Crew, Page 21

  My brother's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue. He glared at me as he crossed the room and took the phone from Cross.

  "Jordan?"

  "Here."

  I cringed. Jordan didn't need to sound so happy to talk to my brother.

  "What's going on at that end?" Channing demanded.

  "We're all arrested, but they haven't asked us any questions yet."

  "Okay. Listen, I'm sending lawyers. Don't say anything. Got it? Tell Zellman the same. Any other crew involved?"

  "Some of Ryerson's."

  Channing looked at me. "There was a teacher involved?"

  I swallowed over a lump and nodded.

  Cross leaned forward, hiding our hands, but also to speak for me. "The principal and a teacher, Mr. Jenston."

  Channing sucked in a breath, his hand rubbing slowly over his face. "Are you fucking serious? The principal?"

  "They're asking about Bren now." Jordan's voice came from the phone. We could hear conversation and alarms sounding in the background.

  "Fucking hell, Bren." Channing looked scared for the first time I'd ever seen. "What'd you do?"

  I refused to hang my head. "I stabbed him."

  Channing cursed under his breath, walking away for a moment. He stopped, facing the kitchen, his shoulders rigid.

  "Twice," I added.

  Cross glanced at me.

  "I think I got his leg and then his chest."

  "His chest?" Channing turned back, his eyes bleak. His hand still covered his chin, and he closed his eyes. "Fucking hell, Bren. You messed up this time. Big time."

  Jordan spoke up from the phone again. "He's arrested, though."

  "What?" Channing's eyes opened. "What'd you say?"

  "I was telling Bren and Cross before. He's at the hospital, but he had cuffs on. He's in police custody. As he should be."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "He manhandled me," Jordan explained. "He shoved me into a locker, and he called Bren a slut. I mean, those can't be good things. Especially with him being the authority and all. You know what I mean?"

  The bleakness in my brother's eyes lessened, and a touch of relief shone like the sun breaking through the clouds.

  "Jordan, you might've just saved all you guys, and my sister. Thank you."

  "I did? I mean, hell yeah!" Jordan paused a second. "How'd I do that?"

  "Just don't say anything if they pull you into a room. Don't believe anything they say. Cops lie. You need to remember that, and I'm calling the lawyers right now. Hold firm and tell the others."

  My chest felt so tight. My throat burned, and my stomach tossed, but I sat forward and looked right at my brother. I was a Monroe. We didn't hide. We fought.

  I'd fight.

  "What do I do?" I asked.

  Channing sat down across from us, dialing his cell phone. As he put it up to his ear, his eyes fell on our hands. But he had no reaction, just began to speak after a moment.

  "Yeah, hey. This is Channing Monroe. My sister and her friends are in some trouble. They've been arrested. Her friends--" The other person started talking, and Channing listened, adding a beat later, "Okay. We will."

  He hung up, his eyes never leaving Cross' and my joined hands. Finally, he looked up at me.

  "Tell me everything."

  I took a deep breath. "Before I start about today, you should know something about Alex's crew..."

  The next four months felt like I'd stepped into an alternate universe.

  Channing's lawyer did a sort of plea deal-compromise for me, where he mostly paid off anyone who could've made my life worse than it was.

  My charge was assault with a weapon, but I was still a juvenile. Channing's lawyer told me I could've been charged as an adult, but having the entire confrontation on tape--and because Mr. Neeon was the one abusing his authority--helped my case a lot.

  Bottom line, I took a deal in juvenile court, and I got probation, community service, and I had to agree to talk to a counselor for a year. Principal Neeon was relieved of his job, and Channing paid his hospital bills.

  On that note, either Channing's crew was making money, or the bar was doing better than I'd realized. I'd always thought we were poor... We weren't. Even Cross couldn't hide his surprise when all the financial terms ironed out.

  I was also suspended from school, so I took incompletes for the first semester. I'd be starting again after holiday break, which ended this weekend. In the interim I had spent my mornings waiting tables at Manny's and the evenings doing dishes at Tuesday Tits. I wasn't permitted to walk into the main bar area. I had to enter through the back door, which opened right to the kitchen, and I was only allowed to work in the kitchen. If I had to use the restroom, Channing had a Porta Potty installed outside just for me.

  It was disgusting, but he'd only shrugged. "Consider it part of your punishment."

  But even with that, all in all, my brother hadn't been that hard on me.

  He'd been upset, but his cursing had been minimal. He'd never called me names. He never threw anything, threatened to kick me out, or blackmailed me into doing anything I didn't want to. For a replacement dad, he was doing better than the real deal.

  Most nights I was either at home with him or with the crew. And half that time, we were either at Manny's or the guys were in the Tuesday Tits kitchen with me. When Heather and Channing thought they were getting one employee, they really got four of us.

  Cross was almost inseparable from me.

  If he didn't pick me up, he always rolled in an hour or two after I got to my job. Today, for instance, I was finishing a case of glasses when he walked in, his hands in his pockets and a twinkle in his eye.

  I paused before pulling another case through the washing machine. "You look happy."

  "I am." He washed his hands, then came over and helped me put the dry glasses away. After I stacked glasses, he took them out front. Unlike myself, he could enter the bar area--because he had a dick. He wasn't the owner's little sister. Channing insisted I had special privileges because of that fact. I still didn't see it. I did not consider the Porta Potty special.

  I was piling up a bunch of plates when Cross returned. Loud music followed him, then faded as the kitchen door shut again.

  "Jordan and Z are coming in a bit," he announced.

  He hopped on a stool near where I stood. He leaned back against the wall, and his legs could've touched me if he'd moved them over a little.

  I tensed up.

  That's all I'd been doing since I'd realized my feelings for Cross.

  I annoyed myself.

  This wasn't how I was.

  I didn't get shy around guys, especially my best friend and crew member. I didn't get all tongue-tied. But these days I sure as hell didn't know what the fuck to do when Cross got close to me. All the hand holding, shared looks, and double entendres had taken their toll. But with the upheaval after the stabbing incident, Cross seemed to sense that I needed space. He'd stepped back into the best friend role.

  "What are you doing for your community service again?" he asked.

  I shrugged, pushing in the last rack of dishes. "I thought Manny's and this was it, but it's not. Heather and Channing started paying me, so I'm assuming the judge declined their request to have this count as community service. I gotta start doing it, whatever it is, within six months. Why?"

  "Taz is still asking about the charity thing."

  "Are you serious? Still? I thought that would've been done. She said end of September. That was months ago."

  "She said they're doing one for the summer. She wants you to help with the planning." His eyes softened. "It's an idea. You're not stuck picking up trash or mowing lawns. Plus, you can push the whole thing where you're socializing with people who aren't your crew. They said that was a concern--that you only spend time with us and no one else."

  Everyone else sucked. No one else mattered.

  The machine beeped that it was done, and I opened it. "Maybe. I think Channing's lawy
er has to ask the judge for approval, but I'll mention it."

  He nodded. "She's been asking about you, you know."

  "The judge?" I reached for the last rack, pulling it out.

  I could feel Cross' eye roll behind me. "You know who."

  Yeah. I did. A whole twisty thing happened with my stomach. What was that? Guilt? What should I feel guilty about with Taz?

  I stood staring at the glasses, letting them air-dry a bit longer. "How's she been doing?"

  "Worried about you." He reached over and hooked another stool with his toe, dragging it closer to prop his leg on.

  "Make yourself comfortable."

  He smirked. "Always." He grew serious again. "She wants to see you."

  I already knew that. I'd been getting emails from her every other week. I got emails from Sunday Barnes too, and Monica even--awkward. But they weren't alone. Alex Ryerson had reached out, apologizing for the fiftieth time. That was an exaggeration, but he needed to keep after it. It wasn't his fault I'd stabbed Principal Neeon, but it had been the third time I'd felt accosted by him. Enough was enough. I didn't need to stab him too. A few of his crew had gotten in touch with me, not apologizing for him, but just saying hello. It was their way of asking how I was without it being awkward. It was the crew way.

  I'd ignored everyone. I ignored Alex and his crew because I was still angry, and because Channing had said to leave them alone. They were going to be dealt with. I ignored everyone else because... I didn't know what to say. I didn't understand why Monica and Sunday were contacting me in the first place. They hated me. But Taz. Yeah, Taz.

  I needed to go see her, but I couldn't make myself. Which was unlike me.

  "Are you actually thinking about hanging out with Taz?" Cross leaned forward.

  "What?" I scowled, starting to stack the glasses now. "That's stupid. No."

  "Why's that stupid?"

  I swung around to him. "Since when have you ever wanted me and your sister to be friends?"

  Cross' smile faded, and he brought his leg down from the stool.

  I held my breath, feeling the air in the room shift. It'd gone from comfortable to something more, something hot, something uncomfortable, something... I felt my stomach doing all sorts of flips once again.

  "I've never not wanted you and Taz to be close."

  I looked at him again, raising my eyebrows high--and ignoring all the weird shit inside me. "Cross, come on."

  "Come on what?"

  "Every time I'm at your house, you start glaring when your sister comes around. You've been doing it since we became friends." I shook my head. "You didn't like it when I hung out with her. You can't act differently now."

  He leaned back so his head rested against the wall again. "Yeah. Maybe I did that."

  There was no maybe. It was a definite yes. He did it.

  "I was being selfish." His eyes held mine. "I just wanted you for myself, okay? I was an ass."

  Whaaat?

  My throat felt suddenly tight, and so did my chest. Was this the official talk?My stomach was doing backflips like a professional tumbler now.

  A tingle went down my spine.

  "Cross?" I didn't know what I was asking. Maybe for clarification? What the hell was going on? It'd been four months of friendliness, and now suddenly we were talking real talk?

  He continued to hold my gaze. A stark need entered his eyes, and he sighed. "Fuck," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Bren."

  I licked my lips. My mouth was so dry. "For what?"

  "I've tried to be the best friend during this whole thing. I have."

  Yeah. He'd done a remarkable job. Not what I wanted.

  His voice was quiet, yet I didn't need to strain to hear him. I hung on his every word. "We close in together. That's what we do when one of us goes through something. You--you need a solid friend, but I can't do that anymore."

  "You can't be my friend anymore?" I set down the glasses, putting the stack of them on the counter, and reached back to hold on instead. I felt my knees growing weak.

  He shook his head, tentatively at first, as if he were asking my permission. Then, like he saw something he'd needed to see in my gaze, he began to stand up.

  I swallowed, my hand gripping the counter.

  He was coming over.

  Oh, God...

  He stopped right in front of me. Two inches separated us. I couldn't look away from him, but the longer I held his gaze, the less I felt able to stand. He was inside of me, making me feel all sorts of emotions I'd never felt before. He knew me, every inch, every cell, every thought.

  I parted my lips, and his eyes darted to them, staying.

  He brushed his hand over my cheek, tucking some of my hair behind my ear, leaving a tingle in its trail.

  I let out a ragged breath.

  Goddamn. That touch. It ricocheted through me, sparking need between my legs.

  I started to reach for him, needing to touch him.

  He saw my hand and moved in, letting it land on his chest. I could feel his heart racing. He was as affected as I was. And like that, it clicked. Surrender flooded me. Our bodies let out a release at the same time, like we were finally accepting what was between us.

  "Bren," he whispered. His lips brushed over my cheek, getting closer and closer to my mouth, but he paused. He didn't touch his mouth to mine. He tucked my hair behind my ear again, resting there.

  He was breathing heavy, just like me.

  I splayed my fingers out, savoring the feel of his strength. He was so tight, so firm. I knew what he looked like under his shirt. We'd gone swimming so many times together. We'd hugged each other. We'd sat next to each other. We'd driven together, ridden together. We'd done everything together. We'd even slept together, but this--this was different.

  This was a different touch, a different moment.

  There was no going back now.

  I could lose him.

  That sent alarm bells through me, but it didn't matter. I felt drugged. I just needed him, and I lifted my eyes, meeting his again.

  He'd been waiting.

  I parted my lips.

  I reached up, and he dipped down.

  His lips touched mine, and everything in the world softened.

  It was different--not the kiss, but the feeling. This was finally. This was something I hadn't known I'd been waiting for. I leaned into him, and he opened his mouth, applying more pressure.

  Sensations exploded in me.

  "Cross," I murmured, looking up with what I knew were dazed eyes. "What are we doing?"

  He moved even closer, his eyes smoldering and serious. I fit against him like a glove, and his hand cupped the back of my neck.

  "What we should've been doing for a long time," he said.

  He came back down, and I stopped thinking.

  My hands formed fists in his shirt.

  This wasn't like Drake. Cross was in a league of his own--

  "Bren! Cross!"

  Jordan's voice came through the back screen door, and we had a second's notice before it opened. Cross ripped away from me and threw himself across the room as they came inside.

  I could only stand there, like an idiot.

  We'd just--

  I met Cross' gaze as Jordan hollered, "Yo! Where's the love? No greetings?" He went around me, casting a curious look before pounding fists with Cross. "You okay, B?" He came back, holding his fist up to me.

  My insides were in an uproar. "Yeah. I'm good." I met my fist to his.

  Zellman came in and threw his arm around my shoulders. "Heya, P.F.S." He leaned into me, his skinny hip digging into mine. "Did Cross already fill you in?"

  "What?"

  Zellman frowned at me. "You're usually quicker on the uptake. You sure you're okay?" His eyes widened, and he jumped away from me. "Wait. Is your side okay? I thought you were all healed by now."

  Get ahold of yourself.

  I tried to shove away the feel of Cross' lips on mine, the press of his body against mine, how he'd fe
lt with his hands in my hair. I tried. I was failing.

  "It's fine. I'm fine. Just..." I had no clue what I was saying. "What's up?" I forced a bright sound to my voice. "I didn't eat today. What's going on?"

  There was a sack of apples on the counter, and Jordan grabbed two, throwing one to me. He hopped up on the counter, gesturing with his apple toward Cross. "We were thinking of doing something nice for you."

  "We?" I sent Cross a look, raising my eyebrow.

  He coughed. "I mentioned you could do with a fun evening." He gestured back to Jordan. "They said they'd cover it."

  "We did." Zellman was almost beaming next to me. He crossed his arms over his chest, and his skinny jeans slipped down a bit. "We thought of the best idea, and that's where we've been just now."

  "Thinking of the idea?"

  "What?" He scratched behind his ear. "No. Not that." He laughed. "But funny, though."

  Jordan took a big bite from the apple. "We're going on a road trip!"

  "Yeah, yeah." Zellman leaned forward. "And we cleared it with the Mom and Pops."

  I felt the blood drain from my face. "Mom and Pops?"

  Zellman's eyebrows bunched together. "You know, Heather." He indicated behind me, toward the bar. "And your brother. He knows we're coming to get you. He agreed with us."

  "He did?"

  My jaw was on the floor. I could've used it to sweep the floor.

  Things were better with Channing. I didn't ignore him when he talked to me now. But we had a long way to go.

  "He did." Zellman unfolded his arms and clapped me on the back. "Grab your tits! Let's go."

  Jordan and Z headed back through the door. Only Cross registered the statement, and he waited until the door closed behind them. "If Alex Ryerson had said that, he'd be impaled with a knife already."

  I laughed, but my pulse had started to speed up. It was Cross and me again. We were alone. In a room.

  I was already hot and bothered.

  "I've heard him say the same thing to you." That was Zellman's phrase when he wasn't thinking, was distracted by something else going on. "He doesn't register that I actually have tits."

  Cross looked me up and down, lingering on my lips. "I've never had any trouble registering that." He started toward me, but halted abruptly. He eyes dropped to my tits. "Yeah. Too soon here." Walking backward, he winked as his back hit the screen door. "And just so we're clear, I'm intending to grab your tits someday. I've been intending for a long time."

  He backed out and was off toward the guys.

  A whole flurry of nerves, excitement, thrill, and fear plunged through me at breakneck speed. I took a moment for myself before I followed him out the door.