chris. Parties are great. They have girls, girls who drink beer, dancing, girls who like dancing, and guys who hate dancing but do it anyway in the hope of laying the girls who drink beer.

Lacy’s in the mood to dance, Chris is in the mood to avoid dancing, I’m still burnt from Skater Girl last night, and Logan’s always game for the stupid and insane. Ten minutes into the party, Lacy was dancing and the three of us took on a dare. Actually, I took on a dare. I lost last night and I don’t lose. Chris and Logan are along for the ride.

“You can’t pull this one off.” Chris walks beside me as we head toward the cars parked neatly in a line. The full moon gives the field a silver glow and the scent of bonfire smoke hangs in the air.

“That’s because you have no imagination.” Thankfully, I have plenty and I know a few guys who get a kick out of screwing with friends.

“This is going to be sweet,” Logan says when I change course and head toward a group of defensive linemen enjoying their own private party.

Tim Richardson owns a mammoth-size, ozone-killing truck, which is good, because the four guys sitting on lawn chairs on the back of it easily weigh 275 pounds each. Tim liberates a can of beer from his cooler and tosses it to me. “What’s going on, Ry?”

“Nothing.” I put the cold can on the tailgate. No drinking for me. I’ve got business to take care of. “Not in the mood for the party?”

His truck is one of the few that can make it over the hill into the back field. “A girl over there is pissed at me,” Tim mutters. “Anytime I go near her, she won’t keep her mouth shut.”

Logan snorts and Chris smacks him on the back of the head. Pissed would be an understatement. Rumor at school said Tim’s ex-girl caught him making out with her twin sister. Tim throws a warning glare at Logan before focusing on me. “How’s your brother? The team’s ticked at him. He promised he’d help with summer practice while he was home from college.”

Hating these kinds of questions, I shift my stance and shove my hands in my pockets. Dad made it clear that we tell no one what happened with Mark. “He’s been busy.” Before Tim has a chance to probe further, I switch to the problem at hand. “How would you guys like to help me with a … situation?”

Tim leans forward as his fellow linemen snicker. “What dare did you sign up for this time?”

I bob my head back and forth like what I’m preparing to ask isn’t a big deal. “Nothing fancy. Rick dared me to move his car.”

Tim shrugs because it doesn’t sound like a big deal.

“Without the keys,” says Chris.

Tim lowers his head, and deep chuckles resonate from his chest. “You three are the definition of insane. You know that, right?”

“Says the guy that tackles other dudes for fun,” I say. “Are you in or out?”

Tim’s lawn chair moves with him as he stands. As he reaches his full height, the chair plunges onto the bed of the truck with a loud clank. “In.”

Curled fingers miserably clutch metal and my back and thighs burn with pain. Seven guys, one 2,400-pound car, and one more inch to go.

“On three,” I say through clenched teeth. “One …”

“Three,” yells Logan and I barely unwedge my fingers from the bumper of the two-door Chevy Aveo when the six other guys drop the car to the ground. The frame of the blue car bounces like a Slinky before coming to a rest.

“Sweet shocks,” says Logan.

Sweat soaks my shirt. Gasping for air, I bend over and place my hands on my knees. The rush of the win races through my veins and I laugh out loud.

Logan admires our handiwork. “Six feet over and nicely parallel parked between two trees.” Nicely meaning the front and rear bumpers currently kiss bark.