Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits 1.50)

Keeping her grip on Echo, Beth attempts to step in front of her, but Echo fights to break free. The misery of watching Echo come face-to-face with this reality kills me.

The cop closes the door, and I slam the back of my head on the seat. Fuck me. Fuck me for doing this to me. For doing this to Echo. I blink rapidly, trying to stall the wetness.

With damn tears cascading down Echo’s face, Isaiah blocks her path. Both Isaiah and Echo gesture wildly, and the silence inside the car is deafening. Her lips frantically move, pleading with Isaiah as she points at me.

Finally ending the Shakespearean tragedy, Isaiah seizes Echo’s waist and half presses, half carries her over the hill. I force my eyes away as Echo challenges him—kicking to bend him to her will, but he’s doing what I asked. He’s saving her from me.

A cop eases into the driver’s seat and shakes my wallet in his hand. “Long way from home?”

Home.

Four years ago, I had two parents who loved me and two brothers who worshipped me.

Home.

For the past year, I’ve lived in a cement block basement with my two best friends.

Home.

I came to Vail searching for a connection, a place to belong.

Home.

Two nights ago, the girl I love gave me everything she had to offer. Not just her body, but her heart.

Home.

From the back of a police car, watching Isaiah drag Echo away—I’ve never been farther from home in my life.

Echo

Possession. Noah’s been arrested for possession, and there was a mention of dealing, but the receptionist has remained vague.

The waiting area of the police station has a layer of dust and dirt and filth and is the size of a walk-in closet. Beth sits in a chair with her knees pulled up, and Isaiah watches me pace as he leans against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“He wouldn’t sell,” I say. I barely meet Isaiah’s intense gaze as I pivot on my toes to walk in the opposite direction of him again.

“You’re right,” he answers.

But the doubt devouring my internal organs causes me to complete my loop in front of the row of chairs faster. “I mean, he wouldn’t, right?”

“If Noah was selling,” says Beth, “then he sure as hell wouldn’t be worried about money all the time, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be flipping burgers.”

Of course. Of course. I yank on a curl, causing pain at the root, ticked off that I lost faith.

“Narcotics aren’t his thing, Echo.” The finality in Isaiah’s voice halts me midloop, and I turn to face him.

“He smoked pot.” I don’t know why I said it, but it’s true, and the words taste bitter.

“Not tonig

ht,” Isaiah answers.

It’s three in the morning. My mind wavers in this exhausted state. My vision blurs on the edges, and my muscles move like I’m wading through mud. But one clear thought causes my entire body to spasm: I’m dating a guy that could be arrested for owning drugs.

But Noah doesn’t do drugs. He stopped last winter, and he hasn’t used since, but I’ve never asked him if he quit because I assumed he quit. It all becomes confusing and overwhelming and...

“Those weren’t his drugs.” Isaiah breaks into my internal meltdown. “He’s had a few beers, but I haven’t seen Noah touch drugs in months. He’s clean. You know it. I know it.”