Always Crew

by Tijan

  Cain’s soccer team won.

  Blaise was the MVP, but according to everyone’s reactions, that was common around here. We were leaving, heading to the parking lot with Aspen beside our group when a couple guys were moving to head us off. Cross and I saw them at the same time.

  Cross saying, “Jordan,” the same time I spoke, “Heads-up.”

  Jordan and Zellman looked, and both slowed.

  Aspen was frowning, looking from the guys to us, and back again.

  She didn’t say anything, moving so she was behind me more. Smart.

  Zellman said to us, “Harper’s frat brothers.”

  Cross made a low noise. “Blaise found me on campus today.”

  All of us looked at him, our heads whipping around.

  His eyes were guarded. “Harper’s back at the frat, called a meeting.”

  Zellman scoffed.

  Jordan’s mouth fell open an inch. “You’re telling us this now?”

  Cross shrugged. “Kinda had other pertinent shit happening, you know.” The glance toward me was noticed, by everyone.

  Aspen moved so she was more in our circle. She cast a look my way, her eyes concerned. Her eyebrows pulled low together. “Something to do with you?”

  I tried giving her a reassuring grin, but I knew it fell flat. From what Blaise had said, Aspen wasn’t aware of what Harper did that was about her. Blaise was still unclear what exactly happened. Whatever it was, I met Cross’ look, and he nodded to the side.

  I followed his wavelength and cleared my throat. “Uh, Aspen—”

  “I got her.” Jordan’s comment came out abrupt and harsh sounding. His gaze was hard, leveled on the two guys approaching. He added under his breath, “I don’t trust myself when they start bringing up Harper’s name. I gotta bounce.” He made a concerted effort to soften his look and his voice when he said to Aspen, “You like coffee?”

  “I love coffee.”

  He motioned to the side. “Let’s grab some for everyone. Think your man wants one?”

  They started to walk off, but Aspen turned, sending me a look over her shoulder. She wasn’t dumb, not a bit, and judging by the awareness, she also wasn’t scared. But, still, she went with Jordan and we heard her say, “Blaise will love anything I buy him. He’s that kind of boyfriend to me.”

  A surprised laugh rippled from Jordan. He responded, but I couldn’t hear it.

  As if a collective subconscious thought went through us, all three of us turned and moved to wait for the two fraternity brothers. Jesus. They even looked like the stereotypical frat brother. Were those loafers? I wasn’t up on my rich asshole footwear apparel. But they had the firm jawlines, meathead necks, etc. I wasn’t trying to be dismissive, but I already didn’t like that Harper guy, and throw in Zeke? Hell. Blaise was still a question mark, too.

  I was going to be a bit negative about them.

  But these guys stepped close, now within talking distance.

  A few girls were around us. They were sending us furtive looks.

  Wait.

  I recognized one. She was the girl who’d opened the door that day, tan handprint on her stomach, when I went to talk to Tabatha. I was betting that the entire group was made up of Tabatha’s sisters, and that made me take more notice of them.

  They weren’t looking at the guys fondly. Like, at all.

  The handprint girl definitely had frost in her gaze as she was tracking the two guys.

  Oh yeah. That made things a whole lot more interesting. I was taking note that I needed to give Tabatha a call, see how she was doing and get a feel of her sorority’s feelings on this whole matter.

  “Harper said he wasn’t supposed to talk.”

  That was the greeting from the guy in the green polo. He announced it as if it were this great big proclamation we all needed to tremble from. Then his eyes went right to me, and they grew hard. “But he did.”

  The pink polo shirt guy bristled, his hand jerking into a fist before he stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Harper talked, huh?”

  The guys looked at Zellman. The bristling guy’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. He shifted back as if he’d not been expecting that from Zellman, or that Zellman would be the one to even speak first.

  The green guy raised his chin up. “Thought we were cool?”

  Ahhh. Now I got it. Zellman must’ve partied with these guys at some point.

  Zellman’s eyes were cold. “This is my crew.”

  Just like that. That’s all he said, but his sentiment was noted. His crew came first. Always.

  Cross took a breath and stepped forward. “You came here. You said what you said. I’m guessing that was it?” His head lowered. “Or is there more you want us to know?”

  The two guys looked at me. They seemed torn.

  Cross’ eyes narrowed. “I’m going to be honest. I’m not really sure the point of you guys telling us this?”

  That was true. If Harper talked, why were they here? Why not the cops ready to arrest us? Or if there was some other ramifications by them being here and the guys kept looking at me. I didn’t know if that meant Harper told them I’d been the one to beat him up? Would a guy like that willingly admit he got his ass kicked by a female? I couldn’t read these guys, but they looked like they were expecting me to be fearful of them. Or nervous, maybe.

  I had to sigh.

  These guys really did not know us.

  I was probably just making broad assumptions, because who knew if these guys were actually like Harper? Zeke Allen also seemed on the same path as them, but again, he was a stay-tuned sort of situation and things could go sideways with that dude any day of the week.

  I tuned back in, realizing that both Cross and Zellman caught on that I was not participating in the conversation. Both were frowning a little at me, and Zellman was now saying, “...we’ll be in touch, how about that?” Oh, yes. I missed a lot. Zellman’s sarcasm could cut a brick. “Thank you and have a great day.”

  The two guys shared a look, both seemed confused.

  Their whole tough attitude had faded. The bristling guy was no longer bristling and his hand came out of its pocket. It wasn’t fisted anymore either.

  They had no idea how to handle us.

  Okay. I was about to educate them. “Guys.”

  All heads turned my way.

  I tilted mine to the side. “We’re the rough-and-tumble type of people. You want to fight? We’ll throw down. It’s where we came from. It’s what Roussou is like. Want to know a bit more about us? There’s a whole documentary about us out there ready to stream. If you’re looking to scare us, it’s the opposite effect. We’re just different. We’re not going to react how you think. Like, take me, for example. I stabbed a teacher.”

  Zellman coughed, covering up an abrupt laugh.

  Cross was just watching me carefully.

  I kept on, my tone all casual, “I did my time, got counseling. I’m better, but then again…maybe I’m not. I could slip back. I probably will. I mean, there’s my dad, too. He’s now a member of a motorcycle club, and yeah, it’s one of those that you should be scared of.”

  The two guys edged back a step, looking way more cautious toward me now.

  Me, I gave them a smile, almost upbeat. “And not to mention the whole reason he went to jail. For murder. He killed someone before I could finish him off. So my dad did my time for me.”

  ...my dad did my time for me.

  My own voice was echoing in my head.

  I was hearing myself, but hearing it at a distance, like I wasn’t connected to myself.

  I kept on, but I was also reeling. “So there’s that, too. To summarize things up nice and tidy, you’re not going to get the normal reaction from us that I’m thinking you’re hoping to get. We,” I motioned to all three of us, “are not scared of you guys, or your house, or really anything.”

  Here was the part that I was tired of: the talking, the words, the threats. These guys came over to intimidate us. W
e intimidated them instead, or at least I did because they edged back another step, looking at me like I was that wild animal I used to be. And I did used to be that person.

  But I wasn’t anymore.

  Jesus.

  I was in my head now, and what was I even going on about?

  I was suddenly over this whole conversation, this entire situation.

  Fuck. I was growing again.

  How’d that happen?

  Cross sighed. “Get lost, guys. If Harper sent you here to test us, tell him we’re quaking in our boots. He’ll like that. It’ll make him feel better.”

  At his words, their entire demeanor changed. They looked relieved, their shoulders relaxed, and one nodded. He nudged the other with his elbow, and both turned away. They were leaving at the same time Blaise joined us, still sweaty from the game, but he’d pulled some soccer pants and a dry shirt on. He scowled at the guys, watching them leave.

  “What’d they want?”

  Cross glanced my way, then turned to face his brother. “Why don’t you call your best friend and ask him? We are not your crew. You’re acting like we are.”

  Blaise’s eyes grew cold, holding his brother’s gaze steadily. “Got your underwear twisted, bro—”

  Cross went at him, and I moved, but I was on autopilot because this was nothing new either.

  Blaise and Cross fighting.

  I stepped between them the same time Zellman turned, his back to me, and he was facing Blaise. He shoved him back. I turned back, reaching out and catching Cross in his chest. I held him back at the same time.

  He growled over my shoulder, “We’re not here to do your dirty work. I told you this before.”

  I didn’t want to look because I didn’t want to see, but I could hear the smirk on Blaise’s face. “Really? Because you already did. I wanted Harper worked over, and you guys did it for me. Thank you.”

  Cross went still against my hands, still and solid.

  Blaise kept on, “I already worked Harper for what he said about Aspen, but every chance I get where pain can get inflicted on that asshole, on that whole house, I’m taking it. So, thank you because you already did my bitch work.”

  Cross’ face went flat, and that wasn’t good.

  I jerked, moving him back, and I said over my shoulder, “Let’s go.”

  Zellman wasn’t moving.

  I didn’t stop. Cross wasn’t fighting me, so I moved him back at a quick pace.

  “Z!” I clipped out.

  Zellman remained in place, and Blaise was focused on him now, his jaw clenching.

  Then, in a flash, Zellman’s fist came up. He punched Blaise right in the face.

  A normal hit would send a guy to the ground, but Blaise didn’t move. His face snapped to the side, that was it. He lifted a hand, rubbing where he’d been hit, and he said something back to him, something that was inaudible to us. We waited, but nothing happened until slowly, Zellman turned and started toward us. His head was down and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  As he drew closer, Cross growled, “What’d he say?”

  “Nothing.” And Zellman breezed by.

  Cross and I shared a look because Blaise had certainly said something.

  “I don’t know what to do about my brother.”

  I frowned, my hands no longer pushing him or holding him in place. They just rested against his chest, now in a comforting manner, or maybe a shared, frustrating manner, because I said, “Yeah. Me neither.”

  Then again, there was a lot I didn’t know what to do about.

  Either way, we both moved to follow Zellman.

  From: Brenners

  To: Tazsters

  Subject: Hey

  How are you? Tell me the latest with Race.

  I told you about ‘the hug’ we did on Zach. Guess who’s back in the fart house?

  —Bren

  From: Tazsters

  To: Bren

  Subject: Re: Hey

  Are you serious??? I didn’t know.

  And fart house — lol!

  Also, I know that his name isn’t Zach. Thanks for letting me feel like a dumbass for weeks.

  The Best Twin

  BREN

  “Hey.”

  I was sitting on the perch in my room, overlooking the backyard. Turning, Cross was coming in, the music from downstairs blaring louder. It muted as he closed the door, coming toward me. He flipped on the fan for extra sound, and suddenly we were in our private sanctuary. The party sounds were still there, but much quieter now as he moved behind me, sliding in. Lifting his legs, he put me between them and folded me back against his chest.

  I leaned all the way back, almost feeling lazy now.

  Rolling my head, I went back to watching outside.

  Jordan and Zellman had the bonfire going, each with a girl on their laps. There were a bunch of others sitting with them, drinking, laughing, and flirting. A lot of flirting.

  A part of me was perplexed, because not four hours ago we’d shared words with Cross’ brother. Zellman punched him, and Blaise was now one of the guys sitting at the bonfire, Aspen on his lap. She was folded in, her head against his chest, and I was pretty sure she’d fallen asleep an hour into the party. Blaise hadn’t moved an inch, stroking her back almost the entire time.

  I just shook my head, watching Zellman now laughing at something Blaise said.

  I commented, “How the fuck did that happen?”

  Cross’ arm tightened around me. I felt his laugh behind me. “At this rate, who the hell knows.”

  We couldn’t stand the guy this summer, then we were reluctantly inviting him over. Words had been shared multiple times. Zellman hit him. And he was down there, sharing a beer, and making not only Zellman, but Jordan, laugh.

  “And who are the guys?”

  Cross sighed into my ear. “Jordan said he and Aspen ran into them when they were coming back. They’re on Blaise’s soccer team. I’m pretty sure that’s who Blaise wants to be Zeke’s friends, not the frat assholes he hangs with now.”

  I moved my head, tipping it so I could see him. “He told you that?”

  Cross shrugged. “Not in so many words, but I know he either wants Harper out of the frat house or he wants Zeke out.”

  Huh.

  That was it.

  Just, huh. I had no other thoughts or feelings, just always perplexed when it came to Cross’ brother, mixed with mild to severe irritation.

  “Your brother’s like a skin rash. He won’t go away. Then he’ll go away, and we’ll be like, ‘where’d he go?’”

  Cross laughed, his head dipping as he dropped a kiss to my shoulder. “No. Blaise is not a skin rash. He’s just straight up hives. The more stressed I get, the worse he becomes.”

  Hives. It fit.

  “Jordan and Zellman seem to like his teammates, though.”

  “I know.” He sounded disappointed.

  We sat there for a bit in silence. It felt nice, hearing the soft sounds of the party now, watching the flicker of the bonfire below, and somehow I felt full inside. Full of life, memories, or just family. I wasn’t going to question it too much. I felt good. I was going with that.

  Then Cross’ arm tightened again, and my stomach took a dip.

  His chest tensed behind me, and my stomach really took a dip.

  If Cross was going to whisk me away from the window for the bed, he wouldn’t have tensed. He would’ve just done it, and then landed on top of me. This, he was preparing himself to tell me something, and I knew innately that it wasn’t something I wanted to hear.

  I was going to take a guess. “I can only think of one reason my employers would keep me out of the offices.”

  Cross froze behind me.

  “And I’ve given it some thought, but I’m wondering was it only my father they had on a wall, or was I up there, too?”

  It’s the only explanation that made sense, and why Cross kept me out and why he called Channing first.

  Cross cursed behind me.r />
  I was right.

  Forget churning, my stomach fell out.

  I knew, but… I’d been hoping I’d been wrong.

  Cross filled me in on everything, and afterwards, I just sat there. I couldn’t move. Think. Feel. Nothing. Because I knew. I knew.

  My dad. This was all about my dad.

  It was finally time that I dealt with my dad.

  BREN

  Jordan was up when I was grabbing coffee the next morning. I saw him outside, a mug in front of him, and he was staring off at the bonfire that still had a little smoke coming from it. I grabbed my own cup, checked the time, and since I had a few minutes before I had to leave, I headed outside.

  “Hey.”

  The morning air was crisp and chilled.

  Jordan looked over, bags under his eyes. His head inclined and he raised his hand a tiny bit off the table. “Morning.”

  They partied late last night. We heard them, though they weren’t too loud. What I definitely knew I’d heard late into the night or early into the morning was someone giggling.

  I asked, “Did you have an overnight guest?”

  Jordan went back to staring at the bonfire, a whole troubled look coming over him. He had on a sweatshirt, the hood pulled low over his face, and he shifted back in his chair. His hands went into the pocket in the front of his sweatshirt, and he pulled the bottom out to rest lower on his lap. He lounged back, his legs stretching out.

  “That was Zellman.”

  “Ah.”

  Jordan looked over at me, his lip curling upwards. “Bren.”

  “Hmm?”

  “If you want to know about our love lives, you can ask.”

  That statement struck me, because it was weird, but it was weird because it shouldn’t have been weird. I grinned at him, rolling my eyes slightly. “I’m not—”

  “I know.” He was talking gently. Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Bren, we get it. You’re a chick, but you’re not a chick. We get that, too. For real, and you can ask us about who we’re sleeping with and who we are dating. Shit. We bug you about yours sometimes.”