Unthinkable: (Unstoppable - Book 2) (The Unstoppable Series)

by Danielle Hill

  A tiny crease formed between her eyes as her gaze flicked to the side where I knew she had a flyer pinned to the notice board.

  “Don’t look at the goddamn board,” I yelled, and she flinched.

  A hot wave of guilt crashed into me and my body seemed to lose structure. I flailed behind me for something to grip onto and averted my gaze from the look of dismay on my mom’s face.

  I’d shouted at her, as if she’d done something wrong by not being able to remember, as if this was her fault somehow. I knew it wasn’t, but I didn’t know what else to do. Helplessness wasn’t an emotion I knew how to navigate. Navigating emotions at all wasn’t something I did well.

  “I have to go.” I scrambled for the door.

  “Lissa, wait, please.”

  I didn’t. I ignored her plea and walked out of the room, then the front door, and then I got into my car.

  I drove for hours with the windows lowered and the frigid December air biting at my cheeks. I drove without stopping until the gauge on the gas read almost empty, and then I parked and took out my cell.

  With shaking hands, I pulled up google and typed in young onset Alzheimer’s. My vision spotted as my eyes scoured over page after page of results, and then the pads of my fingers were racing across the screen, typing, scrolling, searching… for one positive thing. One fucking thing. There was nothing positive about my mom’s disease.

  My world felt like it was free-falling, spinning out of control all around me with each new facet of devastating information I gleaned.

  It was a death sentence. A slow, cruel death sentence.

  Ten years?

  The average life expectancy was three to ten years.

  Three years. In three years, she could be gone. If not in body, then in mind. Because whatever she was experiencing now, it would get worse. Much worse. She wouldn’t just forget information—dates, events, recipes—she’d forget how to perform basic cognitive functions. Like eating, walking, talking.

  She’d need round-the-clock care. She’d probably have to go into a nursing home or care facility. She wouldn’t recognize me, or Bella.

  She wouldn’t even know she had daughters. It would be like we never even existed.

  All the air seemed to suck from the car, leaving me gasping. The phone slid from my grasp, falling to the footwell.

  Without thinking, I pushed down on the gas and started moving. Streetlamps illuminated the inside of the car every few seconds, sharp flares of light flashing over my tightly fisted hands.

  I hadn’t considered where I was going until the car screeched to a halt on the gravel parking area next to the cornfields. I thrust into park before swinging the door open, then I took long strides through the trees and stalked toward the flickering light of the roaring bonfire.

  “Liss?”

  My gaze spun to the low voice, then to the bottle in Jackson Bateman’s hand. I pivoted toward him, snatched the beer, and tipped my head back, emptying the contents down my throat. Jackson’s hazel eyes widened when I pushed the bottle back into his palm.

  “Whoa. Hey, hold up,” he said, jumping forward and taking a grip on my forearm when I turned to walk away.

  I stopped and lowered my gaze to where his long fingers encircled my arm. He let go and took a step back, and I noticed the thick gilet he was wearing over his hoodie. I looked down at the thin, cap-sleeved shirt and magenta workout leggings I wore. It was December. Neither were appropriate for the weather. I hadn’t even felt the cold, but goose bumps suddenly sprung out across every inch of visible flesh. I wrapped my arms around myself and rubbed the bare skin on my arms, my teeth chattering lightly.

  “You’re not staying? It’s NYE, baby! There’s a party back at Clive Gleeson’s after.”

  I trained my gaze to the dirt beneath my sneaker-clad feet.

  “I’ve got more booze,” Jackson offered.

  My head raised. “Good.”

  A low laugh drifted from his lips as he smoothed a hand over his hair, mussing it on top. “It’s good to see you, Liss. You went to Florida, right? Any good?”

  Face blank, I exhaled slowly then said, “Get me a drink, Bateman.”

  He hiked both brows. “O-kay.”

  An hour or so later, empty bottles littered the muddied patch of earth around me while I sat slumped against a tree trunk. I narrowed my gaze to try to bring my surroundings into focus, but it was dark, and I was a few drinks past tipsy.

  “You want another?”

  My lashes fluttered, and I blinked across at Jackson.

  He was an idiot, but he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Shaggy brown hair, hazel-green eyes. Before I’d registered what I was doing, I was on my knees and dragging his face toward mine.

  “Shit,” he muttered a second before I smothered his mouth with mine. He offered no resistance when our lips met.

  It was sloppy and awkward, strangely noisy. But I kept kissing him. My brain seemed to spasm after a few minutes, shocking with some kind of delayed reaction and a sliver of awareness. My movements slowed as I tried to process what the hell I was doing.

  Kissing. Jackson Bateman. The moron. In a field. On the ground.

  His hand sliding under the hem of my shirt, up…

  “Stop.” The word came out muffled under the increasing pressure of his mouth.

  His free hand gripped the back of my head as his other climbed higher over my stomach, and he maneuvered my body until my back came flush with the ground. I shook my head, trying to detach my lips and pulling at his arm.

  “Jackson,” I mumbled, twisting. “Stop.”

  Either he didn’t hear me, or he pretended not to. His actions grew more intense, the groans coming from his throat more pronounced, and his dick pressed into my hip.

  I wriggled my body underneath him, trying to edge my way out. When his palm groped my breast over my bra and squeezed, a surge of adrenaline saturated my veins, swiftly replacing the copious amounts of alcohol I’d consumed.

  Pressing back into the grass, I managed to wrench my lips from his and jerked my head forward. Jackson sprang back onto his knees when the middle of my forehead connected with the side of his nose. My aim was a little off, but it had the desired effect.

  “Jesus, fuck!”

  I scrambled to my feet, planting a hand against the tree for support when my body swayed. The crawling sensation that rippled through me when I recalled the feel of Jackson’s clammy hand fumbling at my chest made me shudder, and hot tears sprung to my eyes. Tears of anger and frustration. I shook my head and blinked furiously, forcing them back. I knew better than to put myself in a position of weakness like that. God, what the fuck had I been thinking? I’d acted like a damn idiot.

  “Shit,” I muttered, leaning back against the tree with a quiet exhalation. My gaze swayed to Jackson’s crouched form.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” he asked, rising with his head down and two fingers pressed against either side of his nose. “I thought we were having a good time.”

  “Yeah?” I said, my voice dismissive. “Well, now it’s over.” I kicked off the tree with the heel of my foot and turned to walk away.

  Thick fingers wrapped around my bicep, catching me off guard and spinning me back. “Come on. Don’t leave yet.”

  Head down, my eyes zoned in on the expanse of chest blocking my view and preventing my escape. I drew in a long breath to calm the storm roiling inside of me and ground my teeth together. In a tightly controlled voice, I said, “Move, Bateman. Now.”

  “Take it easy.” The patronizing undertone to his words, coupled with the rough chortle that followed them, had my temper flaring. I craned my head back to glare at him.

  The guy just ordered a swift kick to the balls, and I’d enjoy fucking delivering. But before I got the chance, a rough voice grated, “The fuck’s going on here?”

  Jackson swerved, broadening my field of vision, and Leon Bradshaw stalked into view like a man on a mission. The ability to breathe momentarily escaped me as my eyes
feasted on the sight of him prowling toward us, eating up the ground with quick, forceful strides. In a black jean, shirt, and jacket combo, with the angles of his face set in harsh lines and untempered fury rolling off his shoulders in waves, he looked like a dark avenger.

  The sight was enough to make a girl weak in the knees. Evidenced by the fact my legs suddenly possessed all the structural integrity of wet noodles.

  Jackson released his hold on my arms and retreated a few steps with both palms held out. In a plea of innocence, or surrender. But if the murderous expression on Leon’s face didn’t give it away, the fist that crunched into Jackson’s cheek seconds later did.

  Pretty Boy was pissed off.

  And he wasn’t looking for a white flag.

  SIXTEEN

  LEON

  “If I have to listen to one more word about your goddamn stepsister, I’m going to rip my fucking ears off and shove them down your throat.”

  Jason kept his left hand on the steering wheel while his right clenched and collided with Danny’s shoulder.

  Dan twisted back to look at me with a smirk. “Three fucking months of Sara this, Sara that. I swear to god, I dream about the girl.”

  “What?” Jason’s head snapped round.

  Air snorted through my nose as I shook my head and relocated my gaze out the window. The verbal sparring continued up front, but I had zero fucking interest in getting involved in their shit. Had enough of my own to contend with. My mother was kicking off because I’d detoured from her carefully laid plan for my fucking future; my best friend was in self-destruct mode, trying to drink himself into an early grave; and at eighteen, I was wondering what the fuck I was going to do with the rest of my life.

  Working construction was a decent job, but I’d realized early on it wasn’t the endgame. I’d sacked off community college after the first month, picked up more hours at the site. My mother had hit the fucking roof and called me every irresponsible asshole under the sun, then sent me packing back to the trailer. I’d barely fucking got off probation from the first time she’d put me in exile.

  The place had actually grown on me, though. So, I’d be staying there until I figured out a plan for my future and got the fuck out of Claremont.

  “That Liss’ car?”

  My head spun so fucking fast everything around me blurred. “Where?”

  “Oh, look who joined the conversation.” Danny sniggered.

  “Fuck off,” I muttered, shoving the door open as soon as the car slowed to a crawl.

  Unless she’d sold it, the little blue Honda parked up beside Jase’s Subaru belonged to Lissa. Which meant she was here.

  With both hands jammed into my pockets, I eyed her car, not quite sure how I felt about that. Happy? Pissed? Indifferent? Not if my soaring fucking pulse rate was anything to go by. Eight months and change, and the girl was still taking up space in my head.

  Jase and Danny stopped walking up ahead and turned back to me. “You coming, or what?”

  Twigs and gravel crunched under the soles of my Vans as I strode away from the car and drew up behind them.

  I hadn’t seen Lissa in person since the day I’d parked up opposite her house, and she’d unknowingly sucker punched me with a single fucking smile. Made a nice change from her slicing me to shreds with her acerbic tongue, but it proved that she could slay me no matter what fucking tack she used.

  The prospect of seeing her had my blood bubbling with restless anticipation, maybe even excitement. Because apparently, I’d kissed her once and lost my fucking mind.

  My gaze scanned over the packed field as we cleared the woods and tried to weave through the fuck ton of bodies. It was busier than Times Square here tonight. I bounced up on my toes and searched the crowd for a halo of pale blonde hair, quickly realizing that it was the equivalent of looking for a needle in a heavy petting haystack. Imagine Where’s Waldo, but the X-rated edition. Fuck me.

  “Catch up with you later,” I muttered, leaving the guys with a group of now seniors from Claremont High and elbowing my way through the crowd.

  Who the fuck was Lissa even here with? Riley hit me up yesterday with a brief message saying she’d been home for a few days over Christmas, but she was back in Atlanta. Sara was still in Florida. I could recite that chick’s daily itinerary for the foreseeable future; Jason needed to spring his balls out of her purse and Gorilla Glue those fuckers back on.

  So, who the fuck would the snow queen be partying with?

  Ten aggravating as fuck minutes later, I got an answer. One that had my teeth clamping together and air jutting from my lungs in a visible cloud of irritation.

  I watched with a clenched jaw and blind fury rocking my vision as Jackson fucking Bateman gripped Lissa’s arm and hauled her body up against a tree when she tried to walk away from him.

  I was halfway across the muddy field before I had time to blink, propelled into action by a thick, pulsating anger that had my arm cocked and fist locked.

  “The fuck’s going on here?” I ground out, my voice seething with barely controlled rage.

  Bateman backed up instantly—both hands lifting either side of his head—but I wasn’t interested in being a judge or fucking jury… I was the executioner. My elbow reared back as he retreated. I took the last few steps at a jog, then launched forward and sunk my knuckles into the side of his stunned face. Dropping low, I grasped a handful of Jackson’s padded jacket and hauled him closer, blood rushing like crushing rapids against my skull as I pulled my arm back again.

  The asshole threw up both arms, blocking my second hit.

  “What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Bateman shouted, twisting in my hold.

  “Calm down, Pretty Boy. Just let him go.” Lissa’s voice dragged me back from the edge of insanity, and I wrenched my head round. Something about her tone sounded off; thin, lacking some of her usual bite.

  With my chest heaving and brows lowered, I scanned up her lithe body, looking for any obvious signs of injury. The black cloud of rage surrounding me expanded when I noted what she was wearing. Or wasn’t. Dark pink workout leggings covered her slim thighs, and two inches of bare midriff were left exposed by the flimsy, cropped black shirt she wore. The dark material fluttered against her pebbled skin in the late December breeze.

  My head snapped back to Bateman, my jaw tense and throbbing. I gave my head a vigorous shake to dispel the very real thoughts of murder circling my brain. He’d been fucking pawing at her while she was practically naked and catching fucking pneumonia.

  A growl climbed up my throat.

  Shifting my gaze to Lissa, I grated, “Where the fuck are the rest of your clothes? Your coat, jacket?”

  She shot me a scowl, then stalked off without responding. Or grabbing a jacket.

  “Lissa!” I called to her retreating back.

  Fucking… fuck!

  I dropped my head back and dragged a lungful of air in through my nostrils, the intense need to pummel Jackson’s face to dust warring with the even more concentrated desire to follow Lissa and make sure she was okay.

  She won out.

  I bit out a curse and ground my teeth as I fisted a handful of Jackson’s hoodie, dragging him up until his face was less than an inch from mine. “You put your hands on her again,” I said with a growl, “and I’ll fucking end you. You hear me?”

  He pushed at my wrists, falling back on his ass when I opened my fist and let go.

  Scrambling back with a deep scowl, he rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and muttered, “She fucking came onto me, asshole.”

  A deep fissure of irritation opened inside my chest as I stared at him. My head angled back toward the edge of the woods, my eyes locking on Lissa’s retreating form. Each breath came fast and furious as I tried to get a handle on the irrational jealousy spiralling inside of me. As far as I was aware, Lissa had never put her lips on any other guy in Claremont. For some screwed up reason, that had mattered to me. That was fucking mine.

  Except now, there were
two of us.

  One of us was going to choke on his own dick. That’d be Bateman. The other needed to get a goddamn grip. Yeah, that’d be me.

  I had zero claim on her, no right to the kind of fucked up feelings coursing through me. I hadn’t so much as laid eyes on her in months. Rationally I knew I shouldn’t be acting the way I was. Shouldn’t be feeling possessive about someone I never fucking had to begin with.

  Rational wasn’t working for me right now, though.

  My eyes spitting fire, I focused my attention back on Bateman and kicked at the mud beside his legs. “Touch her again, you’re dead.”

  “Fucking got it, jackass.” He collapsed back into the earth with a soft thud as I swivelled and chased after Lissa—the blonde-haired ball-buster who’d put me in a tailspin I never saw coming. And didn’t have a damn clue how to get myself out of.

  “Lissa,” I hollered, the soles of my feet bouncing off the ground. “Hold the fuck up.”

  Of course, she’d fucking lengthen her stride, those long, lean legs stretching out as she moved farther away from me. With an eye roll, I broke into a jog and came up behind her, taking a hold of her elbow.

  “What?” she spat, rounding on me, and tugging her arm loose, her ice-blue eyes flashing.

  Whatever I’d been about to say got stuck in my throat at the sight of the unshed tears in her eyes, glistening in the moonlight. I’d never seen Lissa cry. Didn’t think she was even capable. But the sight of it ripped at my insides.

  I bit back a curse and narrowed my gaze, scouring every inch of her face. Working like crazy to keep my tone the right side of enraged, I asked, “What the fuck did he do, Lissa?”

  She shook her head with a shrug, glancing away and running the back of her hand under her red nose. “Nothing.”

  “Didn’t fucking look like nothing,” I clipped, untempered anger bleeding into my tone. So much for the gentle approach. But I had no hope of calming down until she offered me some sort of explanation. One I could live with.