The Boy I Grew Up With

by Tijan

  She was perfect.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She groaned, coming next to me and reaching for the coffee. “This morning sucks.”

  I’d already checked before I slipped from the bed, but I needed to do it once more. Grabbing a loop on her shorts, I tugged her over and pressed a hand to her forehead. She wasn’t burning up. Her color was normal. She looked a little flushed, but that was probably just from waking up. They didn’t have the air conditioner on, so her room could get heated.

  She yawned, rubbing at her eyes, standing between my legs.

  “You feeling better?”

  She nodded, her eyes still closed and still yawning. Around it, she mumbled out, “Aah. Ank u.” She finished, and a cute little grin showed. She repeated, “Yes. And thank you for taking care of me last night.”

  I nodded, falling silent.

  A normal boyfriend/girlfriend would talk about the evening before. How it was. What we did. How we felt. What made us laugh. What pissed us off. You know, general couple conversation.

  We weren’t boyfriend/girlfriend. We were ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.

  My chest swelled up.

  I wanted to talk to her about all that. I almost thirsted for it.

  The rules weren’t clear because no matter what our status was, I couldn’t stay away. The whole emotional sharing/supporting you thing—that was a bunch of gray for us.

  So I just stuck to what I knew wouldn’t mess up our rules.

  I did the guy thing and pointed to my crotch. “I’m excited to see you.”

  She snorted, but rested back against me. “Right. Well, your dick needs to get sad because I’m in no mood for a ride.”

  See? Fucking hilarious and feisty at the same time. Pun intended.

  I nuzzled her neck. “I’m pretty sure I can get you in the mood for any ride.” I ran my hand down her side and paused on her thigh.

  Just this small touch, this small interaction, and my body was buzzing.

  I really would have to let her go or I’d have her bent over the counter in a few seconds, but…not yet. Not yet. Not now. Not ever. But shit didn’t roll that way.

  “Sure about that?”

  My hand dipped under her shorts and rested just above her clit.

  Her whole body leaned into me, her head falling to my shoulder. I held her up until she tensed, pulling away.

  “It’s too early,” she protested.

  I chuckled, letting her go. “It’s after ten in the morning.”

  “What?” She whipped around. “No way.”

  I nodded, fighting the urge to grab her again, and gestured out their kitchen window. Manny’s had been up and running since early that morning. Despite her inability to let go, Heather had people in place to take the reins when she wasn’t around. This morning wasn’t any different. The parking lot was full. It was nearing brunch, and then lunch after that. The only time Manny’s was slow was two to three, and then the high school crowd trickled in.

  “Suki opened,” I told her.

  She yawned, her shoulders relaxing.

  “It’s fine.”

  Ah, screw it. I reached for her and pulled her back to me.

  A moan-groan slipped from her. She rested against me like before. “Don’t you have a teenage sister to stalk? Make sure she’s alive?”

  I did, and—and nothing. Goddamn. She was right.

  I didn’t respond, but Heather felt my shift. She turned to fully face me, sliding her arms around my waist. Tipping back, her eyes searched mine.

  My pops went to prison a while back, and I became Bren’s guardian. It’d been a rocky road since then, and in a week, she was starting her last year of high school. I had one more year before she could claim adulthood and do whatever she wanted. To say I hadn’t been the best brother until that day two years ago was an understatement. Along with Heather, I tended to let my sister down. A lot.

  More than a lot.

  But unlike Heather, who could conquer the world if she managed to leave me in the dust one day, my sister depended on me.

  “Hey.” Heather’s tone softened. She tapped my forehead. “Think of it this way. Your mom is gone. Your dad is gone. You’re still here, so you can’t really do any worse than them. Right?”

  She knew what I was thinking, like always.

  But she didn’t know all of it.

  There was a lot of bad shit in my life. I could be dangerous. I was worse when I was younger, but I was getting better. I would be better.

  I had to.

  I have a sister to raise, whether she wants me to or not.

  Heather was waiting for me to respond, but I couldn’t go there. That was the emotional sharing/supporting gray area for us. Sex was different. Sex was something we both needed, like water. It was how we were, but the emotional sharing, that was a privilege I didn’t let her in on. It wasn’t fair.

  There was a small bit of space between us, so I grabbed her hips and pulled her flush against me.

  She felt how much I wanted her, and I smirked, dropping my mouth to just an inch above hers. “How about a quick dip?”

  She groaned, but she was already twining her arms around my neck. I grabbed her legs and hoisted her up. We both knew I was joking.

  There was never a quick dip when it came to Heather.

  “You can be so crude sometimes.”

  I smacked her on the ass, carrying her up the stairs.

  I was crude for a reason.

  4

  Heather

  First grade

  “What’s wrong?” Channing asked me.

  One of Brandon’s old Trapper Keepers dropped to the ground with a thud. I had shoved it at him in the hallway earlier. A bag dropped next. A jacket. Then Channing himself. He slid down next to me, his back to the little lockers we were given.

  I was sitting against mine, far enough down the hallway that I could still see the principal’s office.

  I gestured to the office. “My dad’s in there. He’s fighting.”

  “Why?” Channing kicked the Trapper Keeper out of the way, his knees pulling up. He leaned forward and locked his hands around them, staring at me.

  All the girls in school liked him.

  I mean, I guess I could understand why.

  He was cute. Dark blond hair. I don’t know—how do you describe when you know a boy is cute? He’s just cute. But he was a pain in my ass. (Another phrase my mom liked to use.) He didn’t throw things at other girls, poke them, laugh at them, get their names put on the board. He only did that to me.

  Pain. In. My. Ass.

  Though maybe I should stop thinking like my mom. I mean…

  I frowned at him. “They want us to go to Fallen Crest.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “We moved there. My mom wanted to open a restaurant.”

  Should I tell him? We were, like, mortal enemies—like in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles way. I was a kick-ass turtle, and he was Shredder.

  I dropped my head toward my lap and whispered, “She left last night.”

  I tensed, waiting for…something. I didn’t know what. Questions? For him to blame me, maybe?

  There was quiet instead, and I lifted my head to look at him.

  He stared at me, his face totally blank, and then he shrugged. “Is it wrong that I wish she’d taken my dad with her?”

  Um… I don’t know.

  He shrugged again. “Don’t sweat it. Parents aren’t that super, in my opinion.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I like my mom, but…” He shook his head. “Don’t get like other kids and start thinking the parent who left is Santa Claus or something. Your mom left. Get over it. Stick with the one who stayed.”

  “Channing—”

  He stood, grabbing his bag, his Trapper Keeper. He looked down at me. “I’m sorry about your mom, but if she left, she’s a bitch. She’s not worth remembering. If they hurt you, they never are.”

  He turned and went to his
locker, my brother’s Trapper Keeper tucked under his arm.

  5

  Heather

  Present day

  Channing took off after coming. Literally.

  But I wasn’t expecting him to stick around.

  Once he turned his phone on, the barrage of texts and alerts started. A lot of people depended on him so…yeah…it wasn’t long until I saw his taillights.

  It was still midday before I went to Manny’s, crossing the small gravel alley and back area to reach the rear door of the restaurant.

  There were a few trees for shade and five or six picnic tables set up. It used to be our only outside seating area, but last summer we did a renovation and expanded a side sitting area in the front. Because of that, the back part wasn’t used as often anymore.

  But it was occupied today, and I spied a bunch of high-schoolers there, though none who had dark, doe-like eyes, a long dark mane of hair, and a kick-ass attitude. No one whose name started with a B and ended with an n, and whose older brother had just left my bed.

  No one that I knew wouldn’t have been blowing his phone up. Bren rarely texted and even more rarely called. I wasn’t sure if she carried her phone on her half the time.

  Recognizing one, I weaved over to him. “Alex Ryerson.”

  He was a punk kid and looked like the typical jock type, but I didn’t know if he was actually an athlete or not. He ran a crew in Roussou, and I knew he’d tangled with Channing’s sister on more than a few occasions.

  He turned, and a lecherous sneer started to form.

  I waved my hand. “Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” He usually had some pickup line.

  Because I was talking to their leader, all other conversations stopped. Heads turned our way—even some of the kids I thought were from Fallen Crest.

  Not to stereotype, but most people from Fallen Crest were rich. Or they were getting richer as I aged. Most kids from Roussou were not, and they wore a hardened exterior. It was in their eyes, the way they walked, even how they failed to react when violence came their way.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

  A cocky smile spread over his face, and he held his arms out, stepping away so his back was toward the group. He raised his voice, letting them know he was speaking for them. “Hanging out. We got a week left. It’s still summer, Ms. Jax.”

  I snorted. Cripes. Now he was calling me my mother’s name.

  I looked at every single person. Oh yeah. I counted maybe eight girls from Fallen Crest—I could tell by the fear in their eyes—and the rest were Roussou.

  “You all Ryerson’s crew?”

  I knew the boys who hung out with Channing’s sister. They were not Ryerson crew. They’d been best friends since elementary and middle school; that was the way Roussou people were.

  They weren’t here.

  I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or worried.

  Most of the crowd nodded in response to my question. The Fallen Crest girls edged away. Seeing their uncertainty and their second-tier fashion choices, I figured they weren’t from Fallen Crest Academy. That was the private school in town. The other school was Fallen Crest Public, where these girls likely attended, just like I had.

  “Look,” I told Alex. “You guys start any fighting and you’re banned. You got it?”

  “Of course, Ms. Jax—”

  “I’m not fucking around, Ryerson. One fight and I’ll get a cop to park in this lot for his coffee breaks. Understand me?” I shifted closer, my eyes level and hard. But I didn’t need to do anything more than issue my threat.

  He got it. His smirk faded and his tone changed too. “If we fight, we’ll leave. Promise.”

  That was good enough for me, so I headed inside.

  I’d gone two steps through the door before I heard my brother behind me. “You’re kinda all about banning people lately, huh?”

  I threw him a glance but kept moving down the hallway to my office. “That was a high school kid slightly above being in a gang, and the other was your stalker. Are you really complaining?”

  I pushed open the door to my office.

  Brandon followed me in, shutting it as Suki, our day manager, rolled back from behind my desk. Her eyes lit up, and she almost jumped to her feet.

  “Are you here for the day?”

  It was obvious what she wanted.

  Suki had first come to us a stand-in chef, but once I needed more and more help, she began taking over some other duties. Years had passed, and after we hired another couple cooks, she’d become our day manager.

  And because I knew what Suki was really asking, I nodded. “Go ahead. Go forth and make gourmet magic, my Day Manager SparkleDust.”

  She cocked her head to the side.

  Suki liked cooking, but she was the furthest thing there was from a pixie.

  She was built like a tank: short and muscular. She and Brandon had wrestled one night, and though he denies it, everyone saw her pin him. Short, black, spiked hair and the most sensible and environmentally friendly clothes (complete with hemp sandals and a bag made by orphans in Kenya)—she was our hippy-esque work family member. If she had a sense of humor, I hadn’t seen it yet, but I didn’t care.

  She was one of mine. I take care of mine.

  Which led me to say, “If you want a night off, go for it. I’m closing for Cruz tonight.”

  Brandon perked up. “You closing for me too?”

  “No.” I scowled. “I already did my sisterly duty for you this morning, and speaking of…”

  I brought Suki up to date on my two ultimatums. We kept a Shit List in the drawer, and as I added their names, she grunted.

  Oh yeah. There was one more thing about Suki.

  “Suki saw that coming a long time ago.”

  She spoke about herself in the third person. Almost all the time.

  “Hey.” Brandon frowned at her. “I take offense to that.”

  She pointed up at him, her head coming to just above his stomach. “You should. That girl had wacko eyes.” Her fingers made circles in the air beside her head. “Wacko.”

  “Oh.” Brandon smiled sweetly down at her. “Like the ones you have right now?”

  Suki growled. “Like the ones you about to have.”

  This was going nowhere good. “Enough,” I barked out. “If you’re going to fight, do it out of my office.”

  Brandon held up a finger. “We all use this office.”

  I pointed to the card table set up in the corner and the three folding chairs resting next to it. “That’s your office. Not here, not when there are raised voices.”

  “Um…” A new voice—a new soft voice, thank goodness.

  I considered sending prayers up when I looked to the now-open door. Recognizing one of my senior servers, I rolled back my chair. “What’s up, Ava?”

  She was in her senior year at Roussou, but she had earned her spot as one of my head waitresses. And everyone had a soft spot for her. How could you not? Always kind. Hardworking. A petite girl with wispy blond hair.

  She wrung her hands. “We’re out of tomatoes and bacon.”

  Suki held her hands up. “Cruz was in charge of inventory this week.”

  She still should’ve checked everything, and I didn’t think he actually was in charge, but we had had a rush yesterday. I was surprised there wasn’t more we needed to pick up.

  “Suki can do a list, see what else we need to get.” Yep. Third person.

  “Thank you,” I told Ava. “I’ll run out to get some quick.”

  “I can go.” Brandon raised his hand. “Bar’s not super busy right now.” He grabbed his keys. “How many do we need?” he asked Ava as he left, shutting the door behind him.

  Suki had already ducked out, and once that door shut, I heard the sound I loved.

  Dishes clanging.

  People walking up and down the hallway, going to the bathroom, going to the back room, going outside.

  The doors opening and closing.

&nbs
p; The bell welcoming new customers through the front, thanking them on their way out.

  Conversations. Laughter. A few shouts here and there.

  It was the sound of a busy Manny’s.

  I had a friend addicted to running, but living here, working here, being here—this was my obsession.

  6

  Channing

  Kansas was playing over Quickie’s sound system when I pulled up, and the music paused as I was getting out of my truck.

  The gas clerk’s voice came over the speaker: “Just for you, Channing. Saw you coming in.”

  I waved. “Thank you, man.”

  The guy gave me a nod through the window and a thumbs-up before putting the music back on.

  “You’re a rock star in Fallen Crest too?”

  Shit.

  I hadn’t noticed them, but looking across the pumps, I now saw Dex Richter and some of his usual guys with him. I blamed the post-pussy bliss of being with Heather for my distraction, because it was blaringly stupid of me not to notice the Harleys.

  Stupid and dangerous.

  “Richter.” I greeted him exactly as I felt about him—like he was a permanent pinecone up my ass, because he was. He didn’t care for me either.

  Maybe it was because he was jealous I was so much prettier than him. By far. Or maybe it was because my crew kept his motorcycle club from dominating Roussou, or maybe—I had no idea. I’d kicked his ass a few times when we were young. It could be that. The prick had a memory that didn’t let go of anything, including grudges.

  His club wanted in on Roussou. I was stopping him.

  We would war one day.

  But he was not someone I wanted to deal with today. I’d just left Heather. We were on good terms, so far.

  I had things to do. People to see.

  After first tracking down my little sis to make sure she was still living and hadn’t killed anyone or gotten pregnant (not totally joking there), I needed to check in with my cousin. Heather wasn’t the only prestigious business owner in my life. Tuesday Tits, the bar I ran with my cousin, might cater to a rougher crowd—okay, significantly rougher crowd—but it was profitable.