Page 55 of Race to Me

He sees me.

He finds me.

And tears trickle down my cheeks when the palms of his hands grip each side of my face, not allowing me to look down anymore.

“Your chaos is mine, Sky.” Foster says, taking that weight off of me and dividing it between us.

Twenty-One

With a lingering kiss to my forehead, Foster returns the headphones to my ears. Turning the volume all the way up, he effectively drowns out every single sound besides the music.

His hands move quickly to grab my things. I focus on him and the soft yet loud music that’s thrumming through the headphones. I’m instantly calmed by his playlist and the way he turns to me during all of the madness and makes a silly face to cheer me up.

Foster reaches my underwear drawer and stuffs a few things into a duffel bag wildly. His long legs guide him to my desk, where he gets my schoolwork together. I want to help him, but I’m shattered. Everything is crumbling around me.

It’s weird, though, this feeling of my world-changing in an instant. I welcome it, but I’m afraid, and I don’t know why.

Foster pulls the headphones out and chaos ensues. I jolt back at the sudden blaring noise that’s outside my room. My father’s fist pounds on the door. Foster tells him to fuck off, and he angrily stomps away.

“Put these on,” he suggests in a velvet, calm tone, handing me his hoodie and a pair of jeans. I slowly slip off my pajamas. He helps me put on a pair of tennis shoes, since my hands are shaking too badly to tie the laces.

Two duffel bags, one book bag. That’s all that’s left of what once was my life. I already know they won’t want me anymore when I walk out that door.

I’m okay with that, but I’m also terrified of the unknown. Foster grips my hand, and he stalks towards the door. I almost tell him I’d rather crawl out the window. I can’t control the trembling of my hands or the tears that steadily trail down my cheeks.

At the bottom of the winding staircase, we’re met with an eerie silence. Mom is clutching a wine glass while Dad stands near the door with his arms crossed. Foster continues to hold my hand and walk me outside, dropping the duffel bags on the driveway and going back in, never letting me go.

I cast a glance at my father while we grab the rest of my things. His face is red, and I can tell everyone is at their breaking point. Finally, Dad spits out, “If you take her with you, I’ll have you arrested.”

Foster calmly closes the front door, shutting us in the foyer with them. I don’t understand why. He places my bookbag on my back and pulls the straps tight. “You can say all the veiled threats you want to. The harsh reality is you’re never going to see her again.” he informs them, his tone seeping finality.

My father laughs, stepping in front of the door and blocking our way. “Oh, she’ll come crawling back.” He turns his attention to me. “I won’t tell Warren about this, for the sake of your future.”

“Her future isn’t defined by who she fucking marries!” Foster fumes, disgusted by their words.

My parents ignore him, and Dad plucks my keys from their hook. “Good luck getting your shit on his bike. You don’t get to take your Range Rover.”

Headlights whirl in front of the house, and I worry it’s the cops. When I say my father is powerful, I’m not lying. He’s a top-notch accountant who works for the Miami Government, and he can get away with most things. I worry Foster doesn’t have that kind of pull.

Foster sends him a cheeky grin. “I assumed you were the type to cut your daughter off when she didn’t follow your every command.” He scoffs, turning to me. “I texted Ryder when we were upstairs. He’s picking your bags up.”

“I don’t want anyone else to see this.” I mutter to him. I then realize that I haven’t spoken to my parents, but truthfully, I have nothing else to say to them.

He places his tattooed hands gently on my shoulders. “They won’t. I promise.”

Mom steps forward, blocking the door along with my father, holding her robe tightly against herself. “Skyler,” she pleads. “Don’t throw your life away. Don’t throw all of this way.” Her gaze roams around the glass castle we live in.

When I don’t respond, Foster does. “You’ve got a beautiful home, but the guts are damaged as fuck.” he snaps.

She ignores him. “Honey, I just want the best life for you. I know your father can have a ... temper. But look at all he provides.” She’s speaking quietly, and the tears slowly trickle down my face.

“You’ve always been obsessed with wanting everything, Mom. All I want is a good life, and our definition of good is vastly different.” I choke. “I don’t want to be hurt by him anymore.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you’re a broken bird, Skyler. You’re a spoiled brat and nothing more!” He sneers.

Foster takes a threatening step forward, blocking their view of me. “Don’t diminish what you’ve put her through. She’s not acting like anything; sheishurt.” He looks between them. “You hurt her, and it’s taking every ounce of control I have to not beat the fuck out of you right now. I suggest you get out of our fucking way.”

Dad peeks his head around to get a good look at me. “You leave this house, you’re cut off.” His tone is drenched in finality.

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