The Boy I Grew Up With

by Tijan

  I wasn’t even going to ask about his half-brother. I knew the guy’s mom hated everything Monroe.

  “Channing,” I sighed, but a truck wheeled in behind us. Two upperclassmen waved, hollering, “Monroe! We’re about to go fuck some shit up over in Fallen Crest. You in?”

  “Hell yes.”

  I tried not to see how relieved he looked as he started for the truck.

  Catching my eye, he stopped and kissed my neck quickly, whispering, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

  Then he was gone, vaulting into the back of the truck.

  The two guys grinned at me, one giving me a peace sign before they roared away.

  I stood in the exhaust trail behind them and shook my head. It was then that I realized how much I loved Channing Monroe, because while he was being all tortured and twisted, and growing into a dick, I still thought he was the hottest thing to walk this Earth.

  I was messed up.

  36

  Heather

  Present day

  I sat on the porch, a bottle of bourbon next to me and a pack of cigarettes in my hand.

  I hadn’t opened them yet, but I wanted to. Holy shit, I wanted to. Across from me, the back of Manny’s was full, but not with the high school crews. There was a ten-year Fallen Crest Academy reunion in town, and their after-party had moved to Manny’s.

  Most times I didn’t care whether the rich and hoity-toity were here. I never preferred them over customers from Roussou, but right now, I was beyond thankful they had filled Manny’s tonight. Chances were good no massive brawl was going to break out, and Suki was in heaven. A few had come specially to request her fish meal, so she’d asked Katrina to take over for her, and she was putting on a show in the back.

  She had a prep table set up, and white tablecloths over all the back picnic tables. There were flowers, candles, mason jars—the whole nine yards. She’d had Cruz hook up the grill before he went off shift. He was still there, but just as a drinking customer. It was his high school reunion.

  “I didn’t know Cruz went to FCA.”

  I heard the footsteps coming from inside, but I didn’t look back. The main door was propped open with the screen door in place, keeping the bugs from going inside. Channing had dropped me off earlier, then left to check on everyone else. He’d wanted to take me back to the warehouse, but considering my not-giving-a-shit, I’d opted for my place.

  “I didn’t either. He must’ve been two years older than Sam.” I didn’t ask how Channing got in, because he hadn’t walked past me. He must’ve parked in the back and climbed through my bedroom window.

  I could feel his gaze. He hadn’t opened the screen door, content to talk to me from inside. A part of me wondered if he didn’t want to be seen, if there was still blood all over him, but I knew that wasn’t likely. Who knew, though. It’d be like Channing to want to wait and shower with me, but I hadn’t waited. As soon as he’d dropped me off, I’d grabbed the bourbon on the way to the shower and started guzzling before the water was warm. Since then, I’d only dressed and made my way down here. The bottle hadn’t left my side, and I’d grabbed a thin blanket for my lap despite the sweltering heat outside. I had no bra on, and I knew there was a definite, hundred-percent chance my tits were nipping out.

  It was ironic. I didn’t care if the rich folk could see my tits, but I still held that blanket over me like I needed to cover up, like the shoot-out had exposed something dark and dirty inside, and I didn’t fit in with the crowd a few yards away.

  The rebellious side of me mixed with the half-shameful side.

  And thinking of that, I shoved off the blanket. Screw them. This was my place. They were on my territory, not the other way around.

  “You need anything before I come out?” Channing called.

  I shook my head before he padded to the fridge and opened it. He came out, a beer in hand, and stepped over my legs since I’d stretched out my feet on the porch railing. Swiping the pack of cigarettes from my hand, he tossed them into the alley in front of us. They landed on the gravel.

  “Hey!” I glared at him.

  He shrugged, settling beside me and resting his legs on the porch railing too.

  A group of three guys walked from the picnic area back to Manny’s through the side door. All three were holding drinks and dressed in polo shirts with baseball caps turned backward on their heads and trendy sandals under jeans. They stopped, saw the smokes, and glanced to us.

  “Those yours?”

  I didn’t even try. I knew what Channing would say.

  “Take ’em. Smoke ’em,” he called.

  They laughed.

  One said, “Really?”

  “Yeah. Take ‘em.”

  “All right.” He shrugged and swooped down. He fished out a cigarette and handed the pack to the others. Someone produced a lighter.

  I groaned. I was going to have to smell my own smokes. Shooting Channing another death look, I said to the guys, “Smoking’s on the other side of the building.”

  “Oh yeah.” The first guy waved his cigarette toward us. “Sorry.”

  They went around the front and disappeared.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  Channing laughed. “An asshole who loves you.” He lowered his voice. “You stopped for her, and you didn’t start back up for her. I don’t want to be the reason you start smoking again. You know I’m right.”

  Yeah. Yeah. Didn’t help me, though.

  “Whatever,” I grumbled, slinking farther down in my chair. I eyed the bourbon. If I couldn’t smoke… I grabbed it and took a long drink. There was no burn, which wasn’t a good sign.

  I was beyond caring about that.

  He’d brought Naly up.

  She hadn’t been on my mind, not for a few days.

  Now the burn was starting, just not from the booze.

  “You want to talk?” he asked.

  I moved my head from side to side.

  Channing had filled me in earlier. Stalker and Congo had been tailing me. Traverse had finally called Channing and tipped him off what Richter was planning. Stalker called minutes after Traverse. And one thing more.

  I’d shot a guy, but he wasn’t dead.

  I hadn’t killed someone.

  That was the real kicker of the whole shit day.

  Thank God I wasn’t a murderer.

  There was a whole host of other stuff I knew too. A whole bunch of guys had been shot, but only one guy was killed. I didn’t ask who it was, or who shot him, and Channing didn’t tell me. There’d been a tense exchange, but Channing had allowed Richter’s second-in-command to send their uninjured men back to pick up their wounded.

  When they left, Traverse had been their leader. Somehow, behind the scenes, a whole other mutiny had occurred.

  Richter was out of commission, completely.

  I also knew I didn’t want to be told what that meant when Channing relayed the information. I didn’t want to know if that meant Richter was going to die, or if I’d see him walking back into Manny’s. The only thing I did want to know is what Channing told me: the war was done.

  I didn’t want to know the politics, or how under the agreement with Channing, the Red Demons were only allowed to drink at Channing’s bar in Roussou— that was it. They weren’t even allowed to stop at Roussou’s gas station. If they ran out of gas, they were supposed to call one of the crews, who’d get the gas and bring it to them.

  I’m sure they had other bars to frequent in Frisco, but they’d continue to come to Tuesday Tits to show good faith in the renewed relationship too.

  Channing had offered that for Scratch, he said. His cousin always said when the Red Demons drank, they drank hard.

  “You really think they’re going to continue to drink at your place?” I looked at Channing, who was staring down at his beer, his eyebrows pinched together.

  He looked up. “I don’t know. They’re banned from Fallen Crest, and the only place they can go to in Roussou is my bar, so who knows. Th
ey’re Frisco’s problem now.” He shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “They’ve been drinking there since my dad ran it. There’s sentiment attached to the place, but we’ve been getting a lot of college students lately, so they might stop. They don’t care for the outsiders. I think we’re getting your old customers.” He nodded to the Fallen Crest Academy reunion people. “Your base is becoming more high-end.”

  “Those aren’t normal.”

  “Yeah, they are.” He met my gaze. “You renovated the back end of Manny’s, then added on to the front porch and did that whole other section just for smokers. He gestured to the picnic table area. “Plus you have lights all over the trees now. Suki moved back there. She’s not going to be returning to the front.” He patted my leg with his free hand. “The only place that’s not looking like a five-star pub is your house.”

  Dammit. He was right.

  I hated to admit it, but I’d started to become a little self-conscious of my own truck in the parking lot. It wasn’t mixing with the BMWs, Mercedes-Benzes, or even the Jettas. There were a whole bunch of a lot shinier and pricier vehicles too.

  “The crews come in,” I countered.

  “Not for long. Bren’s friends asked if I could buy the place next to the bar and turn it into a spot they could hang at, like your back room.”

  “They can be here because Manny’s is still a diner too. You don’t have that.”

  “I know. That’s why I said no, but they’re looking. That’s what I’m saying. They’re looking for a new spot.”

  Well, cripes. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. I felt a heaviness cloud my mind, so I took another drink of the bourbon. Some of those richy people were looking at us, but I was so far beyond giving a shit.

  I didn’t care that I’d shot someone.

  I didn’t care that I’d been in the middle of a shoot-out.

  I didn’t care that I was losing my old clientele.

  I didn’t care that I’d stopped smoking.

  I didn’t care… There were too many goddamn things I kept trying to deny I cared about, because if I didn’t, I didn’t know what I’d do. Until I could face the list of problems in my life, I’d resorted to my white-trash trailer-park ways.

  A few of those real-housewives women turned their noses up at me, and I was real tempted to itch my nose. With my middle finger.

  “They’re looking at me, Heather.”

  I swore under my breath. “They’re not, and you know it.”

  “No, they are.” He leaned forward, finishing his beer and putting the empty bottle on the railing. He looked back at me, and that’s when I saw he still had blood all over him. “I haven’t cleaned up yet.”

  He had waited for me to shower.

  I melted inside, despite a whole layer of pissed-off feelings that I knew were for him.

  “I feel like I’m stuck between two worlds,” I admitted, the bourbon loosening my tongue.

  That burned too. I didn’t admit things. I didn’t share stuff. And if I did, it was a big deal.

  He reached over and took my hand, lacing our fingers in my lap. “I know.”

  Except to Channing. He was the one I let in.

  “Because you are,” he added. His hand tightened, momentarily, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He brought my hand with his, and I had to sit up as he pressed a kiss to my knuckle. “Maybe you shouldn’t have to be.”

  “What?”

  But he didn’t answer.

  Without looking at me, he reached back, scooped me up and pulled me onto his lap. Settling back, he cradled me in his arms, burying his head in my hair. “God, I love you.” It came out in a whisper, and I closed my eyes, folding my other hand over his in my lap now.

  I could’ve sat there forever.

  A smattering of laughter pulled me out of my brief reverie. The same ladies were whispering together. They were holding up hands to cover their mouths, even.

  Fuck them.

  I stood, my bourbon in hand, and strode over.

  I didn’t stomp. I didn’t storm. I didn’t even walk. I strolled—slow, sensual, and I knew full well my tits were on display. Those women had their husbands at another table, and as soon as I started forward, a hush fell over their group.

  This wasn’t Business 101, but it was Humanity 101.

  My head held high, I stopped right in front of their table. My jean shorts slipped low on my hips. There was a good amount of toned flesh showing. I knew because I felt the breeze. Maybe the bourbon hadn’t completely taken me over, but raising the bottle to my lips, I smiled at them.

  Their class was two years older than me.

  Their bank accounts probably surpassed mine, but in no way were they classier.

  “Hi, ladies.” I took a long drink, tipping the bottle up and letting my throat stretch back. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I kept that cool smile on my face as I leaned forward. I put the bottle on their table, resting my hands so they could see down my shirt—just enough to make them uncomfortable, make their husbands excited. As their gazes went there, they straightened, and their mouths tightened.

  “How’s the evening for you?” I drawled. “Having fun? Having a few drinks?” I nodded to their wine glasses. “Enjoying Suki’s gourmet show?”

  The gravel crunched behind me, but I didn’t look to see who it was. I already knew Channing was there. Their eyes moved past me, and they couldn’t hide the desire that sparked. One coughed, glanced at her husband, and looked at her lap. Ooh, look. She needed to readjust her napkin. It wasn’t in the right spot. A second’s cheeks burned red. She stared a second too long, then did the same, glancing over to her husband. But the other two, they couldn’t tear their gazes away from him.

  I knew how they felt.

  Feeling my own lust ignited, I gave the women a knowing look. “I bet between the sticks up your asses and the long hours your men keep with their jobs or mistresses, you guys are actually envying me right now.” I straightened, ignoring the gasps from two of them, and the clenched jaws from the other two. “I can totally see that.”

  “Heather,” Channing murmured behind me. He stepped up close, and I felt his hand on my hip.

  I ignored him too. My gaze lingered on the last lady, the one who’d seemed perpetually pissed off at me. “It’s not me you’re actually mad at. You’re mad at yourself. You hate your life, and seeing me, wanting what I have, you can’t keep lying to yourself. The truth is bubbling up inside, just like mine is right now. Yeah, I’m coming over like a bitch, but you’re the one looking down your hoity-toity noses at me. You don’t even know me.” My hand flexed on the table. “You don’t know what I did today. You don’t know where I came from, where I’m going. You don’t know anything about me, but you think you do.” My eyes narrowed. “You think you’re so high up that I can’t yank you down. You’re dead fucking wrong. I can.”

  “Okay.” Channing’s arm came around my waist.

  “Get her out of here.” Brandon’s voice twisted on a snarl from behind us.

  “Already on it,” Channing grunted, carrying me back to my house.

  My take-down monologue was done, but I was all about embracing my roots.

  As Channing carried me past my house to his truck, I had the last laugh.

  I held up my hands, both middle fingers extended, and my last view was my brother, his hand rubbing his forehead.

  I didn’t care.

  That was the theme for the day.

  As Channing deposited me in his truck and rounded to the driver’s seat, I slumped down. “Where’s my bourbon?”

  “Hopefully coming out of you in a few minutes.” He kicked it in gear and backed out.

  Yes. Maybe. My stomach began rolling around, mixing in rhythm with the truck as we pulled out onto the main highway that went to Rousou. I clasped a hand there and frowned.

  Nope. I wasn’t going to be sick, because that wasn’t how a Jax rolled. We had stomachs of steel, and we stood up for ourselves, w
hether it hurt the bank account or not.

  “If you’re worried about what you just did, don’t be.”

  “I know.” I had friends in high places. I would recover, whatever the damage might be. An uptight socialite was the least of my worries.

  I rolled my head over and watched him, appreciating how the wind whipped through his hair. And because I wasn’t fully in control of myself, I said, “Never leave me. Promise.”

  He reached over and took my hand, patting my leg.

  But he didn’t promise.

  37

  Channing

  It was three in the morning when I left the bed.

  I hadn’t slept at all, and I finally admitted defeat.

  Heather was curled in a ball, sleeping with the sheet pulled over her leg. I skimmed a hand down her back and side, then tugged it up. She was naked, the way she normally slept.

  As I shut the door behind me, she didn’t move an inch.

  I made a quick stop in the bathroom, where I avoided the mirror.

  I didn’t want to see what would look back. Heather and I had showered, so I was clean, but I knew there were scrapes and bruises all over me. I had some cuts. There was a burn from where a bullet had grazed me, and that shit shouldn’t have been normal. But it was. And that’s what I didn’t want to see.

  I was grabbing a beer from the fridge in the kitchen when I heard a footstep behind me.

  “Is everything done on the Richter front?”

  Some of my tension eased as I turned to see my sister leaning against the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. I nodded, looking her over. “You just getting in?” She had on her normal jeans, but she wore a black shirt.

  Fuck’s sake, she looked tough.

  Was it from this life? Bren had grown up in the crew system. Had that life given her that hardness or was it other circumstances? Me? Being in Roussou?

  “If we moved, would you go with us?” My question came out rushed, but damn, I was feeling a desperation I normally didn’t.

  Her eyes widened a fraction, but her response was immediate. “No.” She raised her head, lifting her chin. “My crew is here. Cross is here.”