THE BOY I GREW UP WITH

by T I J A N

  I nodded, knowing how the guy had gotten beat so badly.

  Chad was asking the questions. The guy wasn’t answering. Congo got mad, starting hitting him, and then Chad took on Congo. Moose probably sat back and ate popcorn.

  What was I doing still thinking I wasn’t qualified to raise a teen? I already had two others right here.

  “I stopped Congo from going too far,” Chad concluded.

  I nodded, hearing my guess affirmed.

  “Congo didn’t like being stopped, so those two roughed each other up after that. They were at it till you got here.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Congo. “Couldn’t settle?”

  Guilt flared briefly before he locked it down. “My grandmum’s in that nursing home too. If she could talk, he would’ve swindled her too.”

  The guys quieted after they’d said their bit.

  “Okay.” I nodded toward the door. “You guys think your hands need stitches?”

  They both looked down, flexed their hands, and winced.

  Chad replied, “I’m fine.”

  Congo nodded. “Me too.”

  I jerked my head again. “Head to the bar then. Check in with Scratch.”

  “What are you going to do?” Chad frowned.

  “Credit cards?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “So those can be turned off and reported as a scam, right? Your mom’s credit is fine.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  He wanted answers. I’d get that for him, but I didn’t need to worry one of my guys would end up in prison for manslaughter.

  I jabbed my finger at the door. “Go. I’ll take care of him.”

  Congo was already there. He paused, waiting for Chad, who followed him out, but slowly and with his head down, and not before staring at the guy for another minute.

  “We’ll take care of it.” Moose moved toward both of them, urging them out. He disappeared through the door after them, but a moment later, he came back in.

  He moved to stand next to me. “What are you planning?”

  I studied the guy. “Help me get him to your truck.”

  We’d deal with him, but he needed medical help first.

  He grunted, and together, we lifted him, taking him to the back of Moose’s truck. He closed the tailgate as I went around and locked up the warehouse.

  He was staring at one of the bikes when I came back out.

  “I heard Dex Richter is trying to patrol Roussou,” he said.

  I grunted this time.

  I hadn’t told him about my last run-in with Richter. I would, just not now.

  I tapped the back of Moose’s truck. “Take him to the hospital. Make sure Rena is working. She’ll know how to handle him.” I pulled out a bill and handed it over. Sometimes a bribe was the best way. “For her silence.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I flashed him a grin, going to my truck. “I’ve got a delinquent to track down.”

  “You could’ve sent the guys to find her.”

  I shook my head, getting inside. “Nah. This time I want to find her on my own.” I held up two fingers as my truck roared past him. “I’m out, brother.”

  10

  Channing

  There were three places my sister could’ve been.

  One was sleeping at Jordan’s place—he was the leader of her crew. He had a storage building, similar to my warehouse, but it was at his family’s place. Edging down his driveway to the building, I didn’t see her truck there. I didn’t want to deal with any questions, so I eased right back up the driveway, turning my lights on as I cleared the woods around their land.

  Another spot was her best friend’s house.

  Bren and Cross Shaw were best friends like Heather and I had been growing up—minus the sex, at least as far as I knew. Heather and I had started doing it early, way too early, but the last I’d heard, Bren and Cross were still just friends. That was a conversation I wasn’t sure I wanted to have with her—not that she would participate. I imagined me sitting there, explaining what it meant if a bee’s stinger went inside the female bee and how little bees were created, and that whole scenario seemed so wrong.

  Bren was smart. She’d practically raised herself because I knew our dad had been worthless the last few years, and while she’d had a boyfriend for some of that time, she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

  Heather told me she’d seen Bren buying condoms, so at least safe sex was a topic I didn’t need to cover.

  Fuck. Did I?

  When I arrived at the Shaw house, I didn’t see his truck or my sister’s, so that meant she was at the third place.

  I didn’t know if Bren knew I knew about this last one.

  I’d discovered it one night around three in the morning when I woke up for a piss and realized she was gone. I’d sent out a full-crew alert, and it took ten minutes. Moose found her. Or he found her truck parked on the steep bank.

  I drove there tonight, going up the gravel road, up the hill to the small clearing.

  She wasn’t alone.

  Shaw’s truck was parked behind hers, and I hesitated before turning off my truck.

  Here’s the truth of my situation: I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.

  There was overlap between my father and me between the time he was having legal problems and when he actually went to prison. And even before I got the official guardianship over Bren I’d started paying attention, so this wasn’t the first year of me taking care of her. It’d been a couple, maybe more, but I was still clueless. Or I felt clueless.

  I’d been shitting bricks this whole time.

  She was seventeen. I’d left the house when she was four. There were times I’d stayed with them, but for the most part, I was gone. She didn’t grow up knowing me, not really. She grew up probably hearing Dad bitching about me, so I got it. I really did. I understood why she’d looked like she would rather eat poison when the judge gave me guardianship over her.

  Dad owned the house we grew up in. When he went to prison, the bank took the house.

  That meant Bren lost her home.

  I didn’t get it until that first night I found her here, because if you go down the steep bank and across the road, right there is the house we grew up in.

  Or she grew up in.

  I chose to leave. She was forced out.

  That first night, when I crept up on her, saw her sitting there watching the house, I almost fell to my knees. She’d been crying. They weren’t loud tears or a meltdown. It didn’t even look like she knew she was crying.

  One tear after another left her eyes and slid down her face, and she didn’t react. Not a bit.

  She sat, stone-faced, and she barely blinked.

  It was a swift kick to my junk.

  I’d taken her from her home. No wonder she hated me. I hated myself a little bit too that night, and this night was almost no different.

  I had to check on her. I had to. If I didn’t, I would worry all night, so I crept into the woods—like Brandon’s stalker—and got just close enough to see them.

  They were sleeping, arms hugging themselves, one curled toward the other with a whiskey bottle between them.

  A small bit of pride flickered in me. Again, not the best role model here, but she was a Monroe, that’s for sure.

  I eased back. I got in my truck, started it, and went back home.

  Heather was sleeping, the fan still blowing. She must’ve woken at some point because her tank top was on now, along with a pair of panties, but no pants or shorts. I curled in around her, skimming a hand over her tiny underwear. I loved the lacy white ones, or the pink ones. Most guys like red or black because that means sex, but I liked the white and pink better. They were the ones Heather liked the best, so when she had them on, I knew she felt comfortable.

  She probably knew I’d left for the crew. She was probably frustrated, but I didn’t care right now. Everyone I loved was okay.

  Heather. Bren. My crew.

  I’d
deal with the other shit later.

  11

  Heather

  Fifth grade

  Today was the worst day. Ever—to infinity. Past that even. The worst ever, ever, ever, ever.

  “What’s your problem?”

  I screamed, jumping back, and felt my face heat up.

  Channing was at his locker, pulling books out and stuffing them into his bag. I’d been the one not looking where I was going. He’d been there the whole time.

  He laughed before stuffing more of his books into his bag.

  “Wait.” I pointed at the bag. “What are you doing?”

  I couldn’t hold back the edge of hysteria in my voice, though so far I’d managed not to burst into tears. Barely. Now they were threatening to spill. I’d just been told one friend was leaving. I couldn’t lose another one.

  I couldn’t lose Channing.

  He smirked, though it didn’t go to his eyes. They looked sad. “They finally figured out I’m smart, and they’re moving me up a year.” He shrugged, turning back to his locker.

  “Wait. What?”

  “Yeah.” He stopped cleaning out his locker and stared at it. His hands were at his side, balled into fists. “They’re moving me up a grade, said it’d be fine with my age. Or something like that.”

  “What?!” I jerked forward. I didn’t think. I kicked his bag across the hallway and slammed his locker shut. “No! NO! You’re not smart. What are they thinking?”

  Channing jumped back and stared at me. His eyes were big. He frowned. “It’s not my call, Jax. My mom said yes, and I gotta move everything to the next hallway. Someone else is getting my locker.”

  No.

  No.

  No!

  Now I was the one with my hands in fists, and they were pressing right against my legs.

  My friend Tate had just told me she was moving to Fallen Crest. Said her dad got a promotion and her family thought there were better stupid schools there.

  “No.” I growled.

  I probably looked crazy. But Tate was leaving, and now Channing was going up a grade. We wouldn’t be in the same classes anymore.

  I. Was. Sick. And. Tired. Of. Everyone. Leaving. Me.

  I crossed my arms over my chest in a huff. So there!

  “We’ll still have recess and lunch together.”

  I heard the sadness in his voice, but I didn’t care. Everyone was leaving me. Yes, Channing was moving up a grade, but whoop-de-doo for him. He was so smart. Smarter than the rest of us? Well, maybe. He always had the top scores, but still. This was about me.

  “You could’ve fought it,” I snapped.

  He stared at me and let out a sigh.

  He couldn’t have. He’d just told me that. Parents have all the say sometimes, and it’s not fair.

  “I did,” he murmured, his head dropping again. “They said it was better for me.”

  I felt something tightening. Building… Building… I was going to snap. Letting out another growl, I slammed my hands against his locker. Others all around us looked over.

  I stormed off. Stopped. Reared back and kicked the locker next to me.

  Okay, that felt better. A little bit. Not really, but it’d have to do.

  I kicked it again, and a door opened behind me. “Heather Jax, that is not appropriate—”

  I took off running.

  Yeah, well, life wasn’t appropriate sometimes.

  People needed to stop leaving me.

  12

  Heather

  Present day

  The fan had been on.

  When I woke up during the night, I knew why his side of the bed was empty. It hadn’t made me mad, but it frustrated me. He only turned the fan on when he needed to sneak out for the crew. It wasn’t Bren. She was different. She was precious, but his crew… That was a different story.

  Three days passed before he texted me.

  Three days after I’d snuck out, while he slept. Both of us knew I was frustrated, but for three days neither had reached out to the other.

  I was in my office at Manny’s, looking at my phone, when his text popped up.

  Channing: How are you?

  That’s what he asked, but we all knew what he wanted.

  It was code for: are you still mad at me? I know why you’re mad. You know why you’re mad, but I miss you. And follow that up with: I miss you and I’m scared of emotional talks, so let’s have sex. I can feel close to you that way. So, is the coast clear?

  If he had texted the very next day, I would’ve ignored with ease. But this was day three.

  Day three and I was missing him too. He was my best friend. How could I not?

  I should’ve deleted the text, but dammit.

  Three stupid days, and I was surrendering.

  I was spineless. That’s what I was.

  Letting out a curse, I called Samantha. She’d been my other best friend since my Fallen Crest glory days. I needed strength not to text Channing back. I hoped she’d give it to me, but when she answered, the moment her face popped up on my phone’s screen I knew I was in trouble. Black hair, almond eyes, a stunningly beautiful face, and she was glowing. I’m sure it was the light behind her, but there was a damn halo around her head.

  I sighed. “You’re actually glowing.”

  She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t tell Mason. He thinks I’m miserable, and he’s going overboard with making sure I have all the food he can think of. We have one freezer full of cookie dough ice cream and a fridge drawer of just pickles.”

  Samantha was pregnant, and while I loved her dearly, her happiness was like a fist being forced down my throat. It got all the way to my stomach, grabbed hold, and yanked.

  I blinked back sudden tears.

  I hated those things, but fuck it. She was happy. She was pregnant. She was loved.

  My reason for calling didn’t seem so important now, “How are you?” I asked instead.

  Everything had been swept away. It was like the bad shit moved aside and all the good shit replaced it inside of me.

  Knowing how happy Sam was, I was filled with a sudden desperation to see Channing.

  But before that, Sam and I would talk.

  She was six months along. Happy. Eager. And in love. Despite all of Sam’s demons and haunts, I always knew she’d end up happy.

  She asked how I was and I caught her up on everything except two things: the ache inside of me and my relationship with Channing. After we hung up, I texted him.

  Me: Want to come over tonight?

  Channing: Fuck yeah.

  Channing: I have to stay for closing. I’ll be over after.

  A pause. Then,

  Channing: Missed you.

  I grinned stupidly; I couldn’t help myself.

  Then there was a knock at the door. Brandon poked his head around.

  “Suki and the cook are fighting.”

  Of course. It was a day that ended with y.

  Time to get back to work. I stood up. “Over what?”

  “She saw him with a dull knife.”

  She was the manager. I shrugged. Made total sense.

  13

  Heather

  It was almost three in the morning. I had a history with this time in the morning.

  Cruz would’ve closed Manny’s, but I’d opted to stay. I wanted to be working instead of twiddling my thumbs at home.

  Until we finished. That was an hour ago.

  Channing was coming over, and the waiting was putting me on edge. Oh, who was I kidding? Since our chat this afternoon, I couldn’t get Sam’s face out of my mind. Mix that with Channing coming over, and there was an extra layer of nerves lining my insides.

  Dread. Excitement. Envy. Grief.

  Love.

  There was that too.

  I didn’t want to deal with any of it.

  I looked around my room at home. I could clean? I considered it, but I wasn’t sure if Brandon was downstairs or if he’d gone somewhere else f
or the night. I’m sure he left a note if he had, but I didn’t want to chance a run-in. He’d been watching me all evening with a cocked eyebrow. He knew something was up. He just kept his mouth shut.

  I had a good brother.

  But I still didn’t want to talk to him right now.

  The air conditioner wasn’t on, so my window was open, though no breeze came in. I glanced over to my nightstand at the bottle of Jack. I’d already had two shots, and I didn’t want any more. I was going to sleep. Was. Was. Was.

  My mind was going to do what it wanted.

  I let out a sigh.

  No matter how much I tried to ignore how he affected me, it was useless. He’d worked his way under my skin in first grade. He’d declared us best friends in third. We held hands in fifth. We shared our first kiss in seventh, and he’d been a headache ever since.

  Then I heard a single crunching sound outside my window, and even though my room was on the second floor, I turned my head. I knew whose head would pop through my curtains, and there he came.

  A feeling of right filled me.

  Channing hauled himself through my window, stepped once on the floor, and was in my bed in a heartbeat. He’d practiced that motion countless times since we were kids. Whether we were fighting or not, he had never stopped coming over.

  And like so many nights before, I rolled to my side and faced him. “Hey.”

  His lazy smile washed over me, matching my insides, as I’d started to relax the second I’d heard that small crunch.

  His eyes weren’t relaxed, though. They were alive and fierce.

  His dimple showed as he faced me. “Hey.”

  “You’re hyper.”

  His eyes narrowed briefly. “I’m jacked up on adrenaline.” He turned his back and held his hands up to inspect them. He brushed his thumb over his knuckles, and I didn’t need the moonlight to see the blood there.

  I winced. “Is that dry?”