Take Me On

by Katie McGarry

  “Yes,” he admits.

  “And you were going to tell me you knew when?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  I bring my knees to my chest and tug the blanket to my face.

  “What was it like?” he insists. “Staying there?”

  “They separated us. Me, Mom and Maggie from Kaden and Dad. The three of us at the family shelter and Dad and Kaden had to go to the men’s.”

  We had heard of family shelters and when we arrived, desperate for a place to stay, my mom broke down when they informed us men above the age of thirteen weren’t allowed to stay at the family shelter.

  “But we’re a family,” my mom begged. Tears spilled down her face and Maggie sobbed with her arms wrapped tightly around my father’s leg.

  “I wanted to puke, West. I wanted to find a bathroom and puke. I mean, we had just lost our house and we had nowhere to live and now we were being separated. I was terrified. It took everything I had not to grab on to my father and beg him to make it go away.”

  The world became this tunnel-vision blur as my mom asked if an exception could be made and the person behind the counter kept telling her no.

  Right as the tingling sensation in my head grew into a roaring, Dad grabbed me by my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. “You’ve got to be strong on this one, Hays. Do you hear me? I need you. Your mother and Maggie need you. I need you to do tonight and any other night what I can’t.”

  “You stayed strong, didn’t you?” West says into the darkness and I jump, feeling a bit crazy as I wonder if I said the last part aloud. “Because you could protect your mom and sister.”

  “Yes.” Tears well up in my eyes. I didn’t cry then and I won’t cry now.

  I inch closer to the wall, not wanting his pity, but he parallels my movements. West doesn’t touch me. Instead, his body heats my back. His hand hovers near my shoulder and, after a second, his fingers comb through my hair. The gentle pull, the tenderness of the motion almost causes the tears to cascade down my face.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  I swallow to clear my throat. “We were fine, but things were rough for Dad and Kaden. The population at the men’s shelter was more...unstable. I found it impossible to sleep at night without knowing if Dad and Kaden were safe. My mom cried all the time and Maggie was starting to have night terrors.

  “The shelter wouldn’t let Kaden in a few times because he had bruises on his face from training. They thought he was violent, so Dad and Kaden slept in the car or at the gym. One night, at the shelter, some guy tried to steal their stuff and Kaden hit the guy. All of them got thrown out. Then outside the shelter, Dad and Kaden were held up by a man with a gun. The next morning my mother went to my uncle and begged for him to take us in and here we are.”

  My uncle demanded our car and she gave it to him. The bastard took the last thing my parents owned. If that hadn’t worked, then we would have lived on the mats in the gym: waking between three and four in the morning to be gone before classes began and not returning until well after eleven at night. It would have been the same as living out of the car.

  “You saw where my grandfather lives,” I say. “There’s barely enough room for him and until my mother begged, my uncle wouldn’t take us in...”

  The memories burn brightly in my brain and I wish they would fade. “I know what it’s like to be scared. To wonder if anything will feel normal again. There’s this hopelessness, a sadness that permeates through your pores, when you have no idea what home is or what the word means. I may be under somebody’s roof, but it’s not a home. I just want a home.”

  West edges closer and his musky scent envelops me like a welcome blanket. His lips press against my shoulder and I allow myself to melt into him.

  Goose bumps rise on the back of my neck and I shouldn’t, but I angle my head so more of my neck is exposed. He kissed me. I should tell West to stop, that he’s crossed lines, but his lips against my skin created a feeling of togetherness, a closeness I’ve been longing for.

  In quiet acceptance of my invitation, West skims his nose along the sensitive skin near my hairline. “What did home feel like?” he whispers into my ear.

  “Warm,” I whisper back. West’s fingers roam along the end of my tank and when he discovers bare skin, he splays his palm across my stomach. His heat radiates into my bloodstream.

  “What else?”

  “Safe, protected.”

  He pulls me into him, creating a shelter—one like I haven’t experienced in months. I feel small against him, fragile. Like he’s realized the secret I’ve hidden: that I’m breakable, if not already broken.

  I’ve noticed his muscles before—his biceps, his abs—but there’s a difference between seeing them and being held in them. I release a breath, one I’ve been holding for six months, for a year, possibly forever.

  “When I had a home, I never felt alone,” I whisper. His lips press against the hollow of my neck and my fingers find his. We lace our hands together and his leg rubs against mine. Every part of him connects with a part of me.

  “I’m here, Haley,” he says. “You’re not alone.”

  “Do you know what my favorite part of the day is?”

  West settles his head into the pillow. His mouth continues to drift against the curve of my neck; then he lazily kisses the sweet spot near my hairline. “When?”

  “Those brief few seconds when I wake up and I forget and I think I’m at home.”

  “Until now, that’s also been my favorite part of the day. Sleep, Haley. Sleep knowing tonight, I’m not letting go.”

  I listen to his breath, enjoy the rise and fall of his chest and focus on the gentleness of his fingers against mine. My mind wavers and I no longer exist in an attic and the darkness no longer taunts me with my fears. Sheltered in warmth and in strong arms, I sleep.

  West

  The sun doesn’t rise for another hour and Haley’s alarm went off twenty minutes ago. She headed downstairs to get ready and I wait like a man on trial with the jury out for deliberation.

  Outside, a new layer of icicles hangs from the eaves of the house. Last night was possibly one of the best nights of my life and as I slump onto the corner of the air mattress, I feel like shit.

  Sillgo. I rake my hands through my hair, pulling at the roots. I swear that’s one of the companies Dad bought. I don’t pretend to know everything about Dad’s business, but he had a crap ton of documents on his desk with that name on the letterhead last year when I got called into his office for cutting class. My father—he did this to Haley and her family....

  And I’m falling for her hard.

  Haley already knows that my family does well financially, but she doesn’t know I’m a Young and I have to admit I like it. I like that Haley doesn’t see me as a meal ticket or act weird around me because my family is the equivalent to royalty in this town.

  Even if she knew I was a Young, she probably wouldn’t know that the Youngs are the ones who bought Sillgo and shipped the jobs to Mexico. But keeping all this to myself? I’m lying to her. Before I drop that bomb, I need to be sure that my dad is the one that owns the company.

  The door creaks open and Haley sends me a shy smile and I automatically smile back. Last night, the two of us said too much, felt too much, and I had somehow convinced myself that the moment we shared would remain that—a moment. But it didn’t; the emotions between us linger and I don’t know what that means.

  Haley closes the door behind her and crosses the room to me. “I’ve got to go in a few minutes to catch the bus. John wants me there early to train.”

  I stand, understanding she’s handing me an eviction notice. “Can I drive you?”

  “No. Jax and Kaden are working out this morning, too, and I don’t want them to know that you stayed here, so do you
mind...” Her eyes flicker to the window.

  “Got it. I’ll head out.”

  Haley smooths the hair trailing from her ponytail. “Last night...we...uh... I don’t think...”

  Shit, she really is handing me an eviction notice and not just from her room.

  “If we get involved,” Haley continues, “and then things don’t work out...it’ll make what’s going on between us complicated.”

  “Right.” Complicated. “And it has nothing to do with the fact you don’t date fighters?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe.”

  I nod, getting it, yet not. Because the truth is, she’s too good for me; plus she’s right. We have an agreement and I need this shot at redemption. Reality—the truth of who I am would ruin us anyway, but I’m a selfish asshole.

  I step into Haley’s personal space and her breathing hitches when my body slides against hers. “How about we don’t overthink it and just see how this plays out.”

  Haley licks her lips as if they’re dry and stares up at me from under dark eyelashes. Damn, she’s gorgeous.

  Footsteps pound against the stairs and Haley pushes me into the shadows. She races across the attic and my heart beats hard at the thought of causing her trouble.

  Haley grabs the door right as it opens and blocks the view of the room with her body. “Everything okay, Jax?”

  “We’re heading out in five,” mumbles Jax.

  A few more worthless words between them, then his footsteps retreat back down. I edge out of the shadows and Haley turns to me. “I’ll see you later. For training.”

  “Don’t overthink this,” I tell her.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  I chuckle and Haley smiles while lowering her head, obviously figuring out the irony of her statement.

  “Thanks for the place to crash, Haley.”

  “You’re welcome.” Then she disappears down the stairs.

  A few hours later, I loiter down the aisle of the grocery store, buying time until Denny opens the bar and I can earn money. It’s noon and I won’t train with Haley until the evening. I used to love Saturdays; now I hate free time.

  Abby passes my aisle, then jerks back and heads in my direction. “Come with me.”

  “Drug deal gone bad and you need protection?” Why else would she need me?

  Her hazel eyes bore into mine. “It’s Rachel. She’s dying.”

  * * *

  I don’t wait on the elevator; instead I fly up the stairs. Two at a time. Three at a time. Whipping around the corners. Driving faster. Harder. The door bangs against the wall when I wrench it open. A heaviness in my chest causes my breath to come out in gasps. And it’s not from the running. It’s from the breaking.

  My sister... She’s dying.

  I round the corner, swing into my sister’s room and my heart tears out of my chest. “Fuck!” My hand covers my mouth as nausea climbs up my throat. I bend over to fight the dry heave. I don’t win. I never win. My body convulses. “Fuck!”

  It’s not happening. It’s not. My fingers form a fist and slam into the wall. Pain slices through my fingers, floods into my wrist. It’s nothing like the pain ripping the skin from my bones. “Fuck!”

  “What are you doing?” It’s a nurse. Smaller than me. Blue scrubs. I glance up and the entire hallway watches.

  I point at the empty room. “Rachel...”

  “Is down the hall.” She continues to talk, but I don’t give a fuck. I run. Past her. Past others. Past the stares. Past the ICU. Past the waiting rooms. Everything on the periphery blurs. Looking, searching, and then I catch blond hair in a bed and I pause.

  Blue eyes. A smile. “West!”

  My heart is so out of control I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I stumble into the room, gulping in ragged breaths. “Rachel?”

  My sister is up. She’s propped by a million pillows, but she’s up. And pale. Rachel was a small thing to begin with, but she’s lost weight. Scratches fragment her face like a web of broken glass. Her legs are bulky under the blanket.

  “Oh, my God, you’re here!” Her smile grows and that smile has always been infectious, but instead of grinning back like I normally do, I scrub a hand over my face and sag against the wall. She’s alive. Air rushes out of my mouth and I inhale again. She’s alive.

  A huge bouquet of balloons enters the room first. Three of them bump against my head and block my view of Rachel. I bop them out of the way and throw a dagger glare at Abby as she emerges on the other side of the helium nightmare.

  “You said she was dying,” I whisper from behind the wall of bobbing plastic.

  Abby rolls her eyes. “Of boredom. It’s not like there’s anything interesting to do around here. Someone tries to bring in a puppy and they get all pissed. It’s not my fault it pooped.”

  I grab the string of balloons to keep her from going any farther. “You lied to me.”

  That evil smile spreads on her face. “Shocking. What are you going to do, spank me?”

  I release the balloons and she blows me a mock kiss. That girl is fucking psychotic.

  “What’s with the balloons?” Rachel asks.

  Abby places them on the nightstand next to Rachel’s bed and collapses into a chair. “We’re being festive.”

  “Festive?”

  “Like a party, fiesta, you’re-in-a-normal-room celebration. I need to get you out more.”

  My family isn’t here. Not a single one. Isaiah, Rachel’s asshole boyfriend, sits in a chair parked tight to her bed radiating badass: tattoos, earrings, hair shaved close to his head. Through the tangles of tubes and wires hooked to Rachel’s body, they hold hands.

  A muscle in my jaw twitches. Ethan and I found out over a month ago that she was seeing this guy behind my family’s back. She ditched school to see him. She ended up in debt to a street hustler because of him. She fought with me and Ethan over this guy when she’s never fought with us before. He’s why her best friend is a drug dealer. It was through him that Abby and Rachel were introduced.

  Isaiah’s bad news and he’s the reason why she’s here. He took her to the dragway. She thinks she loves him, but she doesn’t. “Want to get the fuck off my sister?”

  “West!” Rachel chastises.

  With his hand still entwined with hers, the son of a bitch barely looks at me. “It’s going to take a lot more than you to pull me away from her.”

  Rachel’s head whips in his direction. “Isaiah!”

  The balloons thump together. Abby flicks her finger against them until we stare at her. “Festive, people. Urinating on the floor like a pair of dogs does not make for a good party. Well...at least one Rachel should be attending.”

  Isaiah mumbles something that makes Rachel giggle and Abby starts into some nonsense story. Their voices shift into background noise as I focus on my sister. There’s less than a year between us. She has a twin, but I secretly feel like their triplet. My earliest memories are of Rachel, of her laughing and sometimes of her being sick.

  She suffers from panic attacks. Bad ones. It makes her shy and it’s also made her a target, which is where I come in. From elementary school ’til now, I’ve never had a problem connecting my fist to the jaw of any guy that’s tortured my sister and most girls know better than to talk shit about her when I’m around. They’d find themselves having to hang with a new group of people.

  My parents don’t understand Rachel or any of their children, me included. They don’t know all I’ve done to protect her since we were small, but they do know about the one time I failed.

  Rachel shifts, but her legs don’t move. There’s a buzzing between my muscles and my skin. Like a trapped fly that needs to be surgically removed. Isaiah stands, his mouth moving, but I hear no words. He helps Rachel readjust and once again her legs remain motionless.


  As he reclaims his seat, her face pales out and Isaiah and Abby lapse into silence.

  “Talk to me.” Isaiah possesses a calm that causes me to hate him more.

  Rachel sucks in air as if she were in labor. She white-knuckles the railing on her bed and my fingers twitch with the need to tear something apart...to make someone pay for her pain.

  My sister’s heart-monitor beeps increase. Isaiah pries her fingers off the railing and takes her hands in his. “Abby, go get a nurse. Breathe, Rachel. Give me the pain. I can take it.”

  Abby stands and I step back.

  “West?” Rachel asks through a breath. “Are you okay?”

  The hurt in her voice knifes through me. I meet her eyes and shake my head as my sight flickers to her legs again. I’ve got to get out of here before I implode.

  A hand lands on my shoulder and I snap my head to the side to take in Dad. I expect him to yell, asking what the hell I’m doing here. Instead he keeps his hand on my shoulder while he mumbles words like “daughter, pain and medication” to a passing nurse.

  He urges me into the hallway and I follow. The breath is knocked out of me when my mother collides into my body. Her hands capture my face, then slide down to my shoulders while her glassy eyes survey me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” From over her shoulder, I try to judge my father’s reaction, but his poker face gives nothing away.

  “Why did you leave?” Mom shakes me. “What on earth would make you leave?”

  “Miriam,” Dad says softly. “Let’s take this into the family waiting room.”

  Mom observes me like I’m a ghost. “You left. You know I don’t handle leaving well.”

  Fuck, I hurt my mom. “I’m sorry.”

  “Miriam,” urges my father.

  As if I’m five, Mom slips her hand into mine and grasps it as if her life or mine depends on the contact. Together, we head down the hallway.

  “I didn’t know that you were gone until yesterday.” She speaks in a quiet voice reserved for conversation during a church service.