Thunder Road: Walk The Edge Part 13

"Liam." Mom glances at the clock on the microwave. "Unzip that middle suitcase. The purple one, then go tell Clara goodbye. We should have left five minutes ago if we're going to make this work."

"Good. This is good." Liam's shoulders loosen and then he mock swats the back of my head. "You heard Mom, start listing things, Encyclopedia-freak."

"Don't hit your sister and don't call her that." Mom reprimands him with all the pa.s.sion of an answering machine recording as she drops the contents in her hands into the already overstuffed suitcase.

Mom straightens, places three fingers over her lips as she focuses on the mound of stuff, then mumbles a list of items-socks, pants, toothbrush...

I'm frozen to the ground, my entire body becoming solid. "What's going on?"

Her head jerks up like she forgot I was here, which means she did. "Oh, yes. Bre. You are very much needed to make this work."

She plucks an elastic band off her wrist and wrestles her short black hair into a ponytail. Mom rarely does this except when she's fl.u.s.tered. It's a vanity issue as the gray shows near the base of her neck. "I need you to take care of your younger siblings while I'm gone."

There's that word again-gone. Panic sets in as a trembling in my hands. "Will you please tell me what's going on?"

"It's Clara," she says. "You know how upset she was that she didn't graduate this spring and that your father and I are having her pay her tuition this year. Well, your father talked to the college. The administration worked with us and they agreed to let Clara into the fall courses she thought were closed. I'm driving her into Nashville tonight and we're going to be staying with Nora."

We're? As in Mom and Clara are staying overnight with my oldest sister? "When will you be back?"

Mom's face pinches like either I won't like the answer or she won't. The way my sugar level plummets, I'm thinking it'll be me.

"Two weeks," she says.

The world tilts. "Two weeks? I thought Dad was going to be working crazy hours and you were going to be taking time off from your job so you could handle his responsibilities and isn't he supposed to be traveling for part of it and why are you leaving with Clara?"

Mom waves her hand to ward off my verbal meltdown as if she's air patting me like a dog. "Calm down. Yes, your dad is busy. Yes, he will be out of town for part of it. Yes, I did take time off from work, but no, I won't be here. I'll be spending the two weeks with Clara. Your dad and I discussed it this morning. We have complete faith you can keep this house going. I'm sure Liam and Joshua will help, but, Bre, if anyone can run this house, it's you. We know you can do this. Out of all of my children, you are the responsible one. My thinker."

Mom grins at me like I should be happy. When my response is my wide-open mouth, she continues, "I need you to understand. Clara needs me."

She needs her? Is Clara being blackmailed? Will Clara's future be destroyed with a click of a b.u.t.ton and one post on the internet? "Are you kidding me?"

"You'll be fine," she coos like I'm Elsie and she's trying to convince me to bathe. "You're the one that is always fine. You have practically raised yourself since birth. You run this household better than I do. Dad's okay with you ordering takeout and everyone will have to understand you can't get them to every practice."

My head is shaking or it's me shaking or it's the entire kitchen shaking. "But you don't understand. I need to talk to you."

Liam and Clara walk into the kitchen. They're both smiles until they see me. Actually, Liam still is, but Clara's lips fall into a sneer.

"Liam, Clara, carry this stuff to the car," Mom says. "The bursar's office is giving us until six tonight so we can get you into those cla.s.ses."

My brother and sister hoist multiple boxes and luggage and Mom's giving me a verbal list of things I already know, like what time to start baths and who is on what round of antibiotics and lots and lots of stuff that means she's not listening to me.

Nausea roils in my stomach and her words become m.u.f.fled and Clara and Liam laugh and my world is crashing around me. The pressure is mounting and my skin feels too tight.

"I need to talk to you," I say, but Mom's lecturing over me about how she's concerned Zac isn't coming straight home from school and that I need to stay vigilant with his time.

"There's this thing that happened at school." My voice is becoming higher in pitch and Mom's progressed to describing Elsie's problems now, and then Clara asks Mom where the keys are for the car, and when Mom pauses to answer my sister, I explode.

"They're there, Clara! By the door. On the hook. Where the keys always are. Where everyone in this freaking room can see, but that's not what it's about, is it? You have to be the center of everything and right now the entire world does not revolve around you!"

"Breanna!" Mom roars. "That is uncalled-for!"

"Selfish much?" murmurs Liam. Shame heats my face, but what causes the tears to burn my eyes is the s.a.d.i.s.tic lift of Clara's mouth. Mom never yells at me. The perfect, responsible daughter is plunging from the pedestal Clara created for me and Clara gloats in her victory.

"Go outside," Mom says to Liam and Clara, but it's me she pins with her ticked-off gaze. "Get the car ready. We're leaving in minutes."

The moment the door closes, I suck in a breath. "I'm sorry, but you don't understand-"

Mom cuts me off. "I know I'm asking a lot from you and I know Clara has not been very good to you over the past two years."

Try since birth. In fact, for years she's done nothing but dump the burden of her unhappiness onto me.

"But your sister needs me."

I attempt to rush out the truth. To tell her about the weekend, to tell her about Kyle, to tell her I'm scared and terrified and that I crave nothing more than to be six and climb onto her lap and let her chase the monsters away, but my mother steps forward and places her hands on my cheeks, hampering any hope I had of confessing.

Mom's hazel eyes soften as they bore into mine. "Clara isn't like you. None of us are like the two of you, but Clara struggles with this gift. This past year almost broke her, and when she didn't graduate, I thought your sister was going to enter a depression I couldn't dig her out of.

"Your dad called in a favor and we transferred her to a school near Nora. We're hoping that staying with Nora will help ground Clara. Cla.s.ses started last week, so she's already behind. If she focuses, then she can graduate this December. I'm staying for two weeks to help her get organized, to help her catch up on work she's missed, to help her with her confidence. Honey, these are things I don't expect you to understand because you're the one who has it together."

Her words are like small razor blade slices to my soul, and even though it's just a trickle of blood at a time from each wound, I'm slowly bleeding out. A bead of something warm escapes my eye and Mom catches it with her thumb.

"But there's this boy at school..." I start, but Mom talks over me.

"And I want you to tell me, but not now. I'm late and I need to focus on Clara."

My throat tightens. "But I need you."

Mom tilts my head so I have no choice but to spot her sincerity. "When I return, I am a hundred percent yours. I promise you. Right now, your sister needs me more. I'm depending on you, and your dad is depending on you. This project is a make-or-break moment for him. He needs to focus on that. I need you to focus on this family. I am begging you not to let me down."

But I already have. I've let her down in so many ways that she'll be sickened to look at me. I need my mother so desperately. I need help, but there's no hope to be had. Before I can respond with a yes or a no or before I could throw myself to my knees and beg for mercy, my mother collects her suitcase and leaves me utterly and completely alone.

RAZOR.

"HOW'S LIVING WITH CYRUS?" Chevy asks. It's before school and the two of us are leaning against the lockers near my English cla.s.s. Chevy's looking out for Violet's younger brother, Stone. I'm searching for Breanna.

She sent a text last night I didn't see until this morning: We need to talk. Can we meet before cla.s.s?

I texted back yes, but nothing more from her.

Because of my absence yesterday, the last time I saw her she was climbing into a car with her friends at Shamrock's. She texted me Sat.u.r.day to confirm she received the code, so I know she made it home safely, but there's this itch to see her I can't shake.

It's both annoying and addicting.

Breanna Miller-the girl with soft skin and gorgeous hazel eyes. Breanna Miller-the girl who can tell me about the Milky Way. h.e.l.l, she can probably tell me about anything.

"Are you smiling?" Chevy asks. "s.h.i.t, you're smiling again. That's the second time in days. Gotta admit, that scares the h.e.l.l out of me."

I sober as I answer his first question. "Everything at Cyrus's is good." Since I left home, Dad and I have had no communication. Not sure where that leaves either of us.

"Does the shift in your normal f.u.c.k-off att.i.tude have to do with what you've got going on with Breanna Miller?"

I don't respond. I already informed Oz and Chevy that Breanna's off-limits. She's a private person. So am I. The one thing Breanna has after we chatted on Friday is my respect.

Out of thin air, Chevy produces that coin of his and flips it over his fingers. "Remember when we were kids and we'd catch fireflies in the forest with Olivia?"

I nod and watch the coin appear and disappear up and over his knuckles. This kid could make a good living in the circus...or make a million dollars as a pickpocket.

"Do you remember how Olivia taught us how to catch them by cupping our hands after she explained how fragile they were?"

I nod again, wondering where Chevy's heading on this memory lane detour.

"Do you remember what happened next?"

I snort because I do. Chevy tosses the coin in the air and he catches it between his hands with a loud clap as a reenactment of what occurred that night. We squished the h.e.l.l out of those first few little f.u.c.kers.

"None of you listen," Olivia chastised us. "Each of you are too excited to do what you want to pay attention-to learn."

"Not that you asked me." Chevy yanks me out of my brain. "But you need to be careful with Breanna. She's not from our world, and what's worse, she's not the type that's curious about the club. She's one of those quiet types and those girls can be fragile. Guys like us can hurt girls like her without meaning to."

There's a twisting in my gut. Years ago, I was the one who killed the most bugs. It was never my intention to cause harm. In fact, the desperation to capture one alive caused me to go faster, and in my haste, I crushed more. "You telling me to stay away?"

"I'm telling you that you keep p.i.s.sing off people-people who love you. Starting s.h.i.t with a girl outside of our world isn't going to help anyone. Your dad asked me to tell him if you get into trouble at school. Breanna could be trouble and I'm not looking to rat you out on anything. Guess I'm saying stop making life complicated."

"You're right," I say. "I didn't ask."

"You never do. Figured out what Olivia wants you to do with her ashes yet?"

I shake my head and appreciate the change in subject. I've read through the bylaws Olivia left me a dozen times over. Even compared them to the current copy I found in the clubhouse. Nothing is different. Everything the same. I can't help but feel like she's toying with me from beyond the grave.

"Makes me wonder what she has up her sleeve for me," he mumbles. It's what we all think-that she left her ashes to each one of the brat pack. That we will each receive the same wooden box and messed-up set of instructions. It happened to Oz and Emily after her death. Now to me. Maybe her mind was in neutral toward the end.

I should confess everything to Chevy-the visit from the detective, my thoughts and fears about Mom's death and the increasing paranoia that the club was involved, but I don't. As he clearly pointed out, I don't ask for advice and his anecdote reminds me why. In the end, even the people I care for the most believe I'm crazy.

Stone rounds the corner in that quirky way he walks with his shoulders rolled forward and his feet moving too fast. He's fourteen, a redhead like Violet, tall like a tree, thin like a sheet of paper, and the wires in his brain are crossed-not like mine, but more like Breanna's. Where she's supersmart, Stone is, too, but he's socially inept and he can't empty thoughts from his brain. Stuff circles and the loop won't end.

a.s.shole guys in this school try to hara.s.s anyone a.s.sociated with the Terror, and Stone's connection with us combined with his personality has tattooed a target on his forehead. Good news-he's Terror family.

Rumor has it the two juniors down the hallway have been dared to bully Stone, and we won't permit that to happen. They block Stone's path and Chevy and I push off the lockers, but Chevy raises his hand. "I got this. If this goes bad and I get suspended, I need you here."

I withdraw and let Chevy run the show. Stone belongs to all of us, but because he's Violet's younger brother, Chevy takes it more personally. As soon as Chevy joins Stone, the two juniors retreat. Chevy glares at them as he pa.s.ses and I wait for them to p.i.s.s their pants.

"...okay, thank you."

My head whips toward the sound of Breanna's sweet voice. At the corner, she waves at our English teacher, then starts for our cla.s.sroom. She holds her books to her side and a part of me lightens as if I heaved a hundred-pound chain off my shoulders.

Breanna has this fluid, effortless way about her that draws me in. Her light-colored skirt swishes as she walks and I appreciate the white b.u.t.ton-down shirt that's tailored to her curves. One side of her midnight hair is pulled up and I love how it exposes her neck and the smooth skin I came close to tasting last Friday.

Breanna reminds me of slow-moving time and summer nights. She's s.e.xy, I'm attracted and we're on opposite ends of the social scale.

Breanna glances up before entering cla.s.s and, screw me, a hint of a smile plays across her lips. "Hi."

"Hey," I respond, and in one of the rare times in my life, I search for something to say. Do that small talk that Chevy and Oz find easy.

Her expression falls as she scans my body like she's trying to discover a bleeding wound. "Where were you yesterday?"

"Out."

A reprimanding frown in my direction. "Obviously. We need to talk. Something's happened."

An adrenaline rush charges through me. "Is it the code? Did you crack it?"

"No. I haven't had a chance to dig into it yet. When I texted, I didn't think my problem through and we shouldn't discuss it here. Can we meet somewhere private later?"

The sights and the sounds of the hallway zone out as my mind tries to guess what has her spooked. "Tell me."

"Not here."

And I'm not waiting. "Spill. Now."

Breanna's fingers drum against her folder and she does a sweep of the hallway. This time when she speaks, she lowers her voice to the point I have to strain to listen. "Do you remember when we were talking on Friday night and you had sat me on the tailgate and how you were...close?"

Whatever the h.e.l.l is bothering her causes a scary stillness inside me. "Go on."

"We weren't alone."

Breanna's words are a straight kick to the torso and I ease toward her as something dangerous unfurls within me. "What do you mean, not alone?"

Her eyes dart to the left, and when her face pales out, I track her line of sight. A wave of anger rumbles through my bloodstream as I go eye to eye with Kyle Hewitt.

He slows as he walks past us, raising his eyebrows as his gaze flickers between me and Breanna. When the b.a.s.t.a.r.d settles his eyesight back on me again, he has the b.a.l.l.s to smirk.

Something's wrong-off. Breanna shrinks and it takes less than a heartbeat for the deadly thoughts to click together. Breanna raced out of the club Friday night after this a.s.shole confronted her. Breanna said we weren't alone, and my own thoughts about how some girls look at a certain group of guys haunt me.

Kyle Hewitt is a dead man.

Chevy joins me, no doubt sensing the storm that's preparing to make landfall. "You all right?"

"I need you to cover me." I barely catch his agreement as I start after Hewitt. Breanna's on my heels, talking, pleading. Begging me to stop so she can explain. She can explain, after I throw Hewitt into a wall and hear him beg for mercy for whatever he did to make her cry.

Hewitt has no clue I'm behind him as he struts down the middle of the hallway like a duck with an ego complex. People say s.h.i.t as they see him. All f.u.c.king giggles until they spot me and they understand that I'm the reaper and Hewitt has seconds to live.

"Razor, please!" Breanna says loud enough that Hewitt turns. His eyes widen, and his mouth opens in a silent scream as I grab him and shove him into the bathroom.

Two guys are at the urinal and finish their business quickly as they watch me push Hewitt again. Hewitt's shoulder bangs into the wall of the stalls and I barrel after him. The other guys run out. I should be shocked as h.e.l.l when Breanna appears in front of me, but I'm not. The girl can be a force of nature when she chooses.

"Stop it!" Both of her hands are out and her folders are gone. "You have to stop."

I don't acknowledge Breanna. In fact, I look over her at Hewitt, who's trying not to p.i.s.s himself as he holes up in the corner of the bathroom. "You have thirty seconds to explain why Breanna's upset."