The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 13
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?
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?
