I knew no matter what that I would do whatever she wanted me to do. She might’ve been floundering a little, but she didn’t know how much she was my anchor. She was my North Star. I needed her or I’d be lost. I’d go off the rails.
Bren wanted justice in the world, and I knew that’s where we were going. Me, I just wanted her.
“It’s Tabatha.” She shrugged, looking away from me as she answered.
That reply didn’t sit right.
I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘it’s Tabatha?’”
“I don’t know. She’s, she’s just, she’s Tabatha.”
That made no sense to me. “She’s Jordan’s cheating ex.”
“She’s my friend.” She looked back to the table, starting to pick at some of the paint that had chipped off.
Understanding then dawned. “You care about Tabatha.”
“Don’t you?”
“Not really.”
She frowned, going back to the paint, but this time with more determination.
I reached over, catching her hand before she got a splinter, and pulled her around to my side. She resisted at first, then I tugged her all the way over. We were in a back corner. People could still see us, but I didn’t care. We weren’t normally a PDA couple, except for the occasion neither of us gave a damn what others thought. And this was one of those moments for me.
I needed to touch her, reassure her.
Keeping her hand in mine, I refrained from hauling her onto my lap, shifting to face her a bit better. “I’m not important in this scenario. You are. I want to hear what you want to do.” I nudged her on the leg. “Talk to me.”
She flashed me a look.
Yeah, yeah.
I know. I didn’t open up about my brother either. There was a reason for that. One, he was a dick. Two, he was a dick. Three, he was still a dick, but I knew I couldn’t walk away from him and I also couldn’t stand to be around him. See my dilemma. Once I had the words, I would share them. I just didn’t have them at this moment in time.
“Tabatha. You care about her.”
She flicked her eyes up, but went with it. “I don’t have friends. It’s you, Jordan, and Zellman. I inherited your sister from you, but Tabatha is different. I hated her at first, couldn’t stand her. We had some issues, but I don’t know. I like her. And I’m pissed that we didn’t push Jordan or her about what happened before this. Two months, Cross. Two months. She’s been doing what she’s been doing for two months, and we could’ve helped it. We could’ve stopped it, even.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t know. She didn’t come to us. He didn’t either. We were–”
“We weren’t in each other’s businesses because of me. It’s my fault. All of this is my fault because you guys have been tiptoeing around me like I’m made of glass. And I get it. I don’t know how I feel about my dad being out of prison, but it doesn’t matter—”
“It matters.”
“—he’s not even here. He’s back in Roussou, so I’m here. I’m doing my life here.”
She faltered, and fuck me…I knew what she was struggling with.
She was feeling guilty about being here for me, for the guys, for herself, when he was out and alone. He killed for her; that’s how Bren thought about it, and she was here. Not there. She wasn’t taking care of him. Instead, focusing on us. Her crew.
Fuck. Me.
I hadn’t known. I hadn’t seen it.
I saw it now, and no, no, no.
I wasn’t going to let that happen, but that was so not a conversation we could have now. She wasn’t ready for it, but dammit, when we did have it, I had to go hard. Super fucking hard. I was not going to lose her, lose us, because she felt guilty about her dad.
“Hey.” I tipped her head up, my finger under her chin. “Tabatha is a big girl. So’s Jordan. He didn’t come to us earlier, and you know, he may never have until you pushed back. So, it happened. People made decisions for themselves and you didn’t know because maybe you weren’t supposed to know.”
“What?” She half-laughed that question, while half-frowning at the same time.
I shrugged, keeping my finger under her chin. “I don’t know. It sounded good. I don’t care about Tabatha. I’m sorry. I don’t. I care about Jordan, and I care about you. That’s where my loyalty is, but you care about Tabatha, and if you want to be her friend, then we’ll step in and help.” I tugged her over, saying right as her mouth was an inch away. “Because guess what? We all give a damn about you.” My hand slid to cup the side of her face, my fingers spreading out, anchoring her. “You know that, right? You’re the glue.”
She blinked, her face twitching in my hand, and then I swept in.
My lips touched hers, and it was right. It was always right when I kissed Bren.
Always right. Always perfect. Always home.
I angled my head, deepening the kiss, and I didn’t give a fuck who was watching.
I was behind Bren’s truck, both of us sitting at a stoplight. Her taillights were flooding my vision when my phone rang.
Glancing down, Blaise calling. I cursed and then hit accept.
“What?”
He cursed on his end. “In a mood? About to fuck your woman?”
Another curse and I was trying to strangle my steering wheel. “Not the time, dickhead.”
He laughed from his end. “It’s always the time to piss you off.”
“You want to go? Another round?”
His response was instant. “Yeah!” And I should’ve known.
Blaise was the one who liked inciting me, not the other way around. He followed up what he said. I hadn’t known my brother to bluff, but then again, I’d only known him a short time.
The light turned green and Bren’s taillights switched. She eased forward. I followed behind.
“We’re almost home. What do you want?”
“Zeke called. He’s pissed. Your girl talked to Tabatha?”
“Zeke’s got no right to be pissed, and also, why the fuck do I care about that dick?”
“I’m not saying you should. Stop putting your issues on me. We all have our own different battles. Pissing Zeke off is no skin off my nose. I’m happy to send him your way. I’ll bring the popcorn.”
An ugly laugh ripped from me, deep in my throat. “Yeah. And you and I both know that if your best friend actually went against us, you would wade into the fight. You’d take over the fight for him. You know it. I know it. Zeke knows it.”
“Yeah. Maybe. But I’d still have fun getting everyone riled up in the process.”
Another laugh, this one not as ugly because he would enjoy it.
“Bren covered for you. She said you actually never said anything.”
“Meh. It’s fine. I didn’t, but I still sent you guys there. That is on me, but I don’t care. I’m not actually calling to rip you a new one for doing what I wanted. I’m calling because I want to know when you’re moving on Harper.”
Bren pulled into the driveway. Jordan’s and Zellman’s trucks were already there, so I pulled up to the curb. Turning the ignition off, I sat there, my phone in hand. “Why do you have a hard-on for Harper?”
“Because he’s a dick, and he did something to Aspen.” His voice dropped, becoming low and dangerous. He was my own brother, and a tension ran through me. I found myself gripping the phone tighter as he added, “For that, the fucker’s going to bleed.”
Shit. My brother was scary.
I said, “You want the first hit.”
“Fuck yeah.”
I frowned. “Why now? Why use us to get at him?”
He was quiet a moment. “I’ve got my reasons, but know this. I’ve been jonesing for the right time to go at him. This is the right time. I’m in.”
“And Zeke?”
“Zeke’s my best friend.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? This guy is in his fraternity. They’re called brothers for a reason.”
“Shut up.”
“No—”
“Shut up, for you. You’re showing your ignorance right now, but don’t worry. You’ll get it one of these days.” He didn’t sound pissed, just amused.
I cursed again, shaking my head. “You are annoying.”
“You know we’ll have to kill each other one of these days. There’s only supposed to be one of us.”
“What?”
He laughed. “Just kidding.” He hung up after that.
He didn’t sound like he was kidding.
And with that unsettling thought, I headed inside.
Jordan was going to go apeshit.
BREN
Jordan went apeshit.
He threw the recliner into the kitchen.
That wasn’t enough. He went for the other recliner.
That recliner went into the hallway.
The couch was flipped over.
“She—” He was red in the face, bending because he wasn’t content with the couch how it was. He flipped it upright, but shoved it toward the kitchen. I had no idea where he was going with it. “She—” grunt “—thought—” more grunting, shoving. The couch was now past the dining room table. “—she could whore herself out? For WHAT? FOR WHO?” There was roaring as he climbed over the couch and kicked open the back door.