I blink twice so my father won’t see tears. Does he have any idea how much I hate this lecture and the role I play in the family? I’m so sick of being Colleen’s replacement.

Dad flashes a surprise smirk. “You remind me a lot of your mother.”

I tilt my head, shocked by this new twist on the old speech. “Really?” I’d give anything to be like her. She’s beautiful and poised and brave. My heart stalls with a twinge of pain. Isaiah called me brave.

“Yes,” he says as his smile grows. “And Colleen, too.”

I rub my forehead so he doesn’t see the hurt clawing at my face. What will happen if they ever find out I’m nothing like Colleen?

“All girl from head to toe. I couldn’t keep Colleen away from makeup, and your mother enjoys being a woman more than anyone I know.”

And Dad loves treating Mom like a princess. My eyes drift to the picture of Colleen at the age of eight, dressed as Cinderella and posing near the castle in Disney World. When I was eight, I brought tears to Mom’s eyes when I yearned to go with my brothers to Space Mountain instead of pretending to be a stupid princess. To this day, I hate the happiest place on earth.

Dad continues, “Despite it being your sister’s birthday, your mom had a wonderful day last week. She enjoyed spending time with you.”

He’s referring to the hours we spent at the spa in preparation for the charity ball. This isn’t a new twist to the story after all, just a new way of saying the same old thing. To help Mom through her upcoming slump, Dad will excuse me from school, like he’s done every January since I was ten, and send me and Mom on a week-long, all expenses paid shopping and spa spree in New York City.

I’m not a fan of shopping. I’d rather have spikes embedded in my head than have anyone file my toenails. I could care less what designer made what outfit. Faking that I’m having a fabulous time in an environment that feels as foreign to me as living on Mars is exhausting, but our time together always cheers up Mom. That alone is worth the trip and sometimes there’s a perk for me. Last year, I got to touch a Ferrari.

“Okay,” I say, taking the preemptive strike. “When do we leave?”

Dad winks. “Sorry, no trip to the Big Apple this year.”

Yes! “What about Mom?”

“I think I’ve been handling your mother wrong. The charity ball keeps her busy in December, but she needs that feeling year-round. At the New Year’s Eve party, I talked to the head of the Leukemia Foundation and they agreed to offer your mom a fundraising position.”

It’s like someone shoved a hundred-pound weight off my chest. “That’s great.”

“It is.” He points at me. “But your mother will only take the position if you do it with her. You opened a lot of checkbooks with your speech last week. She wants to raise more money to fund research for the illness that took your sister, and she wants you to give the speeches.”

The weight returns with a crushing blow to my head. This is an excellent example of why I should never deviate from routine.

Chapter 19

Isaiah

AS I WAIT IN THE school parking lot, my fingers glide over the pony embossed on the steering wheel and my thoughts return to Rachel. Three hours—the time I spent with her. It wasn’t much, but there was something about her, a spark that made her...unforgettable.

I don’t understand why I still think about her. Three hours with someone isn’t enough to know them, but she didn’t fit into any cliché or box. It’s like she was a mystery I was in the middle of solving and then I was yanked from the case.

The damn sun hasn’t even risen, and school starts soon. Seven hours of torture lie ahead of me. I’d rather be in the garage working on the Chevelle some guy brought in last night. Hell, I’d rather work on a Ford Focus. I’d rather be with Rachel.

My eyes drift to her number, which rests in the drink holder. She writes exactly like I’d expect from a girl like her: feminine with loops and pink ink. I shake my head. Who the fuck keeps a pink pen nearby? Rachel. She did. She would, and I liked that about her.

A muscle in my jaw tics and my left hand grips the steering wheel. Everyone on the street is aware that Eric’s looking for her and those two loser college boys. No one but Abby knows that I left the race with Rachel, and the money I gave Abby bought her silence. As long as I stay clear of Rachel, she’ll never be found.

My car door groans as I open it, and I make a mental note to oil the son of a bitch when I get to work later.

“Isaiah!”

A nervous adrenaline rush flows into my veins when I hear Echo’s voice. Sliding out of the passenger side of Noah’s car, Echo calls to me again. I immediately walk in their direction. Screw school. Echo and Noah—they’re my family.

With her arms wrapped around her stomach and red curls blowing across her face, Echo places one foot in front of the other in a hesitant motion toward me. Noah stays next to his car. I glance at him, hoping for a clue as to what the hell is going on, but he gives me nothing as he leans against the fender. His gaze flickers to Echo and, for a second, concern flashes on his face.

“Echo,” I say as soon as she’s close. “What’s wrong?”

My mind races through the possibilities. She mentioned her baby brother showed some signs of allergies. Is he sick? Is it her fucked-up mom? Did she try to hurt Echo again?

Echo brushes her hair away and exposes bloodshot eyes. “I’ve been trying to reach you since last night. Why didn’t you go home?”

I look at Noah again. My staying out all night has never been an issue. Noah’s my best friend, not my babysitter. “I worked late then crashed at the garage.” All in a vain effort to drain Rachel from my mind.

Echo’s foot taps the blacktop as she runs her hands over her arms. “I tried your cell.”

“It’s dead.” Because I wanted to kill the temptation of calling Rachel.

Echo’s head falls back and she sucks in a deep breath. “I screwed up and I’m sorry. So sorry. But she can’t tell anyone. I made sure of it. I slipped during my session yesterday, and what’s said during a session is privileged. I threatened her—if she tells anyone I’ll turn her in.”

My stomach begins a downward spiral. I hate where this is heading. “Told who what?”

“I accidently told Mrs. Collins that you’re living with Noah. I’m so sorry, Isaiah.”

The slap of her words makes me take a step back. Fuck. Echo told her therapist, a guidance counselor at my school, that I don’t live with my assigned foster family. Every muscle I possess seizes with anger.

Her voice breaks and she wipes a hand over her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I swear to God I’ll turn her in if she says one word. I swear it.”

Another tear rolls down her face. Echo means what she says even though Mrs. Collins is the one person who can help her deal with her issues. I’m pissed. No doubt. But families have each other’s backs.

“It’ll work out,” I tell her, though I have no idea if that statement is true. Forgiving her doesn’t erase the fact that she may have ruined my life. “And if it doesn’t, then I’ll fix it.”

Because Echo is a touchy-feely girl, she hugs me. I hug her back while meeting Noah’s stare. He gets that his girl and I love each other in a brother-sister type of way. Noah nods his appreciation and I nod back. How the hell am I going to get out of this?

Chapter 20

Rachel

“YOU KNOW WHAT I NEED?” I lean away from the hood of West’s SUV and wipe my greasy fingers on a rag, careful not to touch my clothing. West snuck me out here to the massive “children’s” garage after dinner, claiming a near-death emergency.

“A life?” West, my older brother by less than a year, slouches against my Mustang. With his baggy jeans and designer black T-shirt, he fits suburban ghetto wannabe to a T.