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I glance at my father—years older than he was this afternoon. The way he rubs his eyes shows the worry mixed with the anger.
“I’m not scared of him. ” I edge so that I stand beside Isaiah. “I’m scared of losing you. ”
“Say goodbye to him. ” Dad barely keeps his voice low as he glares at Isaiah. “Do not come looking for my daughter again. Contacting her in any way is out of the question. ”
My arms go around Isaiah’s waist and my eyes immediately flash to his, searching for a solution. Isaiah always has a way to fix things, and too panicked to think, I’m desperate for help. “Isaiah?”
Isaiah touches my face. The same warm, loving caress he’s tenderly given me since I first met him. “We’ll be okay. ”
My hand covers his. “Promise me. ” Because Isaiah always keeps his word. He’ll move hell if
he has to. Isaiah never breaks a promise.
“I swear it. ”
The trembling turns to shaking. I can’t lose Isaiah. We just found the place where the world could be good. “I love you. ”
“Don’t say it like that. ” Isaiah lowers his head so that his mouth is near mine. “Don’t say it like goodbye. ”
“Rachel!” my father snaps.
My lips touch his and I try so hard to memorize how they feel: warm and a bit sweet. I don’t want to forget this, ever. When I force myself to step back, my eyesight is so blurry that I can barely see in front of me. Isaiah shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts. Knowing he has to let me go—commanding his body to comply. “It’s okay. I promise. It’ll be okay. ”
It’ll be okay. I repeat the words over and over again. He promised. Isaiah never breaks his promise.
As I get closer to my father, he extends his hands. “Give me your keys. ”
“You can’t drive a stick,” I choke out.
“I’ll figure it out,” he snaps. “I don’t trust you anymore. ”
Staring at Isaiah, I suddenly wish I had taken more pictures of us. I only have two. One of him I took for my phone. Another of us being silly next to my car. Two pictures. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough.
Feeling the loss, I snap a mental picture of Isaiah. His dark hair shaved close to his scalp, the stubble on his chin, the muscles of his arms, the kind tilt of his lips, even though his gorgeous eyes tell me that he’s in pain.
I reach into my pocket and hand my father my keys. The policeman offers Isaiah his wallet back and mumbles something to him. Isaiah locks his eyes on me, never once responding to the officer.
“Get in the car,” Dad says as he opens the passenger-side door to my Mustang.
I do, wondering if I’ll ever see Isaiah again. Not so long ago, I asked Isaiah if he ever thought love could hurt so bad. Little did I know, at the time, I had no idea what I was asking or how awful saying goodbye would really feel.
I slip inside, and the passenger side feels off and unnatural. Dad slams his door and thrusts the keys into the ignition. “I have never been so disappointed in anyone in my life. ”
His cell phone begins to ring, and Dad yanks it from his pocket. With one glance, he drops it into the drink holder. It’s a familiar number—a work number. One he typically picks up immediately. I never thought I’d see the day when his anger would surpass the love he has for his job.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and wipe my eyes. “It’s not what you think. ”
“Then what is it?” he bites out, so forcefully that I shake.
My hand slams over my mouth to stop the sob. My throat begins to close as I desperately search for a way to explain. “You don’t understand. I love him. ”
His cell ceases ringing and seconds later begins again. The same number, but this time it feels louder in the small confines of the car.
“You’re too young to understand what love is! He’s a thug. A user. Look where you are! Look at what you’ve done to your mother! What the hell are you even doing here?”
Dad presses the clutch and the gas while trying to shift and the engine completely stalls out. “Dad. . . you need to—”
“I can do it,” he yells, and the pure fury shooting from his eyes shuts me up. Again the cells stops then starts all over again.
