The Boy I Grew Up With

by Tijan

  “Yeah?” His gaze swung up to hers. “Huh?”

  She touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded. Gulping. “Oh yeah. As long as you are.”

  “Yeah.” A timid smile lifted her face. She stepped in close to him. “Thank you.”

  “That was the boyfriend?” I asked.

  “Ex.” Her eyes were fixed on Roy. “Ex for a long while now, and ex forever.”

  Roy’s eyes took on a wet sheen and he turned to her, pulling her against him. They wrapped their arms around each other.

  I didn’t say anything else, didn’t think it was my place right now. Ava would be okay. Roy would be okay. That was all I cared about.

  Brandon found me a little while later in the office.

  I gestured to the hallway behind him. “Those were your old high school friends?”

  “Yeah.” He slumped into the other chair. “That was Ava’s ex?”

  “She said her ex forever.”

  “Good. He’s a fucking weasel. He was threatening to sue until I reminded him he charged first. He could be the one sued.” He shook his head, disgusted. “He’s got rich parents, from the looks of it. We might have to lawyer up, but I don’t even care. He’s a punk. We could let the crews loose on him, for all I care. And speaking of…” His eyes cleared. “Channing told me you were coming back today. I don’t know what happened, but I called in some favors just in case we needed extra security. Those guys will be around the whole weekend.”

  I bit my tongue. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t that bad. I couldn’t. Because it was.

  So I nodded.

  It felt good. It felt right hearing the buzz of conversations, dishes clanking, chairs scraping outside, and it felt good to be in the middle of the chaos. I was home again.

  There were worry lines around Brandon’s mouth. Bags under his eyes. His hair was a little messed up.

  My stomach tightened. “Are you hungover or…” Or he’d been worried out of his mind about me.

  His eyes flicked down, and he lifted a shoulder. “No, you know.” He glanced to the door, though no one had knocked. No one opened it. “My friends are here. We might’ve had a few extra beers last night.” He paused. “Or tequila shots.”

  He was lying through his teeth.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He looked back at me, his expression closed. I hated feeling pushed away from my brother. Brandon and I gave each other shit on a daily basis, but we were partners in crime. I was the one he’d called for help, naked, when there was a stalker in his room and a one-night stand hiding in the bathroom. That was us, not this dynamic where I kept him in the dark about the real threats to me, where he was concerned enough to call in personal favors and have his old high school buddies hanging out here for an entire weekend.

  “It’s fine. I mean…” He stopped himself and looked at the floor.

  The air in the room was stifling, pressing down on me.

  Channing hadn’t asked me to keep things quiet with Brandon. I’d made that choice, just like I’d chosen to fight at his side.

  I was back to the same place I always found myself with my relationship.

  What happened to me, happened to my brother. It affected him too.

  But I couldn’t leave Channing. I knew that, so there was only one thing I could do.

  “I want you to buy me out.”

  Brandon froze. His mouth dropped open. “What?”

  My insides twisted. This place was my home—had been for longer than I could remember. I loved every staff member, all the customers, even stupid punk Alex Ryerson. I loved the memories I had here. I loved living in that house with Brandon. I loved being able to walk outside my home and be right where I lived.

  I loved everything about this place…

  …but I loved Channing more.

  “You heard me.”

  “No.”

  “Brandon—”

  “No.” He shoved up from his chair and yanked open the door.

  “Brandon!” I followed him out into the restaurant.

  He went past Cruz, telling him something as he shoved out the side door.

  Cruz wore a look of bewilderment as he came over. “What was that about?” he asked me.

  “What’d he say to you?”

  “Just to take over till he got back.”

  I had one guess where he was going.

  54

  Channing

  “She’s selling out for you.” Brandon burst through my office door.

  I was finally at the office. It’d been too long since I was able to come in and take care of business at Tuesday Tits. Scratch was in the hallway. His eyes darted from me to Brandon, asking silently if I wanted help taking care of this.

  I motioned to him. “I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded, pulling the door shut.

  Brandon turned and began to pace, his fists pulled tight at his sides. He shook his head.

  “You goddamn piece of shit. You piece of shit!” he yelled.

  He kept on pacing.

  I didn’t ask what he meant. I knew. There was only one place Heather would sell to her brother, and as he ranted and raved in my office, I thought back to our recent interactions.

  There’d been a look in her eye. It was different. Resolved. Resigned. I saw it when she’d asked me for another Naly. I saw it when I walked into the room and found her curled in bed, waiting for me.

  It was there when she’d come into Richter’s house. When she walked through the doorway and came to my side, that was when she’d decided.

  I let Brandon curse me out. Twenty minutes passed before Moose tapped on the door. He waved his phone at me through the window.

  I nodded, holding up a finger.

  Moose jerked his head to the side, then disappeared.

  I stood up. “Brandon.”

  He was still going. He didn’t spare me a look. “No. You sit. You sit, dammit. I love you like a brother, Channing, but sometimes—sometimes I wish my sister had never met you.” He stopped, so much loathing in his scowl. “She’s giving up Manny’s for you! Do you not fucking care?”

  More than you could ever know.

  I motioned behind him to the door. “There’s a phone call I have to take.”

  “Of course.” He snorted, rolling his eyes. “A goddamn phone call. My sister is preparing to cut off half of her life for you, and you have to take a call. Jesus Fucking Christ, Channing. Is that all you care about? A phone call? Wait. Let me guess.” His eyes were wild. “It’s crew business, isn’t it?”

  He went back to spewing, spit flying from his mouth. “Goddamn you. Goddamn you, Channing! It’s always been your crew first. When are you going to put my sister first? She can’t fucking leave you. She should. She should’ve years ago. She should’ve before you weaseled your way under her skin and claimed her. It’s like you got in there and took hold of her, and you haven’t let her go since.”

  He had started to pace again, but wheeled back and pounded his fist on my desk.

  It happened so quickly, I didn’t react. I only held his gaze as he panted, his fist half through my desk.

  He probably broke his hand.

  “Goddamn you, Channing.”

  Some of the fight was leaving him.

  Blood had pooled around his hand, but he didn’t show his pain. He only glared at me. His fury had blanketed him, numbing him from the pain, but it was going to come—and hard.

  “Brandon.”

  He snarled, baring his teeth at me like a wild dog. “I hate you. You know that? If I could make you go away, I’d do it in a heartbeat. If I could…”

  He didn’t finish, letting the threat hang in the air between us. He straightened up and pulled his hand from my desk. Blood dripped all over, down his jeans to the floor by his feet.

  He still didn’t seem to notice.

  Another soft tap on the door.

  Moose was there again, his phone in hand. He waved it, but his eyes were on Brandon and Brand
on’s hand.

  I had to go. I had to take that call. I had to fix everything.

  “I have to go, Brandon.” I moved around the desk, slowly.

  He was still half-crazed. There was a light in his eye, as if he were imagining my death. That was fine. I understood.

  Collecting my keys, my wallet, my phone, I stepped around him and opened the office door.

  He didn’t move.

  I looked back, and he was staring at where I’d been standing.

  “I love your sister.” I needed to take care of this business, but him, this situation, he was important too.

  His head swung halfway to me so I could see his profile.

  He knew I loved her, but he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know what I was about to do, or that it was for her. It was all for her.

  But he had to know one thing: “I will go to the end of the goddamn Earth for your sister. I will fall before she does. I will gun down any fucker who tries to hurt her. I will rip apart any crew for her. There is nothing I won’t do—”

  “Except put her first.”

  He sounded broken.

  Yeah. So was I.

  “Wait,” I told him. “Just wait, because you’re going to eat your goddamn words.”

  “What?” He turned more fully to me. His eyebrows furrowed.

  But that was all I could say, for now. So I stepped into the hallway.

  Moose moved with me.

  He lowered his voice. “What do you want done with him?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  I moved past Moose, heading out to the main room. “Who called?”

  “The charter king.”

  Scratch moved to meet me at the counter, a washcloth in one hand and an empty glass in the other. “Is Jax going to be a problem back there?”

  “You guys heard?”

  I looked around the bar. There was a whole line of regulars watching us. Even the people at a back table watched us. The music had been cut at some point, so the whole place was silent.

  They’d heard it all.

  My cousin grimaced, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Hard not to. Congo tried feeding the music to get a song going, but Becca yanked the cord.”

  Becca stepped forward. “He shouldn’t talk to you like that. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

  Her mouth was tight, and as I looked around the bar, I saw similar expressions.

  They were pissed, but they didn’t know everything.

  Brandon didn’t.

  Becca didn’t.

  Even my crew didn’t fully know.

  The only two who did were Heather and me.

  I had to say something. This could go sideways real quick, and that’d be bad for everyone.

  I held a hand up. “You all might be feeling a certain way, but do me a favor, keep an open mind.” I gestured to the hallway where Brandon now stood, cradling his hand to his chest as blood dripped over his shirt.

  He still wore a dazed look. He was blinking rapidly, sweating.

  I pointed at him. “He’s angry about his sister, and he has a right—”

  Becca growled. “He doesn’t have a right to tear into you.”

  I lowered my hand. “He has a right to his feelings, just like you guys do, but no one knows everything. No one does.”

  “Don’t tell us to butt out, because I love that girl whether she wants me to or not.” Becca folded her arms over chest. She glared at Brandon before looking back at me. “I love my man, and you’re part of his family. Heather’s part of that family. He ain’t. He wants to judge and keep her away from us.” She sneered at him. “You don’t get to have that opinion, Brandon. You’re an outsider.”

  “Fuck that. Fuck you!” He jerked forward. “I’m not an outsider. I’m Roussou too.”

  “No.” She shook her head, growing calm, somber even. “You ain’t. Not anymore. You haven’t been for a long time.”

  He scanned the room.

  No one spoke up for him.

  “Channing?” he questioned, the fight fading from him again.

  Scratch came around the bar and stood in front of me. “You’re unbelievable. You come in here, ream him out, and now you want him to help you? We’re not saying this to hurt your feelings. We’re saying it because it’s the truth. You’re Fallen Crest, Brandon. You have been for a long time.”

  “So what?” Brandon moved forward again. “Why’s that bad?”

  “It’s not.”

  This had gone from bad to wrong. I shook my head, turning as everyone else looked to see who’d just walked into the bar.

  Heather.

  I flinched, seeing the sadness in her gaze. It clung to her, making her appear smaller than she was. This wasn’t the girl I’ve loved since we were in third grade. That girl was fierce. She was a fighter. She never gave a shit who she went against, and I hated that she was bleeding on the inside, having to choose a side—mine or her brother’s.

  But it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t going to let it be like that.

  “Heat—” Brandon started to sigh.

  I snapped, pointing at him. “Don’t. Don’t you say a goddamn word.” I moved forward, past my cousin, my crew, Stalker. I couldn’t be silent anymore. I wouldn’t let Heather take this on.

  “Heather.” I went to her. “Don’t—”

  “No, Channing.” She stepped around me, facing her brother. “He didn’t know what I was going to do,” she told him. “I never told him. It was my decision to make—”

  “You shouldn’t have to make that decision,” he protested.

  “I don’t care what you say right now.” She moved in front of me, her hand reaching behind her to find mine. “I’m with Channing, and that’ll never change. I can’t keep doing it. I’m choosing, Brandon. It’s my choice. I’m going back to Roussou. It’s time.”

  This had gone too far.

  I raised my hands. “Stop! Everyone shut the fuck up!” I pointed at Brandon. “Go back to your job.” I motioned to Moose and the guys. “Let’s go. Let’s take that meeting.” I pointed at Becca. “And no more giving our details out to people.” I skewered her with a look, and she lowered her head.

  Heather turned to me. “Chan?”

  I drew her to me, hugging her. I bent to kiss her neck. “Don’t do anything right now. Okay?” I skimmed a hand down her back, kissing her throat and then her mouth. Cupping her face, I drew back, resting my forehead to hers. “Don’t make any decisions. Don’t do anything. Go to Manny’s, or wherever you want, but wait for me.”

  The guys moved past us.

  I went to follow, but she grabbed my shirt and yanked me back, her eyes on my face. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” I pressed my lips to hers. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  I started to leave.

  “Becca?” Heather called.

  “No.” I turned right back. “Becca, keep your trap closed.”

  She walked past Heather, and I heard her say, “Sorry,” as she followed Congo to his truck.

  My shoulders relaxed a little. Becca had chosen just now. She’d chosen crew. Congo had been watching. He met my gaze. I nodded.

  The guys all went to their trucks. I got into Moose’s, and he pulled out first, leading the charge.

  I was going to fix everything. I just had one more meeting to take.

  55

  Channing

  Thirty motorcycles formed a straight line on one side of the abandoned parking lot.

  They were parked facing toward us, their men standing behind them, all in a line as well. We drove up, over the cracked pavement with weeds growing through it. The store had closed years ago, put out of business when James Kade moved back to Fallen Crest. His reach stretched past Fallen Crest, past Roussou, even past Frisco, all the way to Callyspo, a small town that used to not be so small. It was damn near extinct now, and the few stores they still had depended on their local Red Demon charter to help keep them afloat.

  This leader wasn�
�t like Richter.

  Maxwell’s charter was large.

  I recognized some of the guys we’d let go after our debacle with Traverse. This charter had recently gotten larger. As we pulled into the parking lot, five men walked past their motorcycles toward us. They moved a few yards ahead, then paused.

  Moose glanced at me. “Should we line up too?”

  I surveyed their group. Each of their men had a gun, half were holding them, while the others had their rifles resting on their motorcycles, ready to be grabbed if needed.

  Their whole display was just that, a display.

  Maxwell wanted me to know they had numbers. He wanted me to know they were armed, and that those men weren’t new or young. They were older. Some were grizzled with graying hair, some had large bellies, and others were lean. Some were built like some of mine, but I got the message.

  They were experienced.

  Not one of his men twitched from nervousness. They stood there, just waiting for whatever their leader would command them to do.

  I hoped this meeting would have a good result, but I also knew I couldn’t rely on that. So I said, “No.” I motioned to the back end of the lot. “Park here.” Before Moose started again, I hopped out of the truck.

  He braked, and I leaned in through the window. “Move it around for a getaway if you need to go.”

  “But—”

  I waved him on and stepped back before he could finish. Moose twisted to keep watching me, so I motioned again for him to go on. A scowl formed, but he pulled ahead. Congo’s truck was next, and I relayed my plan to him. The rest filed through, all parking behind one another, pointed to the exit, until Lincoln brought up the rear. He pulled up next to me, but unlike the others, he didn’t wait for my orders. He parked and hopped out, going to the back of his truck bed. As he opened it, I stood by.

  He reached in, grabbed Traverse, and hauled him out.

  Traverse fell to the ground, scraping his knee.

  “Get up.”

  Lincoln grabbed his shirt, pulling him to his feet.

  I looked him over. Contrary to what I’d wanted, he hadn’t been tortured. I’d wanted to so damn badly, but I’d held back. The two bullets I’d put through his hand and knee had to be enough. He still struggled to stand upright, with good reason. We’d brought a crew friend out to look him over—a nurse Moose was banging—and she’d fixed him up as much as she could. The bullets went straight through, and she’d cauterized both sides to stop any infection. He’d need some more tending to, but they could handle it. He’d remained alive on my watch—all I cared about.