The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 68

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 Brandon’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.