The Boy I Grew Up With

by Tijan

  “Heather?”

  I shook my head. “This is it, Channing. We either make this time work or…” Oh, fuck. Was I actually going to say this? My throat was burning. “Or we need to walk away, and I mean it.”

  He leaned forward, his face coming back into that little bit of light.

  I could see his eyes again.

  And I felt a little stronger inside. I felt surer, more certain.

  This was the right direction to go. It had to be. I didn’t know if I could survive another Naly, another promise of so much more, only to lose it all.

  “Shit or get off the pot, you mean?”

  I nodded. “Shit or go somewhere else to shit.”

  His mouth curved up. “If that doesn’t put me in the mood, then I don’t know what will.”

  I mirrored his smile. It clicked, whatever it was, and fell into place.

  Channing was never going to leave his crew, so it was up to me. I had to be okay with it. If not, then I’d have my answer.

  “I want to know what you’re doing tomorrow,” I said again.

  He was so close. He sat up straighter. His arms tightened around me, pulling me to straddle him. His hand cupped the side of my face.

  I didn’t know he’d touch me there, but I loved it. I closed my eyes, savoring him. His other hand went to my waist. He pressed against me. Holding me. It meant something.

  He held me like I was the most fragile piece of glass.

  “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

  I shuddered, my hands resting against his stomach, feeling the ridges of his muscles there. “Yes.”

  I had to know.

  I had to try.

  “Okay.”

  24

  Heather

  Seventh grade

  “Hey.”

  Channing dropped down next to me. We were up on a large boulder, sitting higher than most everyone else.

  Most were either swimming in the springs or drinking under some of the tents they’d put up for shade. I loved the springs, and I loved that it seemed only a Roussou place to go, even though Frisco wasn’t too far from here either. Today, as I watched everyone, I was kinda hoping they’d all just go away.

  “Hey.” Even I winced at my tone. Dull and lame.

  Channing paused, then nudged my arm. “What’s wrong? Not in the partying mood?”

  I moved my arm out of the way, pulling my shirt down a bit more.

  “My brother’s here.” Stupid Brandon. Sucking face with some girl. Football, drinking, and sucking face—those were his three favorite pastimes.

  Channing laughed. “He is. Is that Melanie Fina?”

  Melanie Fina was a grade younger than my brother, and she had an STD reputation.

  I growled. “Great. Look, now I have to go over and interrupt that before he gets something he’s stuck with for the rest of his life, and he’s going to get mad at me. I’m not the older one, he is. But is he acting like it?”

  Channing just smiled. “What are you really mad about? You and I both know it’s not your brother. You like going to the same parties with him.”

  “You’re annoying.”

  He poked my arm. “Tell me.”

  “Stop it.” I flicked him away, gritting my teeth against the sudden pain that shot up to my shoulder.

  He just laughed and scooted closer, wrapping his arms around me.

  Pain. Pain.

  I ignored it, stiffening until he said, “Come on, Heather. Tell me what’s wrong. You know you want to.”

  I tried to keep my stern face, but when he did stupid things like this, I melted. My damn hormones. They always thought he was adorable, and looking up at his face, I had to admit he was. The sun had highlighted his hair with golden streaks, and he’d gotten a few tattoos. He wasn’t wearing a shirt today, and I studied the new tattoo on the inside of his bicep. He joked that when he got built, the paw would get larger. It was just over the size of my hand right now.

  He had more building to do.

  “You never told me why you got this tat.”

  He let out a sigh and wiggled his fingers against my cheek.

  I knocked his hand away, feeling a burn as one of my cuts grazed against his arm. Shit.

  “Hey. What—” His hands darted to my arm, yanking it out in front of him.

  Yeah.

  I looked at it too.

  It wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn’t supposed to be that girl.

  But I was.

  He ran his thumb lightly over a cut. “I thought you stopped.”

  I didn’t respond. The words burned in my throat.

  Channing cocked his head to the side. His eyes darted to where Brandon was sucking face with Melanie, then to me.

  He sighed. “Yesterday?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to, and I didn’t think I could even if I had.

  My mom had come back, then she’d left. Again.

  Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of her leaving. The second time.

  “Heather.” His tone was soft, luring me.

  I moved so our eyes could meet. Our lips were an inch apart. One movement, one twitch, one lick, and we’d be kissing.

  We hadn’t kissed.

  We’d started holding hands. We hugged. We cuddled. Channing crawled into my room at night and wrapped his arms around me in bed. There’d been slight over-the-clothes grinding sessions a few times, but no kissing. Not yet.

  I knew it was coming. He knew it was coming, and his eyes were dark now. They always turned that way when we touched, but he held back. I held back.

  I think we were both scared of the next step. Once we crossed that threshold, it’d be different for us. We wouldn’t be the best friends we were now. We’d be more. We’d be official, though we’d been unofficial for a long time. Everyone knew: Channing and I were together.

  “Channing,” I whispered back, feeling a tear fall.

  I didn’t want to talk.

  He cursed, then reached out and lifted me up until I was straddling him.

  I moved my arms over his shoulders, sliding my fingers through his hair.

  He searched my eyes, dipping to glance at my lips before looking back up. “What do you want to do here?”

  I didn’t want to think, that’s what I wanted, and I was too goddamn young to be thinking like that. I said instead, “Forget.”

  “Okay.”

  He cupped the side of my face. “So let’s forget together.”

  I swallowed.

  I saw his intent on his face.

  He moved forward, and I closed my eyes.

  His lips touched mine.

  They were cool, but soft, and a zing went through my blood.

  It shouldn’t have been perfect.

  But the reason we kissed wasn’t.

  Maybe it was for that reason, maybe it was because I felt like I’d been waiting since third grade for this kiss, but whatever it was, I let my mother go.

  I kissed him back.

  25

  Channing

  Present day

  “We either make this time work… Or we need to walk away…”

  I might’ve joked about shitting when Heather said those words last night, but I swear, I almost did. Right then and there.

  Heather Jax had balls of steel. If she said it, she meant it, and I’d been sweating the last six-pack I downed at her place ever since.

  “There’s the guys.” Heather leaned forward and pointed at a group of cars lined up on the side of the road.

  I slowed, stopping alongside Moose’s truck. He got out and came over as Heather rolled her window down.

  If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t let it show. He raised his coffee in greeting. “Morning.”

  If it was good or not was yet to be seen. I dipped my head. Heather had slept a little, maybe an hour, but not me. I’d been busy pissing myself since she’d uttered those words. But crew was crew. We had to work, so game face on.

  “Morning,” I g
runted back.

  I could see Scratch with him back in the truck, holding a wrapped breakfast sandwich.

  “You guys stop and get food?”

  “Yeah. You eat?”

  Heather shook her head, holding up her own coffee. “I made this right before we left; that was it.”

  A car door shut behind us, and Congo appeared next to Moose. He waved a pack of chew in the air. “You want some?”

  Heather shot her hand out. “God, no. Get that away from me.”

  “She’s trying to quit smoking, dumbass.”

  He cocked his head. “When did you start chewing, Heather?”

  She groaned, sliding down in her seat.

  I barked over her, “It’s a goddamn trigger—smoke, chew, booze, fucking, all of it. Put that shit away.”

  The fact that Heather boozed it up, worked where there was smoking and drinking, and had sex on the reg wasn’t something either of them brought up. At this moment, Heather could react to seeing a piece of grass blow in the wind, and I’d clobber anyone who cooed that it was pretty. I’d rip the whole damn lawn up if I had to.

  “Oh…” Congo was still frowning, but he put it away, shrugging. “Sorry, Heather.”

  A light tap on my window, and I rolled it down.

  “Hey.” Chad’s red hair whipped around so he looked like a Chia pet, and he tucked his hands up under his pits.

  “You cold?”

  “Nah. I’ve got the shakes. I drank too much when I was visiting family.” His grin was crooked. “You know us Catholics. We like our wine.”

  “And everything else,” Congo piped up from the other side.

  “Am I supposed to come over there too?” Scratch yelled, still inside Moose’s truck. “What’s the deal?”

  Heather snorted.

  I leaned forward. “Why are you here? This is crew shit.”

  Scratch shrugged, holding up his sandwich. “Moose promised me food, and besides, anyway you split it, if it affects the bar, it’s my business too.”

  He had a point.

  “Besides, I’m your goddamn family.” He pointed with the sandwich. “And Heather’s here. She ain’t crew.”

  All the guys straightened. Someone said under his breath, “Oh, damn.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, and Moose opened his mouth. But before either of us could say anything, Heather leaned out of the window.

  “When you’ve been fucking one of the members for years, you can have a say,” she hollered. “They might not listen, but I can have a say. Until then, keep eating your damn sandwich. Thank you.”

  It was a big deal that Heather was here. The guys knew it, but Scratch—he hadn’t always been around. He’d only come back into the fold one or two years before we took over the bar.

  Some days it felt like he was crew, but mornings like this reminded me that he’d grown up somewhere else.

  Not Heather. She was Roussou born and bred. She’d never changed. And everything she’d said held up. I’d go to the ends of the fucking Earth for her, and these guys would have my back.

  Scratch would stay and take care of the bar.

  “Sorry, Heather.” He took another bite, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “Sometimes my mouth moves before my brain does.”

  “It happens.” She sat back, looking over to me. “Are we doing something or just going to hold hands?”

  Chad burst out laughing. “I’ve missed having little Jax on our missions.”

  “Yeah, when was the last time?” Moose asked.

  “I remember.” Chad snapped his fingers. “That old barn-dance place. The owner said he’d rather burn it down than let some homosexuals party there. Ginger Gypsy was there with my other aunt and some of their friends, back when they could still shake it.”

  Chad a large family. Really large.

  Congo raised his voice, “Yeah! She was there with her girlfriend, and they got so mad, they went to Manny’s. Heather heard, came and found us, and then—”

  Heather was watching me.

  I finished the story, so goddamn proud of my girl. “Heather was the first to go and light the match.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I really liked Cora. That made me mad.”

  Chad’s laugh softened. He rested his arm on my door. “That meant a lot to my aunts. Cora asked about you until the day she died. She kept proclaiming you’d be blessed for what you did.”

  “For burning down a barn-dance hall?” But Heather was smiling.

  I’d forgotten how much she’d loved Chad’s aunts, but it wasn’t just them. It was the girlfriend. Heather had doted on them…

  “They were friends with your dad,” I said, remembering.

  She nodded again. “Cora Lovell used to babysit Brandon when he was little. He had a crush on her. I was the one who told him she didn’t swing that way. I think it made him love on her even more.”

  “Yeah, she said you visited them in the nursing home a lot.”

  “How is Ginger Gypsy?” Heather asked Chad.

  He glanced to me, asking for permission. I nodded, just barely.

  “She’s good. Still fighting, raising a ruckus like always.”

  “And your mom?”

  He lifted up a tight shoulder. “My mom not so much. She got conned by someone recently.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Chad. I really am.”

  “Yeah.” His head lowered a little. “She wasn’t hurt too bad. And we were able to get most of the money back.”

  There was a pregnant pause after that.

  Someone had hurt someone a crew member loved. Heather knew the policy after that: we got even. I waited to hear her response.

  “And whoever conned your mom?”

  I looked over. I was surprised to hear a hardness in her tone. It reflected in her eyes. There was the old Heather, the one who’d burned down a barn-dance hall without a moment’s hesitation.

  I swore I saw the same flames flickering in her eyes as she asked me, “Did you get the guy?”

  I nodded. “You know it.” Whatever god brought her into my life, thank you.

  She clipped out, “Good.”

  After her response, the guys all seemed to breathe easier, stepping back from the truck. Congo popped the last of his chew in his cheek, then brought out a lighter and started to touch the flame to the empty case.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Moose grabbed for the lighter. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “What?” Congo frowned. “There’s no trash around, and I don't want to litter.”

  Chad started laughing behind me.

  Moose shook the chew packet in front of Congo’s face. “Burning this shit could be worse for the environment than littering.”

  “How? I’m just burning it up.”

  “You gotta make sure.” Moose patted the top of Congo’s head with the chew case. “Just in case, man. There could be chemicals in this. You got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Congo grumbled, grabbing for the case and going back to his vehicle. He called over his shoulder, “Figure out the plan and let me know, would you?”

  Moose turned back to the truck. He stepped in closer; so did Chad.

  “You heard him, boss. What’s the plan?” Moose asked.

  This was a scouting mission. So, it was time to do some scouting.

  26

  Heather

  Fart!

  Somehow I’d ended up running behind Channing’s cousin, and smelling the farts he kept denying.

  Another one. I hit Scratch in the back. “Stop farting! They stink!”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I shouldn’t have had that sandwich in the truck.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re kinda mean sometimes, Heather. Do you know that about yourself?”

  My hand spasmed. I wanted to hit him again, across the face. I deadpanned, “Really? I had no idea.”

  “Not nice. Not nice.”

  Then a voice spoke from behind me. “Would you
two stop bickering? You’re like two little kids fighting over a toy.”

  Scratch didn’t respond, but I screamed my displeasure—or I would’ve. I jumped straight in the air, and just as I started to yell, a hand clamped over my mouth.

  “Ssshhhh! It’s me. Lincoln.”

  I nodded, and he eased his hand away. I looked at him over my shoulder, still a little shaken. “Where the hell did you come from? And make some noise, why don’t you?” I punched his arm.

  Girls aren’t supposed to hit. Guys can’t hit girls, so it should go both ways, but my God, he scared three years off my life. And the need to smoke hit me full blast now. I could smell the nicotine. My nose started twitching, trying to lead me toward it.

  “He’s been trailing us the whole time. Right?” Congo said, laughter in his voice.

  Lincoln nodded, but barely. The guy was committed to his statue impersonation. “Chan sent me after you guys. Neither of you were answering your phones.” He nodded to our left. “We’re supposed to cross there and meet them on the other side of the hill.”

  So far in our scouting mission, we’d done a whole bunch of running around fields and over hills. We’d crossed a river (that was not fun) and gone over more hills. Channing said we were checking some of the Red Demon territories, but so far, I was just seeing land. Everywhere.

  “Were you in the trucks before?” It was still bugging me, not seeing Lincoln till now.

  Congo spoke for him as Lincoln went ahead, taking the lead. “He’s been our rear, staying back and making sure no one sneaks up on us.”

  Well. That made perfect sense.

  Channing moved like a ghost. So did Moose, and now Lincoln too. But Congo didn’t, and neither did Chad. Chad smelled like spice cologne, and Congo wore these chains from his pants that rattled every time he moved. Although now I noticed those chains had stopped making any sound.

  Chill, Heather. It’s not like they haven’t done this before.

  This was a regular Tuesday to them. I kept telling myself that as I jogged after Lincoln and Congo and saw the rest were already ahead. They lay flat at the top of the next hill, some with binoculars out.