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He tries to move and groans instead. “Get her out!”
Smoke rises from the dashboard, and my heart rate increases. Using my shoulder, I lean into her father and yank him out of the car. He yells in pain and screams again when Noah pulls him up. The second his body is off me, I dash into the car.
“Rachel. ” I say her name calmly, hoping she’ll answer. “Angel, I need you to open your eyes. Come on. Talk to me. ”
I place my arm behind her back and the other beneath her legs. She flops like a rag doll. “You’re not fucking doing this, Rachel. I made a promise, and that means you made a promise to me. We’re going to be together. Do you hear me?”
I tug and Rachel’s body jerks back toward her seat in response. Readjusting my grip, I yank harder, and her body resists. My lungs burn from the smoke, and I wave at the air, trying to see the problem.
My hand reaches to the floorboard, exploring, and the world halts. I swear. No, no, no, no. The floorboard collapsed up and the side smashed in, metal twists around her legs. I cradle her sweet face in my hands and talk to her as if she can hear me. My voice breaks. “Your legs are stuck, angel. Your legs are stuck. ”
I’m going to lose her. Please no, I’m going to lose her.
“Isaiah!” yells Noah. “You’ve got to get out! Get out, get out, get out!”
Chapter 76
Isaiah
May
I SPENT A GOOD PORTION of my life trying to figure out where I would get my next meal or how to avoid physical pain. In other words—how to survive. I never had a reason to contemplate death—too busy worrying about living.
Standing in this cemetery, it’s hard not to think about the end of life. Noah told me that his parents are buried in the section across from here. Echo’s brother’s final resting place is on the other side of the massive graveyard. No one is immune to mortality.
A light misty rain makes the warm spring day humid, causing my shirt to stick to my skin. I stay motionless, staring at the plot. There’s a heaviness inside of me that could produce tears. But I push it away. I’ve got too many emotions running rampant.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
My mother squats and touches the tombstone. “Yes. I knew he was your father the moment you walked into that visitation room. You look exactly like him, Isaiah. ” She glances at me with a weak smile and glassy eyes. “He was handsome, too. ”
My father. Unable to stand anymore, I sit on the wet grass. James McKinley. “I’m Irish?”
She laughs. “I guess. We never discussed family trees. He was a good guy. Decent. He died before I knew I was pregnant. So I crossed him off the list of possible fathers. Once again, a stupid mistake on my part. ”
We’re not close—me and Mom. She wants to bond. I’m okay with knowing she’s alive. She pressures me for more, but I tell her she should be happy that the anger I feel for her is receding. Too much time passed between six and seve
nteen. Too many hurts. Sometimes it’s best to forgive someone and keep them at arm’s length.
“James had a big family. A little odd, but great people. I wish I had known then that you belonged to him. They would have taken us both in. ” She goes silent. “Or at least you. You should find them. ”
I scratch the back of my head. Somewhere in Kentucky, I have a big family. “I’m not sure I’d want to go through a paternity test. ” And be proved wrong.
“I can’t say they wouldn’t ask for one, but one look at you and they’d know. You’re all him. Right down to the earrings and tattoos. ”
The thought makes me smile. “No shit?”
She laughs again. “He would have said that, too. James was good to me. We were friends, and I got stupid and took advantage of him. I never forgave myself for hurting him, and I feel awful that he never knew you existed. ”
“How’d he die?”
“Car accident. ” She stares at the tombstone as if he’d appear if she focused hard enough.
“Will you tell me about him?”
Mom relaxes back on her bottom. The rain mats her dark hair against her face. “I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you everything I do know. James loved motorcycles. . . ”
* * *
