The Boy I Grew Up With

by Tijan

  No matter what Traverse was really planning, we were still going to war.

  I just wasn’t sure against who.

  Heather found me still sitting there, long after that last guy left. The sounds from Manny’s filled the room as she opened the door, quieting as she shut it.

  “Hey.” She crossed to me. “You okay?”

  Like so many other times, probably in the thousands by now, I lifted my arm. She curled up on my lap, and I encircled her. She was secure, right where she belonged, in my arms.

  I let out a long, tense sigh. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know if they were telling the truth.”

  She tensed, then let out a short laugh. “You say that like you’re disappointed.”

  Because I was. Because I wasn’t sure.

  I looked up at her, meeting her eyes. “A push to get into Roussou is different than a mutiny war.”

  One was a helluva lot bloodier than the other. Heather didn’t ask which was which. She already knew.

  She leaned back, resting her head against my chest, and found my hand with hers. “We’ll make it through. We always do.”

  She moved my arm aside and lifted my shirt. I already knew where she was going. A moment later, as I felt her tracing Naly’s name again, I closed my eyes and imagined I was holding both of them.

  Until she said, “What are you going to do about Bren?”

  Oh, fuck.

  28

  Heather

  “You want me to what?” Bren asked, her hands on her hips.

  Channing was telling Bren and her crew about the situation, and once again, things were a little tense. They seemed fine with watching out for the Red Demons MC—all of them except Bren. Of course.

  Channing leaned against his kitchen counter. It was late at night, late for these teenagers. Normal kids should’ve been in bed, their homework done, their only worries about the next day’s classes. Again, not these kids. Midnight might as well have been their lunch hour, and every one of them was bright-eyed, but not bushy-tailed.

  “You think they’ll target Bren?” Cross asked.

  Bren had been protesting, but she went quiet once Cross started talking. She stood slightly behind him, her arms over her chest. Her chest rose and fell, and she glanced at me. I saw the struggle in her. The sister in her wanted to tell her older brother to fuck off, but Channing wasn’t speaking in that capacity now—or not only in that capacity. He was crew, like them, and he was the godfather in Roussou.

  She closed her eyes a second before moving alongside Cross to face her brother more fully.

  Channing paused a beat before nodding. “They might. Everyone’s protected in our crew, except Bren. She’ll be the lone wolf, and they might use that.”

  The tallest one pushed off from the wall and came to stand next to Bren. “She ain’t alone.”

  “The Ryerson crew will help us,” Cross added.

  “You sure about that?”

  I was thinking it, but Channing spoke it.

  Cross dipped his head in a brief nod. “They’ve had a leadership change. Drake Ryerson.”

  “That fuck?” Channing studied his sister for a moment. “You okay?”

  She met his gaze and started to nod, but paused. “I’m more worried about you, actually.”

  A wide smile flashed over the tallest one’s face, and he threw his arm around Bren’s shoulder. “We got your sister. No one’s going to hurt her, MC or crew.”

  Without blinking or showing any emotion, Bren slammed her elbow into his ribcage.

  “Ow!” He glared at her.

  She didn’t even spare him a look. “You know better than to do that with me.” Turning, she walked out of the room.

  Rubbing his side, he started after her, but Cross cut him off. “Don’t.”

  The taller one stopped in his tracks, silent as Cross went to follow Bren.

  The fourth member of their group went to the front door. “Jordan, you coming?” he asked.

  “Shit.” Jordan’s tall shoulders dropped, and he trudged after their last member. He looked in the direction of Bren’s room before going out.

  The front door shut behind them.

  And a second later, Bren’s door clicked shut.

  “She’s in there. With him. Alone.” Channing raked a hand over his face. “What the fuck am I supposed to do here?”

  Again. Not normal kids.

  I crossed the room to stand in front of him. I rested my hands on his stomach. “It wouldn’t have made a difference to us when we were that age.”

  “I know.” His hands found my hips, tugging me closer. “I would’ve just left and snuck back in through your window.”

  Channing’s relationship with his sister had improved, but they had a long way to go.

  “I’m not a mom…” That word came out a little raspy, and I swallowed over a lump. “But I think the best thing is to cement your relationship with her first.”

  “I’m trying.” He pulled me in, wrapping his arms around me and bending his head to the crook of my shoulder. “I’m trying.”

  He was trying. I was trying. I even think Bren was trying too.

  “Come on.” I stepped out of his arms and took his hand. “Take me to the bedroom, old man.”

  “Old man?” He smirked down at me, his eyes darkening. “I’ll show you old—old ways cavemen used to have sex with their women. How about that?”

  A tingle shot through me, and I couldn’t have wanted anything else. “Promise?”

  He groaned, his lips finding mine. “God, I promise.”

  Picking me up, he carried me to his bedroom and locked his door.

  At that moment, everything felt right…

  29

  Heather

  Freshman year

  My. Fucking. Bag. Wouldn’t. Budge.

  These damn lockers needed to be bigger. Honestly. I mean, come on. How can we keep all of our crap in these small things for an entire year? Some of us had real items to stuff in here—like books, and bags, and food, and the occasional liquor bottle (don’t judge me), and hello? What if I wanted to put an overnight bag in here? Or someone else’s overnight bag, such as Channing’s, because who knew where he slept most nights.

  Actually, it was his bag I was trying to pull out of my locker. Why he hadn’t used his own locker, I wasn’t sure. There was always a reason with him, but he’d gotten more and more vague with his explanations. I hadn’t wanted to start a fight (another one), so I’d just grabbed his bag and thrown my whole body at it, cramming it inside my locker.

  Now I had to move it because my stupid freaking history book had fallen behind it, and I couldn’t get it out.

  I tried from the floor now, my feet braced on either side of my locker as I yanked. I’d need a shower after this. My hair was sweeping the dust up from the hallway, though our janitors really did do a good job.

  Gus needed more credit for the crap he had to clean up.

  “Looking good, Jax.”

  Oh, shit.

  I looked up, still almost horizontal with the floor, and got a good junk shot from Budd Broudou.

  I’d be scarred for life.

  “Get the fuck away from me.” My teeth ground together.

  Budd’s brother Brett wasn’t that bad, but this guy was an A-hole of epic proportions, and their sister was just as bad—spoiled, sheltered, and narcissistic to the extreme. They had another brother too, but he didn’t go here. Anyway, the ones I knew seemed to get worse every year, and lately Budd had begun strutting around our school like he owned it. I might’ve been a lowly freshman this year, but I was a Jax. I wouldn’t take shit, and that certainly included the Broudous too.

  “Oh, come on.” He moved his hips in a circle, knowing what I could see as I looked up.

  Thank God for jeans, or I’d be seeing some peen and beans.

  I gave up. Climbing to my feet, my hands found my hips. I focused on his junk for a moment, th
en smirked.

  “You pad that shit, don’t you.”

  Before he could retort, I gave him a little tap with the back of my hand.

  I was right. There was a sock in that thing.

  He howled, cupping himself. “You bitch!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please. You didn’t feel it, if you know what I mean.”

  “You…”

  I could see his body temperature rising. The red at the bottom of the thermostat was rolling up, up, up, and all the way to the top. Even his forehead was red. His hands curled as if he might go for my throat. “You bitch—”

  Smack!

  Channing had appeared out of nowhere. His punch sent Budd into the locker beside me.

  “Get away from her!” Channing yelled, and then he was on him.

  Punch after punch, I almost felt sorry for Budd. He didn’t have time to recover or fight back. Then a shout came out from farther down the hallway, and a mass of students pushed toward us.

  Budd’s brother Brett was coming, along with the rest of their friends. I’d noticed a divide among the students—half followed the Broudou brothers around like puppies trailing their mother’s tit, and a fourth remained neutral. The last fourth were loyal to Channing. They were a smaller group, but they were fierce.

  Channing had started fighting more and more, which made his friends wade in too, and somehow, they’d become a fighting force. They were tough enough to make the Broudou followers wary, which is why only Brett and one other tried to get Budd away from Channing—or more accurately, Channing’s fists.

  Moose, Congo, and Chad pushed through the crowd and started in on Brett and Jared Caldron, Budd’s best friend.

  I was pissed—beyond pissed.

  One, I’d been handling this. Like the day would come that I couldn’t handle a fucking Broudou? Please.

  Two, I’d been trying to get that damn bag out of my locker, and now what was I doing? Waiting. Waiting for these shitheads to figure out whose dick was bigger.

  Three, as I watched, Channing slammed Budd against my locker. The force was enough to drive his bag back in.

  And finally, my mouth dropped as I watched all of my books and papers fly out of the locker. Not one or two, all! How was that even possible?

  “Fuckers!” I yelled.

  Forget it. I waded in. If they hurt me, so be it. I was getting my damn history book one way or another.

  “Heather!” Channing yelled.

  “Jax!”

  I didn’t know who that was. I didn’t care. Shoving Broudou away, I pushed Channing’s hands off of me too. “Get away.”

  He cursed, shoving Budd farther away from me. Fine. Whatever. They could do their stupid fighting over there. I dropped to the ground, my ass on that floor again, and I wedged my hand under Channing’s bag until I could wrap my fingers around my history book.

  Of course. Because it was cosmic karma—my books were all spread out around the hallway except the one I wanted.

  The guys still wrestled around me. Moose slammed Brett into my neighbor’s locker. Both guys saw me, and their eyes bulged out.

  “Jax, what the fuck are you doing?”

  But then Brett wound back a fist and sent it right into Moose’s jawline. He punched Moose back toward where Channing had taken Budd—see? That brother wasn’t as bad as the other.

  I heard a crow squawk, “Get off of my brothers!”

  There was only one girl stupid enough (besides me) to wade into this mess, and if she started fighting, so would I. I’d have to go at her, though I didn’t want to. I had priorities here. I was still hoping to get this damn book and go to class. Not all of us had to get detention. That was my thinking until Shannon Broudou screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Teachers! Get the teachers! Channing Monroe started the whole thing.”

  I had a good hold. I was able to wrap my entire hand around the book. I tensed up, and pulled with all of my weight.

  Ooomph!

  Success.

  The book popped out of the locker, and since Shannon was passing me at that moment, I used the momentum to let it fly.

  It soared over my head and smacked her right in the shoulder.

  “What?” She whirled to me, but I was on my feet by then.

  Before the book hit the ground, I snatched it up off its bounce and backhanded her. With the book. Across the face. It wasn’t enough to knock her off her feet, but she fell into the crowd beside her. A look of wonder came over her. Her hand raised to touch where I’d hit her before pure fury formed.

  It was at that point I rethought what I’d just done.

  Shannon Broudou was not a small girl.

  She was nearing the line between solid and pudgy, but she embraced her weight. She loved her curves. I had no problem with that, but it was a problem when those same curves were now poised to take me on. She had a lot more meat than I did.

  “Aw, shit.”

  I had enough time to consider running, but my Jax pride wouldn’t let me, so with those guys still fighting in the background, I braced for her rebuttal.

  She dropped her head and charged.

  Channing nursed a black eye in detention—right next to me.

  “Why are you mad at me?” he asked. “I was defending you.”

  I glared at him. “Because I was handling him just fine, and it’s not that.” I quieted. I didn’t want to fight, but screw it. “You’re fighting all the time lately.”

  He pulled the ice bag away and straightened. “So what?”

  God. I hated how his eyes got so cold, especially when he was staring right at me.

  “Your mom died, but—”

  “But what?” he snarled. “I’m not handling her death the right way?” He leaned close, his breath hot on me. “Tell me, Heather. How am I supposed to mourn my mom, huh? Can’t be like you, not giving a shit that my mom took off when I was in first grade.”

  I winced.

  I waited for the second dig, where she came back and decided we still weren’t good enough for her. But it didn’t come.

  “Shut up,” I shot back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “I know what it’s like to lose a mom. I just don’t know what it’s like to live without one.” He shoved back his chair, standing up.

  “If you walk out of this classroom, Mr. Monroe, you’re suspended,” the teacher warned him.

  It didn’t matter.

  Channing walked out, raising his middle finger over his shoulder.

  The thing is, I wasn’t sure if that was meant for the teacher or me.

  30

  Heather

  Present day

  Two weeks went by, and it had become crew haven at Manny’s.

  Channing’s, Bren’s, and another one—they were all in and out every day.

  Crews always held a “danger” appeal to the Fallen Crest crowd—from high schoolers through the middle-aged lonely housewives—and since they were here, business was booming.

  I was still ready for the crews to go back to their normal, less frequent visits. Things weren’t so tense when they weren’t around.

  In the grand scheme of things, though, I wanted to make sure we were safe, so we endured. That’s all you could do in a storm: hunker down, wait for it to end.

  Everyone felt it—the staff and the customers—whether they knew what was going on or not. They walked a bit more freely when they were leaving. The only one who didn’t seem affected was Suki. We’d pitched the idea of her hosting a private dinner night, and she loved it—so much that she’d settled back into being a regular manager. So now, when I wasn’t needed at Manny’s, I was at Tuesday Tits with Channing, or I was at the warehouse with everyone else.

  It was one of those warehouse afternoons again. I’d started to stay away from Manny’s as much as possible, just because I didn’t want to feel the weight of putting everyone there in danger, but I was bored. And restless, and I’d started carrying a pack of cigarettes on me again.


  I didn’t smoke them. Not yet, but I was taking them out. I’d hold one in my hand.

  I was doing that more than I should’ve.

  I sat on a picnic table in the back. Everyone else was inside, or the kids were on the makeshift playground that had been set up in the middle of everything.

  I hadn’t liked seeing the kids here, but when I’d said as much to Channing, he’d asked what else they could do. Some of their members had kids. They probably wouldn’t be touched. He didn’t think the Red Demons would hurt kids, but why risk them?

  I couldn’t quite make out all the conversation inside, but I could hear it. I could hear them laughing.

  I wasn’t laughing.

  There was nothing to goddamn laugh about in this situation.

  I needed my own chaos, not theirs. I needed my Manny’s dysfunction.

  “I didn’t know it was getting that bad,” Channing said, coming out from the warehouse. He moved to sit on top of the table beside me. Reaching over, he took the pack out of my hands and slid the cigarette from my fingers, caressing my hand in the process.

  I didn’t fight him. I couldn’t. Because he was right. It was getting bad.

  “It’s this place.”

  I didn’t look at him, but I knew he wouldn’t buy that excuse. He put the cigarette back in the pack and took out a lighter. He lit the whole thing on fire and tossed it into one of the bonfire pits.

  “It’s not this place,” he said. “It’s the situation.”

  Well. That too.

  I grunted. “I was trying to be nice.”

  “I know.”

  We fell silent—comfortably.

  Maybe it was because Channing was with me no matter what, or maybe it was because I’d given in. But I wasn’t fighting him about being in a crew anymore. I wasn’t hoping to pull him away. I was in, fully in. Whatever the reason, he said something he never had before.