Thunder Road: Walk The Edge Part 33

"If you go to them, then we're over."

If I don't go to them, she'll forever live in that box she's terrified of being chained in for the rest of her life. I love Breanna. Love her more than I thought I was capable of loving a person. She brought me peace, light and happiness and I should give her something in return.

I step into her, and because Breanna is brave at her core, she doesn't step back.

"Don't do it," she whispers as I run my fingers through her hair. "Don't make my life more complicated than it already is. I can't trust them. I can't do what you're asking."

I hear her words, but I'm too busy making my own memories to respond. Breanna's hair is soft, and when my fingers glide through, it's like touching silk. I caress her face next and enjoy the smoothness of her cheek against my knuckles.

Her lips are perfect. Dark pink to light red. Curved just so that when she smiles it has this seductive tease. I'll go to bed night after night thinking of her lips. Kissing them. The feel of them on my skin. I curl her into me. Our time is almost completely gone. Not nearly enough left for me to love her properly-enough for memories.

"Razor," she says as a plea. "Please tell me you aren't choosing to end this."

I lower my head so that our foreheads are touching. "I'm choosing to love you."

"What does that mean?"

I kiss her. Slowly. Softly. As if she's gla.s.s on the verge of breaking, because that's what I am. I'm shattering on the inside. Her lips move with mine with as much deliberateness. Her taste is so sweet, her smell so enticing, this moment is f.u.c.king shredding my heart.

"What will they do to Kyle? He's wrong, Razor. He's more than wrong, he's sick in the head even, but I can't live with the idea of someone being hurt over me."

The front door to the house opens and the voices of multiple people talking at once cause Breanna to ease back, but I keep my arms locked around her. We stare at each other. She's still begging for an answer I don't possess. Screw it, I do know the answer, but it's not the one she craves to hear. But for her happiness, for her safety-I'd do anything.

"I love you," I tell her. "I don't have fancy s.h.i.+t inside me or other pretty words to say, but know that, no matter what, I love you."

She opens her mouth, to possibly say it back, but someone knocks on my door. "Come in."

"Aren't you supposed to be at-" School dies on Dad's lips as I glance over my shoulder at him. His gaze lands on Breanna, then jumps to me. "Pigpen didn't tell me you had company."

"He didn't know. Did I hear Rebecca?"

"Yeah."

I rest my arm over Breanna's shoulders and edge her forward for the living room. I kiss her temple and briefly close my eyes with the embrace. This could be the last time I touch her. "I need her to take Breanna home."

Breanna RAZOR'S GOING TO tell his club. The way he kissed me, the way he told me he loved me, the return of the frozen blue eyes as he watched me riding away in the pa.s.senger side of Rebecca's car-it was all there, the answer I didn't want to hear. The answer that is tearing us apart.

Rebecca's car idles at the end of the driveway and she waits like I'm walking the last few feet of my life. Maybe I am. Maybe when I enter the kitchen, my family will literally kill me, but when I round the corner, Mom's and Dad's cars are still missing.

I slip in the back door to buy myself as much time as I can without Clara and Liam and drop into a chair at the kitchen table. Weeks ago, I stood at the sink was.h.i.+ng dishes-being the good little girl most everyone has predicted me to be. The smart girl, the best friend, the one who follows every command, the sister keeping a secret.

A secret.

I now have so many secrets that I'm buried alive-still in the box, still chained inside, and I'm losing air. Razor's words come hurtling back at me... Are you ashamed of me?

What causes bile to slosh around in my stomach was the internal hesitation. How come I never told my parents? Why didn't I proudly hold his hand at school? Why wasn't the love from this fantastic man enough for me to rise above the thoughts and fears of everyone else?

Because I'm a coward... I'm afraid...

Around the room, everything is the same. Dirty dishes piled up. A half-eaten apple turning brown on the counter. A stack of mismatched shoes in the corner near the door. The same scene, another day, but I left this house one person last August and I'm sitting here someone new, someone changed, and it's time not to be afraid anymore.

Across the kitchen on the island is my phone, because in truth, my parents a.s.sume me to be the good little dog. They're convinced I'll obey.

Just like Clara expects me to forever keep her secret.

Just like Kyle expects me to write his papers.

But there is one person who expected the unexpected from me and the only time I noticed disappointment on his face was when I cowered like a sheep. And I had to take a moment to figure out I'm not ashamed of him. It's him who should be ashamed of me.

I've put Razor in an unfair position. He introduced me to his world. Welcomed me with open arms. Made me feel like I belonged and I've asked him to keep a secret when doing so is killing him. And I told him that we would be over... I did the same exact thing to him that Clara did to me and that's not okay. No part of it is okay.

I cross the kitchen, and when I pick up my cell, it feels epically heavy. My heart picks up pace and dizziness causes me to lean against the counter. I can do this. I can end this nightmare and Razor won't have to choose between me and keeping my secret.

With a swipe of my finger, my phone powers on. I never knew that being fearless could be so terrifying.

RAZOR.

I WISH I HAD Breanna's mind. If I did, maybe I could sort through the possible solutions faster. Find the way to protect her without risking that picture going live on the internet. Find a way to convince her parents to let her stay. But I don't have her mind. I have mine and I can't think of an answer that will work.

The board is here. All but Pigpen inside the house. He's sitting on the railing on the opposite end of the porch from me, staring. Just staring.

It's an eerie sensation that my mother's cramped house is filled with so many men and there's hardly a sound. It's like everyone has their guns loaded, are lying in a ditch, watching a hill, and they're waiting for someone to yell "charge."

Messed-up part? They're waiting on me.

I'm in the same place as when Rebecca left with Breanna-my left shoulder leaning against the corner post on the front porch. I'm putting off the inevitable. As though if I remain in the same spot I was in the last time I saw her, I won't cause myself pain.

"There's a Bible story." Pigpen breaks the silence. "About this guy named Jacob and how he wrestled with G.o.d. Have you heard it before?"

I blink a no.

"The two of them went at it all night," he says. "Think about it-you're Jacob and he's G.o.d and you're evenly matched enough that you fight for hours. Jacob had to believe he was kicking a.s.s. Thinking he was big and bad enough to do it on his own, but do you know what happened?"

It's a biblical story, so nothing good. "A plague? Pillars of salt? Brimstone and fire?"

"G.o.d touched him." Pigpen points one finger in the air. "And with that one touch, he dislocates Jacob's hip. One touch and it was over."

G.o.d smashed him like a bug. I crushed fireflies. Mom's dead. Breanna's floundering. And Pigpen wants to spin a story about how s.h.i.+t happens. "Working on a seminary degree?"

A smile stretches across his face. "Naw, but we had a chaplain over in Afghanistan. Cool son of a b.i.t.c.h. And he'd do this. Out of nowhere tell a story that would put it in perspective."

"Got a point?"

The grin slips off his face. I hate it when he goes dead serious. It usually means bad s.h.i.+t is about to go down. "G.o.d could have flattened Jacob, but he didn't. G.o.d knew that Jacob was stubborn, was prideful, so he let the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d wear himself out before G.o.d does what he does-prove to Jacob he's nothing compared to G.o.d."

"Still waiting on that point."

He shrugs. "I was thinking you look like I expected Jacob would have after he realized he was fighting something bigger than he was, and I wonder, like Jacob, how long it's going to take you to figure it out that you don't have to be fighting alone."

Sometimes, I hate this guy. Especially when he makes sense. "I'm in love with her."

"Figured," he says. "Is she making you choose between us and her?"

"She's making me choose between keeping her safe or keeping her."

"That f.u.c.king sucks."

It does. Sucks enough I don't need to respond.

Wind blows across the field and the cold air causes the hair on my arms to stand on end. Breanna still has my jacket. I'm glad she does. Maybe she'll take it with her. Maybe it will help her remember me.

"How's that wrestling match with G.o.d going?" Pigpen asks. "From here you look mighty tired."

I'm f.u.c.king exhausted. "Breanna doesn't want me to go to the club with her problem, and when I tried talking her into it, she drew the line."

"Where you at on this line?" he asks.

I shove my hands into my jeans pockets and toe a piece of faded wood splintering off the deck floor. "If I cross it, I lose her. I might be losing her anyhow, because her parents are sending her away, but she'll walk if I go to the club for help."

"Hate to say this, but the way you sent her away, you already made the decision."

That's what is killing my soul. I know the choice has been made and so does Breanna. The agony of letting her go strikes deep. "I love her. Enough that I'll do anything to keep her safe."

The graying wood of the porch creaks under Pigpen's weight as he crosses it to join me. "Sounds like the decision your mom made when she drove away from the clubhouse-sacrificing herself to protect you."

My heart stalls out, but Pigpen's not done torturing me yet. "Also sounds like the decision the board and your dad made by keeping how she died a secret from you. And before you say s.h.i.+t, you and I both know how ugly that demon is inside you when it comes to her. I know it when I see it because that warped monster lives inside me. If you grew up knowing the truth, you would have gone into Louisville guns blazing by the time you were sixteen, starting a war that this club can't win, costing lives we couldn't save."

My head swims like I was involved in a head-on collision. "So he let her die and moved on? He just accepted it? The Riot wins because the Terror was weak?"

"The Terror is strong because we don't act like the Riot." Pigpen spits like he's a viper showing his fangs full of venom. "My old man-he's Riot."

"What?"

"I grew up in their clubhouse. I understand you because I am you. I also learned to crawl on the sticky floors of where guys made their oaths. But here's the difference, I grew up watching people make stupid mistakes in the name of revenge."

"You grew up Riot?"

Pigpen flicks my questions away with a shake of his head. "Another conversation for another day. Point is I'm Terror because the Riot don't play straight."

Anger rumbles through me like a thunderhead about to hit land. "They killed my mother. Are you telling me that's worth letting go? That justice shouldn't be served?"

"I've killed people before, Razor, and that s.h.i.+t...it changes everything and it doesn't just change you. It's an avalanche to everyone around. What your father did, lying to you about how she died, it may not have been the definition of right, but he did it because he loves you...because he wanted to keep you and the people he cared about safe.

"What your father did-it wasn't weak, and he sure as h.e.l.l didn't accept it, but that's his story to tell, not mine. Here's the thing, kid. You are the product of your parents, a product of this club, and you've been denying us for months, and the man I'm standing next to now, the one wrestling with G.o.d-you're beginning to understand what it means to make a sacrifice for the one you love. Question is, can you forgive us for loving you the same way you love her."

There's a s.h.i.+fting of wood and Pigpen and I both snap our heads to catch my father near the screen door. How long he was there and what he heard, I don't know. But I think of how he sat with me after I took the bullet, the night I came home and he stood proud next to me, the way he looks at me now like a broken man waiting for his son to return home.

Right and wrong begin to get muddled. Black and white merge into shades of gray. My father loved me enough to do something so huge in regards to my mother that the Terror respects him and it brought a fragile peace to two warring clubs. He also did what he could to maintain that peace throughout the years-including lie to me...because he loved me.

I gesture with my chin and he's hesitant as he strides toward us. Like he's ready for me to pull back and swing instead of joining him in conversation. "What do you need?"

The muscles in my neck tense as I throw everything I have with Breanna away, but I'm giving her up to make sure she's safe because, sometimes, that's what love requires.

Just like my mom did. Just like Dad did, too. And maybe someday, Breanna will understand, like I'm starting to now. "Kyle Hewitt and four other guys from school are blackmailing Breanna with a picture of me and her, and if we don't stop them, they're going to torture her and then eventually try to ruin her life. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't. This..." Is killing my pride. "It's too big for me and I need your help."

Dad takes a relieved breath, a lot like the moment I opened my eyes after the bullet. He even rubs his hands over his face like I was raised from the dead. Pigpen claps my arm and smiles at me like he did the night I was patched in. "Welcome back, brother. Now let's get to work."

Breanna I'M SITTING ON the front porch again, my head between my knees. Nausea and dizziness are often caused by the lack of proper blood to the brain. Doing this places the brain at the same level as the heart so the blood doesn't have to fight gravity to reach the brain. That's the theory. Personally, it also keeps me from having to bend over too far if I do vomit.

I'm cold and clammy and hot at the same time, yet I'm free.

I lift my head and the autumn breeze feels good against my skin.

Free. I'm officially outside the box. I'm free.

Free is terrifying and open and it's similar to being a bit lost-but it still feels...free.

My cells vibrates and pings over and over again. Reagan has called twice. Addison three times. My cell sings again with her ringtone. The count is now up to four.

Elsie wanders from the house and plops down beside me. Her black hair is in a ponytail and half of the strands are falling out. She's in her school clothes and there are Band-Aids over her sc.r.a.ped knees. I put those bandages there last night. I wonder who will do it when I'm gone.

"You look sick," she says.

"It's been a rough afternoon. How was your day?"

"Rough." Elsie straightens, then her eyes wash over me. In a few seconds, she leans forward and rests her combined hands on her legs. A complete mirror image of me.

"What made it rough?" Typically this conversation would happen in the kitchen with me pouring a gla.s.s of milk while she and Zac swipe cookies off the plate I have waiting for them.

"Lauren," she says as if a word could be a scowl.

Lauren. I sigh for her. We all have a Lauren who's the bane of our existence. While I had two older sisters and two older brothers, Elsie is the product of being a girl with three boys ahead of her. She's a proud tomboy and Lauren isn't.

"You shouldn't let what other people say bother you." My advice feels hollow.

Elsie flashes me a brief smile. "At least I have you."

My heart sinks. How many times have I told her that and all this time I had planned on leaving. "You do, but you also have Zac, Paul and Joshua. And you heard Liam last night, he might be moving back in to help."

"Not the same. Clara and Liam are fighting because you went someplace you weren't supposed to go again."

I could lie to Elsie, but she's smart enough to know the difference. Where I'm built for facts, her little brain reads people very well. "Mom and Dad tell me I should be like you. That I should listen. You aren't listening anymore and now they're sending you away. If I don't listen, will they send me away?"

I shake my head. "I wanted to go away. It took me not listening for them to listen to me. Sometimes people don't listen until bad things happen. They realize then they should have listened instead of talked. Sometimes people are too busy hearing what they want to hear, seeing what they want to see, and they don't care what's real, only what they think is real."

Elsie s.h.i.+fts away from me. "You want to leave home? But you have another year before you have to leave. Why would you want to do that?"

Another piece of her hair falls and I beckon my youngest sister to sit on the step between my legs. She does and I begin the task of undoing the knot of hair I had put up this morning. "I wanted to fit in someplace, and I thought if I left, I would."