Crew Page 5

  The tapping started again after that.

  I grinned. "Are you worried about me eating?"

  The tapping stopped. Her eyebrows pulled together. "I'm that transparent?"

  I nodded, unwrapping my burger.

  She wasn't the first to be worried. It'd been a theme for me. I was thin--had been all my life. I just was. I didn't work at it. I didn't starve myself. I might forget to eat sometimes, but it wasn't intentional. Food was just not on my mind.

  Being detached from myself meant from my stomach too. I had enough insight to know that much.

  I shrugged, taking a big bite. "Mom used to worry too, when I was little." I swallowed. "Don't take it on. Channing knows this is just how I am. I'm not sick or anything."

  "Still, you could do with a few more meals." She pulled her knee up to her chest, her foot resting on the chair. "I have a friend kind of like you, except she runs all the time. She told me once that she had an eating disorder, but it went away later."

  I took a second bite and swallowed. "That the Olympic runner?"

  Surprise pulled her eyebrows up. "Yeah. Sam. You know about her?"

  I nodded, reaching for some fries. "I listen." I smiled. "Channing's proud of his Fallen Crest friends. They're big deals."

  Unlike us. They were big deals. We weren't. The unspoken meaning hung between us.

  Another town, another life and owning and running a bar would be an accomplishment, but I could see the thoughts in Heather's mind. There was a sadness in her eyes. Against an Olympic runner, whose husband was an NFL player, and the other dude who was in law school, I could tell Heather had a complex.

  I held my burger in front of me. "I'm not stupid, but I know my path. Graduating is my big goal, and after that..." I shrugged, staring at the meat but feeling how quiet she'd gotten. "If I ran a successful business like you do with Manny's or Chan does with Tits, I'd be proud." A goddamn lump was in my throat. "I'd be damned proud." I looked up now, meeting her gaze. "I wouldn't let anyone take that from me."

  Her lips parted, and she leaned forward. Her hand flattened on the table. "Bren, I wasn't thinking about--"

  I stood, but I slid another fry from my container.

  I knew she wasn't. Heather was good people.

  I was just the one in the way.

  Stuffing the fry into my mouth, I put the rest of them back in the bag. With my water in hand, I motioned with my head to the door. "Lunch is almost done. I'm going back."

  Heather's hand fell to her lap. She looked down at it, not responding before gesturing toward the back door. "I'm parked out back. I should get going too."

  She didn't move, but I did.

  In just a moment I was back in my Jeep, pulling away from the curb.

  I still wasn't going back to school, though I wasn't avoiding the new Ryerson, or well, everyone. I just didn't want to deal with people at the moment.

  Surprise: I'm not a fan of people. They were like aliens to me. So I headed toward where I always went when I wanted to hole up.

  I went to Cross' house.

  He wouldn't be there, but neither would anyone else. And bonus, I knew where they kept the secret key.

  I settled into Cross' room, though not in his bed or at his desk. I was in his closet.

  I know it sounds creepy, but it's not. It's just our thing--or maybe it's more my thing. If I need to crash somewhere that's not my own bed, I like his closet. He usually crashes on my floor if he returns the favor. So me being in his closet wasn't weird--to us.

  What was weird was hearing footsteps in the hall a few hours later and two voices entering his room.

  "I don't think we should be in here."

  I lifted my head, letting it rest against the closet wall. I couldn't place that voice.

  "Sshhh! I want to just check it out."

  I recognized that one: Sunday Barnes.

  "Oh!" Sunday groaned. "Think we could get into his accounts?"

  "Sunday, for real. We should go." The second voice again.

  I still couldn't place her, but she was hesitant, her second statement more fearful than the first.

  "Get over it, Mon. It's not our fault Taz let us roam free around here."

  Monica? Cross' ex?

  I remembered they were both on the cheerleading squad.

  "This makes me nervous. Taz thinks we're going to the bathroom. You know Cross would be pissed if he knew we were in here."

  "You said you wanted proof. That's what we're doing, looking for proof."

  "Yeah, but--"

  "But what?" Sunday snapped as Cross' desk chair squealed. "You think he's in love with Monroe."

  Me? Fuck. I closed my eyes, an old wariness settling in my chest.

  "He didn't say that--"

  "But you see how close they are," Sunday countered. "He's in love with her. We all know it. We just have to prove it."

  The floor creaked as someone crossed the room. The bed springs protested slightly.

  "Look," Monica's voice was quieter. "I don't feel right about this anymore. She's crew. I mean, you have to be badass to just be in one, let alone theirs. I don't know. I don't want to mess with Bren."

  "Why not?" I could almost hear the eye roll. Cross' computer booted up. "She messes with you all the time. If they're not together, she should let him date who he wants."

  "She's never done anything."

  "In front of you. Trust me. I know girls like that. They're all about pulling the strings behind your back."

  Monica let out a small laugh. "You're projecting. That's what you do."

  "Yeah. Maybe." Sunday agreed.

  I heard fingers tapping on the keyboard, followed by "Fuck! It's password-protected even to get on the computer. I tried Bren's name. What else would he use as a password?"

  The bed creaked again. "We're not going to find anything. Let's go."

  "No way. We're here. Let's try a few more, okay?" More typing. "No. Wolves or Wolf Crew doesn't work. Come on. You've been with him forever. Think of some ideas--"

  "What the fuck are you guys doing?" A third voice came from the doorway.

  I knew that one, and I sat up straight, waiting for what Taz was going to say.

  "Shit!"

  The bedroom door banged into the closet behind my head.

  She didn't disappoint.

  "What the fuck?!" Taz's voice grew louder, and I could see the shadow from her shoes under the closet door. "Were you trying to hack into my brother's computer?"

  "No, no."

  Sunday snorted. "Yes."

  Taz sucked in her breath.

  I grinned faintly. I could hear how pissed she was. If she really got going, she was a terror. I'd witnessed a few verbal smackdowns between her and Cross.

  "Look, it was my idea." Monica stepped closer. "He broke up with me again last night, and I know he spent it with her. I'm just so tired of being his second choice."

  "So you needed to invade his privacy for payback?"

  "What? No! No."

  I angled my head closer to the door so I could see out through the small crack. Monica's head was blocked by the door's screw, but I could see where her hands were pressed to her chest, like she was praying.

  "I just wanted proof that he loves her," she said. "I'm so sick of him denying it. I can see it. It's how they move together. Like they're the same person. It sucks. Do you have any idea?"

  "Give me a break," Taz grumbled. "They're crew, and they're best friends. That's what they do."

  "It's more with them. You know it."

  Sunday stepped forward now. I could make out her hands on her hips. "I heard you this morning. You think it too. You said it yourself. They have their own language."

  "And what? If you'd found something, what would you do with it?" Taz was incredulous. "Blackmail them? You think my brother would stand for that, or hell, Bren? Seriously? Do you really want to piss her off? You're an idiot."

  Taz said, "There are no couples in crew."

  Sunday said, "In
theirs, maybe. But that could change and it's not the same for others."

  "There's only one other female in the system."

  Monica added, "Yeah! And she's dating one of her own group's members."

  "I have a feeling the rule would change if something did happen between Bren and Cross, but are you even listening to yourself? It's Bren."

  Sunday crossed her arms over her chest. "Whatever, Taz. Bren Monroe doesn't scare me."

  My grin doubled. Now we were getting somewhere.

  Taz snorted again. "She should. You can't bully her with whispers and rumors. You tell people she and my brother are together, they're either going to be like duh, or they're not going to give a shit."

  "What can she do to me? Physically assault me? I'll have her arrested."

  Taz stepped forward, her voice low. "Pat was working at the hospital last night. She called me because a guy came in with his jaw broken, three fractured ribs, and he can't even sit to take a shit right now. She asked him what happened, and you know what he told her?" She didn't wait. "He said he touched a Wolf girl."

  "If he had touched Bren, he would've been sliced up." Sunday was laughing, but there was a thread of caution there now. I heard it.

  "Pat talked to the cops later, and one mentioned that Jordan Pitts' little sister reported a sexual assault a few days ago. You think that's a coincidence?"

  A soft "shit" came from Monica.

  "Do you think they won't deal with you somehow if you're going after a member?" Taz paused, her voice soft, eerily soft. "You go after one, you go after all. You know the rules."

  Sunday's closed arms jostled. "She'd have to know I was doing something and prove it. Come on." She sounded haughty, but her caution was morphing into fear. A nervous laugh left her. "It'd be rumors. She couldn't do anything to me."

  "They've done worse for less," Taz snapped. "Stop whatever you're doing. Just stop. You'll regret it."

  Sunday snorted. "How's she even going to know?"

  "Trust me," Taz said. She edged closer to the closet. "You'll be surprised how quick she'll know."

  "Only if you say something." She advanced a step toward Taz. "But you're not going to do that, right? You're not a narc. You wouldn't want that rumor to get around either. A member's sister is a narc?" She waited a beat. "Right, Taz?"

  No one moved.

  No one said a word.

  Tense silence filled the room.

  I waited. I could stand up. I could step out. I could make Sunday piss her pants, but I didn't. It wasn't fear that held me back. It was curiosity. I wanted to know how Taz would handle that threat, because on the list of them, that was a doozy. A damned doozy.

  "You're going to regret this," Taz finally said.

  "Hey!" a voice called from below. "Where are you guys?"

  Sunday huffed out, "Whatever. My fight's not with you, Taz, but don't say anything. She knows, and I'll know it was you who squealed."

  "I don't think--"

  "Shut it, Mon. You already started this train. It left the station."

  "Guys!" came another shout from below. "Where are you?! We have to start."

  Sunday cursed, almost stomping from the room. "They can't handle being alone for five minutes? I'm cursed with the stupidest squad ever."

  As she walked farther down the hallway, her stomping faded, then "What?! We were busy up there" carried back to the room.

  A soft murmur followed in response, but I couldn't make it out.

  "Taz?" Monica had stayed back. I still had a perfect view of her hands, hands she was wringing together in front of her. "Are you going to tell Bren?"

  Taz was silent. A full ten seconds passed. Even I was affected by the silence. It was palpable. When she did speak, her voice was unnaturally soft. "I'm going to say this clearly. If you don't do anything, Bren won't do anything to you. Do you understand?"

  "Yeah, but you're not going to say anything. Right?" She gestured toward the door. "You heard Sunday. If Bren finds out, she'll blame you. I don't want anything to happen to you."

  Taz snorted. "Trust me. You don't need to worry about me. I can handle Sunday just fine on my own."

  Monica let out a breath. "I suppose we should go down to the meeting. I'm glad you decided to join again."

  They left together, but I heard Taz say, "Well, we'll see. I'm not going to let Sunday boss me around like last time."

  They walked down the hallway, and I remained in the closet. When I stepped out, I'd have to take care of this Sunday problem. Nip it in the bud, get it done quickly. I didn't like to let things linger, and the whole Drake secret was one too many things hanging over my head already. But right now, I was tired.

  I was seventeen, and I felt like I was nearing fifty-seven. Was that normal? Was life supposed to be this hard? This grueling day after day?

  I liked Cross' closet. He didn't have that many clothes, and what he had was pushed to the back, so I barely felt them brushing against my feet. Four closed-in walls. Others might get claustrophobic, but not me. No one could sneak up on me in here. It was one of the only places I could sleep soundly. That's what I'd been doing when they came in, which meant school was out. If Cross wasn't here... I reached for my phone. He'd be looking for me somewhere else.

  There were three texts from him.

  Where r u?

  Call me.

  We're at Jordan's. Come over when you get this.

  I was texting, Heading over now when the closet door suddenly opened. Only one person could've figured out I was in here, and because of that, I took my time finishing the text before looking up.

  When I did, Taz stared down at me.

  There was no surprise on her face. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, high on her head, and she had glitter on her cheeks. She'd morphed into one of them since I saw her at school. I was half-expecting her to be wearing a cheerleading uniform--they did that sometimes--but she was still in the same clothes.

  Hitting send, I put my phone away and stood.

  I glanced at the door to the room, but it was closed.

  Taz stepped back, sitting on Cross' bed. "You heard all of that?" She pulled at her ponytail, her fingers flicking the end over and over.

  "Yep."

  She let out a resigned sigh, her hands falling to the bed. "What are you going to do?"

  I raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want to know?"

  "I'm being serious. What are you going to do?"

  There was something more in her tone, something uneasy, something...

  "You're not actually worried about it, are you?"

  The guilt flared in her eyes before she hung her head.

  "This has to do with Cross." I sat on his desk chair, connecting the dots in my head. "They came in here. They tried to hack into his computer, and you know I'm going to say something."

  She didn't answer me. She didn't need to.

  I went through the scenarios of what might happen if I told him, but only one stood out. "You're worried he's going to move out?"

  This morning made a whole lot more sense now. That's what Cross would do when he found out his privacy had potentially been invaded. He wouldn't put a lock on his door. He wouldn't say something to his parents. He would move to my place, or more likely Jordan's, because Jordan's parents didn't mind that Zellman lived there half the time already.

  Hearing a sniffle, I looked back at her.

  Taz lifted her face with tears in her eyes. "Do you know what it's like to have your twin be closer to three other people than you?"

  Not a twin, but a brother. Yes.

  She kept going, her tears falling now. "I barely see him anymore. He's either partying with Jordan and Zellman, or off with you. You're his family, and he's eighteen. My parents can't keep him here. I feel like he's going to fade from my life." Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I'm going to be all alone."

  Channing had always been gone.

  He'd been out partying or fighting. I'd been home, just waiting, hoping he'd come ba
ck. When he did, there were fights, raised voices, threats. Doors slammed. Walls punched. But I remember one thing more than everything else.

  "It was the worst when the door would shut."

  "What?" She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  "When Channing would leave, it was the door. I got to the point where I didn't care who was yelling or cursing, it was the silence after. He'd slam that door shut behind him and be gone. Days. Weeks sometimes. I hated hearing that damned door."

  She looked at her hands, folded on her lap. "I forgot about your brother." She laughed sadly.

  "Yeah."

  She swallowed. "I'm sorry for unloading."

  I shrugged. I didn't care about that, but I did feel bad because she knew what I had to do. There was no option here for me. "I gotta say something to Cross. You know I have to."

  Her eyes slid away again, and her cheek pulled in like she was biting it.

  I felt bad. I honestly did, but if Cross knew someone had invaded my privacy and tried to hack my phone, and he didn't tell me, I'd be livid.

  "I'll get him to hang out here more often," I added. I wanted to say I wouldn't back him for moving out, but I couldn't promise that.

  "Really?" She looked up at me.

  It wasn't much. Nodding, I turned toward the door.

  "What are you going to do about Sunday?" Taz asked.

  I looked back. "Do you really care?"

  She paused, then shook her head. "No. Not anymore."

  I gave her a smile. "Don't worry. I'll make sure she sees me leaving. She'll know you didn't tell me."

  "That's not--"

  I was gone.

  I liked Taz, but she shouldn't have asked me to keep something from Cross. She knew better. Something churned, twisted, tied up in a knot inside my stomach. I wasn't sure what it was, but I let my smile fade to a hardened grin as I walked downstairs.

  I could hear voices in the kitchen as I turned and stopped in the doorway.

  Sunday's squad was sitting around the table and spread throughout the kitchen. One by one, they looked up. One by one, they stopped talking, until no one said a word.

  I waited until Sunday looked up.

  "Guys, what--" She had a pitcher of orange juice in her hand. She'd just pulled it from the fridge. Monica stood at the counter, a vodka bottle in front of her.

  Sunday's eyes widened.

  I leaned against the doorframe, my eyes steady on her. "I heard everything." I pushed up and strolled over to her.

  Her grip tightened on the pitcher.

  "You think rumors and whispers behind my back are going to hurt me? You think you can come at me like I'm any other girl?" I shook my head, my hand coming up under her pitcher. Taking it, I dumped the contents over her head. She didn't move. She didn't say a word. She took it, and her gaze didn't break from mine at all.