by Tijan
Cross stiffened.
His dad didn’t notice, busy extricating her hand from mine. “Let’s, uh, let’s not manhandle Bren. She has pretty strong boundaries.” He smiled at me as he pulled her hand away, gently. “If I remember correctly?”
“You do, sir.”
“Sir!” Marie burst out laughing, slapping a hand to his chest. “She called you sir. I’ll be ma’am now.” Her laughter faded, abruptly. “Oh, God. I don’t want to be a ma’am. Please don’t call me ma’am.”
My lips pressed tight, and I just shook my head. “No, ma-—” I caught myself.
I was either extremely polite and formal, or I looked at adults with suspicion. There wasn’t much of a middle ground with me. That was something I should work on.
“Uh…” Cross’ dad moved back, his arm still around Marie’s waist. “The food’s almost ready, if you guys want to come in? We have beverages. Water? Milk? Juice? Soda? What’s your preference?”
Without missing a beat, Cross said, “Beer.”
“Beer coming up.” He laughed, sounding forced. “Good one. Pick something appropriate for your age.”
“Beer is. What do you think we had last night?”
“Well, it’s not prom night, your girlfriend wasn’t arrested, and you’re in my house.” He coughed. “Marie’s house. Different rules.”
Cross was eerily still.
My house. That’s what he’d said first.
“I’ll have water.”
Marie looked at me, and I said, “The same, please.”
“Perfect!” She clapped her hands twice before heading into the kitchen, leaving Stephen behind. Taz and Race had migrated over, and I could see she was still nervous too. Her entire face was pink—a light rose. Like the wine. She was doing deep-breathing exercises, her hand pressing against her stomach. Race had zoned out, for once not tuned into her.
Fuck this awkward stuff. Why not go for more awkward?
“Wanna chat, Race?” I motioned outside.
His eyebrows flew up. So did everyone else’s, but Cross’ dad looked relieved.
“Uh.” Race coughed, glancing at Taz before moving forward. “Yeah. Sure.”
Cross met my gaze, and his hand snaked out, grabbing my arm as I passed. I paused, just enough for him to run his thumb down the inside of my arm.
Then Race and I stepped outside.
They had a hanging porch swing, and Race sat there.
As soon as I sat beside him, a good space between us, he breathed out loudly. “Fucking hell. Thank you for this.” He stretched his legs, his feet resting on the bottom of the porch railing. “I can normally handle tension—dealt with it enough in my life—but being with Taz’s family on the day my dad was arrested…” He gave me a shaky grin. “Thank you.”
I’d been feeling that same need to escape. I tucked my hands under my legs. “You know what I’m going to ask.” That was my segue into the awkward conversation.
“Yeah.” He grew quiet, turned toward the street, but I doubted he was seeing it. “I’m okay. I am. I’m just—fuuuuuuck.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His head fell, and he caught it in his hands. “Fuck, Bren. Fuck.” He groaned, sitting upright again. “I’m so sorry about everything. I know all of it. Drake called me this morning, said he’d talked to you and told me what he said. I—there are no words.”
I felt my eyes widen. This was not how I thought it was going to go.
“Nothing happened to me,” I said softly. “I’m worried about you. You’re in our group. How are you doing?”
He shook his head. “I…” He coughed, his voice raspy. “I can’t answer that. I’m here. I’m doing the boyfriend thing, but...” He fell quiet for a long while. “Can I say I’m relieved? Can I say I’m okay with him being in prison? Can I say...can I say I’m glad my mom is away from him? That he got what he deserved after what he did to her? Can I say all of that and still be a good person?”
I had no answers to those questions.
I sat. I was silent. I listened. That was what he needed.
“Can I say I wonder if he’s going to share a cell with your dad? And if he does, what your dad will do? I mean, fuck. Drake told me the Harley business was just a front. They maybe sold a bike a year. The rest was drugs. How the hell did that even start? When did it start? Who’s he connected to? Who was he getting that shit from? I mean, there’s always someone, right?”
He turned to me, but it was a question I couldn’t answer.
His voice came out hoarse. “I’m really sorry he was trying to target you, and I’m really happy it was your brother who got him. Good karma, right? Am I a piece-of-shit son for thinking all of this? What’s my role now? Go visit him? Try to pretend he’s not a piece of shit? Fuck. Who do I go with? My aunt or my mom? His ex-wife or his girlfriend? Or his ex-girlfriend? Who the hell knows about that one.”
He fell silent again.
“And Alex,” he added suddenly. “I’m not a fan of my cousin, but I think we know where he got the drugs last semester. Hard to hate him, knowing it was my dad who was supplying him. I feel half to blame.”
I shook my head. “You aren’t. You know that, right?”
“Does it matter? I don’t feel like it does.” He looked over at me. “How’d you handle it? Your dad went in for murder. I mean, how’d you handle that?”
I shrugged.
The situation was different. I was to blame.
I murmured, “Just get through it, I guess. Cross—he helped.”
“Yeah.” He turned back, gazing at that street but not seeing it.
We remained in silence after that, two friends sitting next to each other. We stayed until Cross’ dad came to the door. “Food’s ready.”
As we approached the table, Taz’s eyes were wide and wondering. She sat at one end of the table, the chair empty beside her, and she almost jumped up. I caught the concern and shame flooding her face a second later, but I just shook my head at her as I went to the empty seat beside Cross.
She bit her lip, and her eyes teared up. But she swallowed and gave Race a tentative grin as he slid into his seat. She leaned over, whispering into his ear, and he nodded.
Cross gave me a look, one eyebrow raised.
I lifted a shoulder. No, I didn’t know how Race truly was. We’d have to observe him, because this wasn’t a situation that resolved immediately so healing could begin. There’d be charges. Bail. If his dad got bail. The fallout in the community. School. Whether it would affect Race’s college prospects or not. And his mom. Those were just the surface things, not the emotional undertones.
Cross leaned over and kissed my cheek. His hand squeezed mine under the table.
“Okay!” Marie brought over the last bowl and placed it in the middle of the table. A pan of flatbread sat at one end. The salad in the middle. Garlic bread. Spaghetti at the other end. A bottle of red wine. And around the table, cans of soda next to each of the other plates. The adults got the wine.
Pity.
“Mmmm… Dig in, everyone.” She waved a hand over the food, taking her seat next to Stephen and pulling a cloth napkin to her lap. “I’m so happy you all are here.” Her gaze found her son, who was sitting across the table, on the other side of Stephen and directly across from Taz. “And that you guys finally met, although I’m sure there are lots of questions.”
Her face pinched, as if remembering who exactly these people were and how they were related.
No one moved for the food.
Cross’ brother wasn’t looking at his mom. His gaze was pinned to one of the food bowls, and like Race outside, I had a feeling he wasn’t seeing that food either. Zeke was next to him, a smug grin on his face as he took in the scene.
Eventually, his eyes met mine. I sat back.
Here we go.
“Is it true Mason Kade is going to be at your house this Friday?” he asked me.
My eyebrows shot up. “What?”
He leaned forward, almost foaming
at the mouth. “Tell it straight. How awesome is he as a person? If I could have his babies, I would, and I say that with pride being a heterosexual male. But man, if I went for the other team, I’d go for him. That dude is solid gold. Like pussy gold.”
“Zeke!” Marie barked.
Blaise was fighting back a grin, but still not looking past the salad bowl in front of him.
“What?” Then that smug smirk just grew, and I realized it was a permanent fixture on his face. “Oh. Sorry, Mrs. DeVroe.”
“Dude.” A hiss beside him.
“Ah. Miss Devroe.” He was trying to be polite, but coming across as leering. “I have a bit of a manwhore obsession with Mason Kade,” he continued. “You know the Kades? Blaise’s sister-in-law knows them—”
“Ohmygod!” I burst out.
“Dude!” Blaise admonished.
“Stop fucking talking!” Cross added.
“What?” Zeke frowned, looking around the table. “What? You do. You can’t lie about that anymore. They showed up when you were arrested.”
“She’s not my sister-in-law. We’re not…” But Blaise quieted, throwing Cross a furtive look. “Never mind. It’s not like that. Shut it.”
Cross leaned back, glaring across the table. “Talk about your shit, not others’.”
“Yeah.” Taz shot up in her seat. “Like, where’s Monica? I have a few things to say to her.”
“Who?”
Taz clarified, “Your girlfriend. Monica.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“You banged a Monica for a couple weeks,” Blaise pointed out.
“I did?”
“Boys!” Marie yelled.
Zeke just smiled at Blaise’s mother.
Taz frowned. “She was my friend until the Monica Mutiny, her and Lila both.”
“Lila?” Zeke was still frowning.
Almost bored, Blaise reached for some water. “The girl you banged last night.”
“Petite little pu—” He caught himself, flashing an apologetic look to the head of the table. “Sorry, Mrs. DeVroe.”
“Miss and…” She frowned toward her son. “Language, Blaise.”
Blaise rolled his eyes.
“Miss DeVroe.” Zeke didn’t sound put-out, though. “Lila Jamison? You know her?”
“Yeah.” Taz’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. “She was friends with me until she decided to go mutiny with Monica, because she want...wanted my brother.”
Zeke looked at Blaise.
Taz realized her mistake. “My other brother.”
Cross tossed his cloth napkin on the table. “Fucking hell.”
“Cross,” his father warned.
Cross shoved back his seat. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
“Where are you going?” Stephen stood up too.
Marie’s eyes went wide and concerned.
Blaise still wasn’t looking at us.
Zeke just seemed confused.
Taz blinked back tears.
And Race stood up with us.
Taz turned to him. “Race?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” He looked at me, his voice growing hoarse. “Not today, Taz. I’m sorry.” He nodded to Cross’ dad and Marie. “I apologize. It’s, uh… My family received bad news today. I shouldn’t—I should be with my mom, to be honest.”
“We’re going too, Dad.” Cross’ hand went to the back of my chair, and I was already pushing it back.
“Race,” I called as Cross said goodbye for both of us.
He paused at the door, waiting for me.
“Let us drive you. Give Taz your keys.” Because she was staying. I knew that the second Race stood and she didn’t.
He looked over my shoulder, his jaw clenching, but he dug in his pocket and pulled out his keys. I took them, going back to the table.
“What are those?” Taz asked.
“You’re staying, right?”
She slowly reached out, taking the keys. “Is it wrong if I do?”
My heart sank. I didn’t want it to, but it did. I loved Taz. She was a good girlfriend, a loving girlfriend, and a good friend, but today, she was focused on her own stuff. Maybe that was okay.
I forced a smile. “Call us when you’re heading back. We’ll let you know where to take his truck.”
I turned to go.
“Bren?”
I looked back. She was standing now, her hands gripping the table. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t… You know. You always know in these situations.”
I laughed bitterly. “Right. Because my dad’s in prison? Because of that?”
Shame flooded her face, tightening her features, and she looked down.
Yeah. That’s what she meant.
I felt a knife going in under my sternum.
“Bren.”
I paused again, reaching for the door handle. It was their father this time. He came over, smoothing a hand down his shirt. “I realize now that in light of everything that’s happened, we probably should’ve canceled this dinner, but…” He peered over my shoulder. “I miss my son. I worry about my son. He’s not really talking to me or his mother, and I’m… I’m worried about him.”
I didn’t know what bothered me the most.
Was it what had happened with Race’s dad, yet he had come, trying to be here for his girlfriend. Or was it Taz, who was self-focused at this moment, having no clue how her sentiment hurt, or was it this parent who obviously cared about his children, but didn’t seem to know how to have a relationship with them. One was too eager to please, too worried she’d lose her dad, while the other could barely stomach being in this house.
“He’s living with us. He has my family.”
I saw the hurt in his eyes and knew my words hit their target.
“You want him not to replace yours with mine? Show up. Come around. Be present. He’s eighteen. Unless you hold college over him…” And I was guessing because that was my hang-up. “…you can’t force him into anything. But for what it’s worth, he came today. He didn’t have to, but he did.”
He nodded as I finished. “Okay. I will. I’ll be around. I’ll show up.” He tried to smile, but it fell flat for some reason.
I didn’t care to wonder why. I just turned and headed out. We needed a crew day, and I was already texting Zellman and Jordan as I got into Cross’ vehicle. Race was in the back. Both of their phones went off, and Race pulled his out.
“I’m included?”
Cross smiled in approval as he pulled away from the curb.
I turned around. “Guest of honor, unless you want to check on your mom.”
Race didn’t respond. Not at first. “Just can’t be the foundation right now. That’s all.”
I knew we all understood that.
Three weeks later
Once they arrested Race’s dad, everything unfolded.
The race to see who would get a deal began after that, and since Drake had gone in first, he got the best one. Race’s dad didn’t get as sweet a package, but credible sources said definite time was shaved off his sentence, or would be.
But all the Ryersons got jail time. Drake. Even Alex, since he confessed to knowing he was supposed to put drugs on me, though his time was minimal. And their uncle. Their uncle who did, in fact, go to prison where my father was.
One day, while we were getting ready to attend graduation, my brother had a visit with my father—my connected father who was now a member of the Red Demons. A day later, we found out two of the Ryersons had been attacked in jail. Drake got a beatdown. He’d spend four weeks in the hospital, we were told. And their uncle was in a medically induced coma.
Didn’t take a genius to figure out the connection. I was glad. Sometimes, sometimes violence was needed. Sometimes it did have a place.
But this was the day of our graduation, and I was more focused on that.
“You ready for this?” Cross asked behind me.
I had my gown on, my hat in hand, but no. I was
not ready. I hadn’t even thought I would graduate.
“Bren?”
I straightened from my locker. The door was open, and I was staring inside at nothing. Empty. I’d cleaned it out two weeks ago, the last day the seniors needed to be in school, but it was habit.
I came to school. I parked. I walked inside. I went to this locker.
“Hey,” he said gently, shutting my locker and turning me to face him. He shifted closer. We were told to wait in the hallway. Graduation would be out on the football field. We had to line up and go out there to our seats. There’d been a whole assembly about this ceremony, but for the life of me, I was blanking on how I even got here.
“I’m not prepared.”
“What?” He inclined his head to hear me better.
I cleared my throat, but it didn’t matter. My voice was still hoarse. “I’m not ready. I didn’t think—”
I hadn’t thought.
I hadn’t planned.
I hadn’t looked ahead.
All those years, I’d just stopped moving.
I was in the car, but the scenery was passing me by. That’s what this last year had been for me, and it finally hit me. I had no plan.
“What are you doing next year?” I asked.
“Oh.” His head tilted as he looked at me.
His eyes. They were gentle, knowing, but pitying at the same time. I didn’t want the pity. I never wanted the pity, but this time, today, on this morning, I hung my head.
I was embarrassed. I couldn’t do anything or push off this emotion because no matter how many times I hadn’t wanted to think about the future, it was here.
I asked again. “What are you doing next year?”
He grimaced. “You want the truth?”
I snorted. “When do I not want it?” Wait. Except every time this conversation came up. “Yeah.”
“All three of us got accepted to Cain University.”
My head raised. “You did?”
They were leaving?
All of them?
I mean… I had assumed—no. I hadn’t. I hadn’t wanted to move forward. I wanted to stay in Roussou, keep the guys with me, and never deal with life. Stay. Hide. Fight. My mantra for so long.