Mom holds up her hand. “With rules, Bre. Lots and lots of rules.”
“I don’t care. I’ll take the rules.” Because as I’d pointed out to my parents already, I’ll be eighteen and will be graduating in the spring and then nothing can keep us apart. But to be honest, I’d love to be with Razor and still have my family.
Mom leaves the safety of her side of the room and sits on the bed next to me. “I’m aware of the role or lack of a role that your father and I played in this and we’ve apologized for that.”
She has and so has Dad, multiple times. Possibly as many times as I’ve said I’m sorry for seeing Razor behind their back and for keeping the blackmailing a secret, but somehow even though the words have been said, we can’t find a way to move forward.
“I can’t make this a rule, Bre, even though I would love to demand it.” Mom picks up a lock of my hair, and instead of trying to force it to curl, she smooths it out. “I wish you would talk to me again or maybe...”
Mom’s lower lip trembles and then she shakes her head as if to get hair out of her face. “Or start talking to me. I thought I knew you. I thought I knew your hopes and your dreams and what you wanted out of life and it’s killing me to realize I might not ever have known you at all.”
Mom lowers her hand and I link my fingers with hers as the sadness and hurt from over the years climb out of the box I had shoved them into. “You know me.”
The pain registering in her eyes says differently and it hurts to know there’s nothing I can do about that, but there is something I can do about going forward.
I suck in a deep breath and dive into uncharted waters. “In seventh grade, I walked in on Clara trying to commit suicide, and she told me if I told you, she’d do it, and if I kept silent, she’d never try it again, so I didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything and I realize now that was wrong and it eats me alive to think the reason she is how she is now is because I didn’t speak up then.”
Mom places a hand over her heart, and when I draw back, thinking I’ve made a mistake, she engulfs me in a hug. It’s warm and it’s solid and it’s all I’ve wanted since I walked in that door in seventh grade. Hot tears gather in the corners of my eyes, and as my body starts to quake, Mom rubs my back and whispers, “It’s okay, baby, it’s going to be okay.”
RAZOR
WE PARK AT what appears to pass as a convention center in this small town between Louisville and Lexington. I scan the area, trying to figure out which client would want to meet us here and come up empty. Never claimed that rich guys made sense.
A prospect is with us and he stands by his bike as Dad, Eli and Pigpen take off their cuts and lay them on the back. Pigpen flashes that I’ve-been-judged-mentally-insane-by-a-court smile at the prospect. “This better be here when I get back.”
The prospect turns green and Dad pats the guy’s arm for him to suck it up. Eli jerks his head to the building. “You’re in on this, Razor.”
I slip off my cut and lay it with the others. Sometimes, like school, this happens. There are places that refuse people wearing club colors and then there are times that, out of respect, we take them off. It’s rare, but as I said, it happens.
We enter the building and receive plenty of terrified glances. Lots of people here. Families mostly, and people my age. Most of them dressed like they’re at a fancy business meeting. My stride slows when I realize how many people are in uniform...a private school uniform.
Pigpen grins at me when he opens a door but then puts a finger to his lips. “We’re running late and they just said they’ll kick anyone out who makes a sound.”
The world moves in slow motion when we walk into the back of a darkened auditorium. On the lit-up stage are two tables full of people and in the middle is one person explaining rules of how the academic competition will play out.
My heart stops and I’m frozen in place. At the end of the table is long raven hair and the most beautiful face in the world. It’s Breanna and I almost drop to my knees when a burn hits my throat and eyes.
“You okay, brother?” Pigpen asks.
“It’s Breanna.” My voice is rougher than it should be.
Pigpen cups the back of my head. “You showed faith in us and we came through. Her parents have laid down some serious rules, but if you follow them, that girl is yours as long as she still wants you.”
I nod and join Pigpen in a seat in the last row and sit back and watch something I wasn’t sure I’d ever see—Breanna on stage, showing the entire world how her mind works.
Breanna
I CAN’T STOP touching Razor.
Not that we can really touch—not in the way he touches me in my dreams, but at least we’re touching and he’s here and he’s looking at me and we’re still together.
On a blanket at a park across the street from my private school, Razor and I hold hands. He’s been catching me up on what’s been happening at school, with Violet, Oz, Chevy and Emily. Nothing he says is too detailed. He speaks in generalities as my older brothers are also sitting on the blanket staring at Razor like they would happily toss him into a meat grinder.
But I don’t care... I’m touching Razor.
My parents are at the picnic table full of fixings from KFC. Chicken, mac ’n cheese, mashed potatoes. Name it from the menu, it’s there. All courtesy of the Reign of Terror. Across from them are Razor’s dad, his girlfriend and Rebecca. Eli and Pigpen are playing kickball with my younger siblings.