Take Me On

“Your father arrived,” Mom continues. “He told me to take a break and eat.”


Take a break. Eat. Screw the guy she’s been meeting.

A year ago, I would have laughed if anyone suggested my mother would have an affair, but what else could be the explanation for the wife of one of the wealthiest men in the state to be hanging out in the armpit of the city? I can’t say I blame her. My father has a habit of ignoring his family.

Mom freezes by the door to her car and I silently urge her to get in. A guy a few steps from me has become too interested in her, her Mercedes or both.

“West.” She sighs into the phone and her shoulders slump. “You need to visit Rachel. When she’s awake, she’s asked for you. Her condition is serious, and you need to come.”

I inch the speaker away from my mouth. My insides ache as if the blows I took today at school created internal damage. Rachel’s legs were trashed in the accident and no one needs to tell me that she may never walk again. Her accident is my fault and I can’t face her.

“Your principal said the fight you had today was over a joke about her.”

Joke, my ass. Some asshole junior called my sister a gimp. No one talks shit about Rachel. But even though I was defending Rachel, the school still threw me out. As the pasty head of our school explained, there have been too many detentions, too many warnings, and, though he regretted the situation with my sister, I had left him with no choice—I just wasn’t Worthington Private material.

“How is she?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Come to the hospital and ask her yourself.”

Not going to happen. When I say nothing, Mom continues, “She’s in pain and she needs you.”

“She has Ethan.” Her twin. “And Jack.” Our older brother. Gavin, the oldest of our brood of five, has also been there, but I don’t mention his name. Mom is still having a hard time dealing with his gambling issues. The entire world thinks the Youngs are perfect, but our family is a damn mess.

“Rachel wants you.”

She doesn’t. Our last words were spoken in anger. Hell, our last month of words were spoken in anger. How can she forgive me when I can’t?

Mom allows the silence as she slides into her car and starts the engine. The muscles in my neck relax the moment she backs out of her spot. She transfers me to her Bluetooth and switches me to speaker. “Your father is upset. In fact, this is the angriest I’ve seen him. He told you to go straight from school to the hospital.”

That would have left Mom defenseless; plus I’m done with Dad ordering me around. Playing Dad between meetings doesn’t make him my father. “I’ll talk to him at home.”

She pulls out of the lot and softens her tone. “After what’s happened with Rachel and with Gavin...”

I readjust my stance. I tried to prevent all of this with Gavin, but then Rachel told me she needed the money I took from her to help Gavin and... I can’t continue the thought.

“This isn’t the time to antagonize your father. He made it clear months ago he wouldn’t help you if the school expelled you. I’ve tried talking with him, telling him you were defending your sister, but he isn’t moving on this. He wants you at the hospital tonight. He means it. This isn’t the time to push boundaries.”

Dad and I have been a gasoline fire nearing a tanker for months. He doesn’t understand the problems facing this family. He doesn’t understand everything I’ve done to protect them all. His entire focus belongs solely to his business, then on Mom. In the end, my father doesn’t respect my brothers or sister or me.

“It’ll work out,” I say. Because there’s no way he’d permit his son to fail out his senior year. Dad’s expectations of me may be low, but he won’t let anyone else think poorly of his family. The bastard has always been about reputation. “I’ll be up there later tonight.”

“Make it sooner—as in now.” She pauses. “And visit Rachel.”

“I’ll see Dad.” I hang up and head for my car. I told Mom it would work out, but a restless thought inside me wonders if Dad’s serious.





Haley

An hour bus ride to my uncle’s, forty minutes waiting for Dad’s prescription and, as I walk out of the pharmacy, I still haven’t thought of a witty enough comeback for when Jax looks at me from across the dinner table and mouths John’s last word to me: “Runner.”

“Am not” won’t do the job.

Especially since Jax will ignore his actual age of seventeen and revel in his maturity level of six with the response of, “Are too.”

Short of kicking him in the balls from underneath the table, there’s no way to win once someone says, “Are too.” Besides, Jax has learned to cover himself when he sits across from me.