Katie McGarry - Crash Into You

And I snap my mouth shut. Part of me thinks I could have screamed until I was blue in the face, but there’s another part that wonders what would have happened if I had truly tried.

“So what’s going on here?” Mom leans over the engine like it might bite her and I realize that she’s trying.

“I was teaching West how to change his oil filter.”

“Is it hard?”

“I could teach you.”

Her mouth contorts. “How about you explain and I’ll listen.”

It’s a start. “Deal.”

Isaiah

THE FRONT DOOR OPENS, AND I come face-to-face with Rachel’s father. Strands of gray highlight the area near his ears. He looks older than that night at the dragway, but in truth, I probably look older, too. Sleeping in hospital waiting room chairs does that to a person. He and I got to know each other real well during those periods that Rachel had surgery or slept.

Her father refused to leave her side when he wasn’t at work. The same was said for me when I wasn’t at work or at school. Turns out we have the same business hours.

“Come on in, Isaiah.”

I step into the massive front hall and, like always, I’m still amazed that people live like this. “How’s she doing?”

“Nervous,” he says, and from the way he rubs his head I can tell he is, too. Rachel relearns how to walk today.

Mr. Young’s eyes flicker to the spot a few centimeters below the tiger tattooed on my biceps. I carry a burn mark from when I saved him and his daughter three months before. If it weren’t for the fact that the dragway required me to carry a fire extinguisher during a race, Rachel may have died. And me along with her—because I never would have left that car without her.

“I’ve discussed what you proposed with Rachel’s mother, and we both agree it would be good for Rachel to get out. But we’re going to start slow. An hour and a half.”

An hour and a half—alone—with Rachel. I feel like a man stepping out into daylight after years of incarceration. “I swear I won’t be a minute late.”

Her father wears a knowing smile. “No, you won’t be, or it’ll be another few months before you step out of this house with her again.” Mr. Young accepts me with the condition that I follow their rules. For Rachel, I’d shovel coal into the furnace in hell.

“Isaiah,” her mom calls from the living room. “She won’t start without you.”

Her mother turned their massive once-formal living room into their personal rehab clinic. My heart stutters when I see Rachel perched in her wheelchair. Her golden hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she wears a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Gone are the casts on her legs, and in their place are large, full-length, black braces.

Her face brightens when she sees me. “Isaiah!”

Every time I enter this house she has the same reaction. I don’t know why. I’ve held her hand in the hospital, sat with her after the multiple surgeries and have supported her during every rehab session. I made a promise to Rachel, and I’m never breaking it.

As I walk over to her, her physical therapist, an ex-football player and one hell of a big son of a bitch, steps in front of me. “Naw, you don’t get to be beside her today.”

Big or not, I’ll take on any asshole keeping her from me. “Want to rethink that?”

“Isaiah,” Rachel says. “This is my decision.”

“But you’re learning to walk today,” I say, as if she doesn’t understand.

“I know.” The casual way she replies causes my hands to twitch.

“But you could fall.”

Rachel narrows her eyes. “I know, and you need to be okay with that.”

I release a long stream of air. Right. It all goes back to the same conversation—I’ve got to let Rachel make her own way, even if it means watching her stumble.

“I need you here, son.” Her therapist indicates for me to stand at the end of two wooden parallel bars. “Rachel, if you want to see your boy, then you’re going to have to work for it.”

Footsteps and rustling by the door catches my attention. One by one, except for Gavin, her brothers walk in, followed by her parents. Rachel doesn’t look at them. Those gorgeous violet eyes stay on me. Without help, Rachel uses the bars to lift herself out of the chair.

At my end, I grip the bars in a mirroring position, as if I could send her my strength. It took her weeks to grow strong enough to stand. It’ll take her weeks, if not longer, to walk again. Her physical therapist stays behind her in case she should lose her balance. “Okay, Rachel. You see what you want. Go get it.”

The right side of Rachel’s mouth tips up as a blush touches her cheeks. My heart pounds as I pray she doesn’t fall with her first try. I force a smile. “I’m waiting, angel.”

Because she’s always been a miracle, Rachel lifts her leg and takes her first step.

Rachel

WITH A HIP COCKED AGAINST the door frame of my bathroom, Abby watches as I wrap one last strand of my hair around the curling iron. She showed halfway through my therapy appointment. As always, she just walked in, not announcing herself to anyone, and stayed in the shadows until I saw her lurking.

It’s weird, but it’s Abby.

“I don’t know why you’re doing all this. You could show up in a garbage bag, and Isaiah would still think you’re pretty.”

I release the strand from the iron and a hot curl bounces on my neck. “It’s our first official date. As in Dad knows and Mom knows and everyone’s okay with it.”

Pretty much okay with it. Mom and Dad are still a little hesitant about Isaiah, but they understand him better. He’s been shockingly open with them about his past, his present and his intentions with me. While I was in the hospital, he told them everything about Eric and the debt.

I don’t think what swayed them was his honesty as much as his devotion to me. Besides school and work, and he even skipped that some, Isaiah never left my side.

“Will your mom take pictures since it’s your first official date even though they know you’ve stayed the night with him?”

I cringe. Isaiah was a little too honest with them. “Why?”

“Can I be in the pictures?”

“Sure.” I move my wheelchair to the left so that I can get a better glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror behind me. Mascara. I need mascara. As if hearing my thoughts, Abby hands me the mascara from my cosmetic bag.

“Can we take one of just me and you?”

I meet Abby’s eyes and she looks away. That was very un-Abby to do. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Abby glances over her shoulder into my room. “Ethan alert.”

“Heard that, freak.” Ethan leans past Abby to poke his head in to see me. “There’s only so much small talk Tattoo Boy and I are capable of, so get moving.”

I sigh as I finish stroking on the mascara. While West and Isaiah have come to a surprising compromise, Ethan’s not entirely sold on my relationship with Isaiah. I have faith that will change with time.

Abby examines my brother in a very not-best-friend way. “Hello.”

“Uh...hi.” Ethan blinks as if he’s a fish that just realized he was hooked on a line. “How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

I stifle the giggle when Ethan’s cheeks turn red. “Ah...Mom asked if you’re staying for dinner.”

“What are you having?”

“Steaks?”

“Count me in.” Mom’s oddly adopted Abby. No one’s asked outright, but they all seem to understand that she’s not private-school Abby, and while they observe her as if she’s a science experiment about to explode, they generally seem to like her.