Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits 1.50)

“Someone get him to shut the fuck up!” a guy with a Mohawk yells from the other side. Twenty of us share a large holding cell created for caging animals like me.

“Leave him alone.” I win the stare-down contest with Mohawk guy in less than five seconds. I fucked it up with Echo and not a damn person here wants to mess with me—the stewing volcano.

“Thanks—” Blotched cheek guy starts, but I cut him off.

“Sit your ass down,” I mumble.

“My dad—”

“Is going to be pissed if he comes here to claim you in a body bag. So shut it.”

The guy’s my age, honestly a few years older, but he’s still got a plug-in for an umbilical cord. Most of the guys here were busted from the party. Who the hell knows if this kid was arrested for selling, holding or for stupidity, and I’ll be damned if I ask.

He collapses to the bench next to me. “Dad will stop paying for college.”

My head hits the back of the cinderblock wall with enough force that pain weaves through my brain like a spider’s web. Fuck me—college. The only reason I’m able to go to school is because of the system. They had me sign papers that stated I understood that by receiving the money I’d stay out of trouble.

This is trouble.

What happens a thousand miles away will affect school...my future—my throat tightens—my brothers. Carrie and Joe kept me from them for two years because they thought I was bad news. This isn’t think—this is know.

Pure anger races through my veins, and I bolt to my feet, searching for something to ram my fist into—someone to blame because the truth, that I’ve destroyed my life...I can’t face it.

I pace the floor and rake my hands through my hair. This burning in my lungs, in my throat, it’s a damned pressure cooker ready to explode.

In front of me is an open patch of wall. My fist rolls back and right as I’m about to lose my shit with the cinderblock... “Hutchins, Noah,” a cop calls out. “Let’s go.”

The low murmur of conversation dies as the door to the cell slides open. It’s like they’re half expecting me to drop dead the moment I leave. Part of me is expecting it, too.

I wait for the bastard to cuff me again, but he doesn’t. He crooks his finger for me to follow. Two steps behind and attempting to watch my back, I do. With a key, then a card, two dead bolts unlatch on a thick door, and he opens it. He walks through and so do I.

I stop breathing. Not five feet away, Echo slides her fingers along the length of her scars. The door shuts behind me, and my gaze nails the cop. “What’s going on?”

Echo’s head jerks up, and our eyes meet. Beth and Isaiah scrutinize me like I’m a damn ghost being resurrected.

“Charges were dropped. Both you and your girlfriend are free.”

Girlfriend. Echo’s forehead wrinkles, and my eyes snap shut. Girlfriend. “Echo...”

Another click and a cold draft hits my back as the door behind me opens again. Echo’s sight falls beyond my shoulder, and she lifts her chin in that familiar pissed way.

Appearing pale and for the first time smaller than life, Mia walks up beside me. “I believe a thank-you is in order.”

“Why does he think she’s your girlfriend?” Echo demands.

There’s a handful of people in the waiting room, including the receptionist behind the bulletproof window, and each one of them watches, awaiting my explanation.

“It’s what I told them,” Mia answers for me, and my stomach bottoms out. “And my father when I asked him to intervene with the charges.”

Echo’s eyes flicker between me and Mia.

“It’s not like that,” I explain.

“Then why would she say that? Why would she help you?” Echo’s hand trembles as she wraps her fingers around a strand of hair. “You just met.”

Mia switches her footing, and I can’t meet Echo’s eyes. Damn me for this.

Echo recoils. “Tell me you just met. Tonight. Or at the Malt and Burger this week.”