Crew Princess (Crew Series Book 2)

by Tijan

  “The other team isn’t totally based here. They’re interviewing older students, and one’s in prison now. Another team is doing sweeps around the towns. It’s a more in-depth piece about Fallen Crest and Roussou. Frisco as well. We wanted to get here in time for District Weekend, but we were unable to.”

  “You…” I couldn’t talk. That boulder was expanding, squashing my entire throat. “Why? I mean, what’s so important about this area?”

  “Well, I mean, there’s a few factors. One, Mason Kade is still a big story. He’s won two Super Bowls, and he’s only been playing professional football for two years. Mix that with who he’s married to, and that’s news. The first piece on Mason Kade just whetted their appetite, to be honest. The audience wants more about him, and if we weren’t here, others would be coming in. There’s a personal stake for the executive producers too. They have—I shouldn’t be telling you this—but they have their own motivation for making sure the piece about Fallen Crest and Roussou comes out well, that old dirt isn’t being stirred up. Believe it or not, that’s not our focus.”

  “I thought you were here for the crews? Your project is titled Crew Gang World.”

  “Oh!” She started laughing. “That’s just for Kenneth’s sake. His agenda is pretty obvious, so we’re playing along. We’re asking the questions we want to, but still others for him, and who knows, maybe we will focus on the crews. It’s not been fully decided.”

  I mulled this over. “You said a few factors. Those are two.”

  “Yeah. The third is that Roussou has their own famous person, and no one here talks about him.”

  “Who?”

  “Brett Broudou.”

  “The guy in prison?”

  “No, the brother—who also knows Mason and Sam, and who realized he’s really fucking good at football in college. He has his own story, but no one is talking about him. That’s really weird.”

  Oh.

  I was stunned.

  “The Broudous aren’t really talked about here at all.”

  “I know, because of what Budd tried to do. I was in school then. I know what happened.”

  “I do too.”

  She frowned, wrinkling her nose. Her hair was normally flawless, but as I said that, she reached for a strand. She began twisting it, as if it were a nervous habit. “What do you mean you know too.”

  “I know the history, who Brett Broudou tried to rape. I know who stopped him. I know who his intended target was.”

  She swallowed, blinking a few times. “I—that’s not publicly known. Some people would know, but the general public…” She shook her head, as if trying to convince herself.

  I dropped my last card. “I lied to you about not knowing Channing Monroe.”

  She stilled. Frowning. “Say again?”

  “Channing Monroe is my brother. Heather Jax is going to be my sister-in-law. And I talked to both of them this morning. They told me you usually go by Becky Sallaway. They told me a whole bunch of stuff about you.”

  She was silent, her eyes complete saucers. Her chin trembled, but after a moment she let out a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back.

  Five seconds passed.

  Thirty.

  Her forehead was wrinkled. An entire chunk of hair fell over her forehead, hanging in her eyes.

  Still. Nothing.

  Then she seemed to decide something, and her eyes found mine, crystal clear, and she started.

  “The executive producers asked for information only from people who agreed to be interviewed. Your principal and your counselor both approached me. They both offered to have off-the-record interviews. I turned them down. It was obvious they wanted to give us information we weren’t sure we wanted to know, and anything we get off-record, we can’t use. They were both adamant about it being off the record. I’m wondering now if they both, in their ways, wanted to tell me about your relation to someone I used to consider a friend.” Her voice broke. “I messed up a while ago, more than a few times, and I have some burdens to bear because of that. This documentary is my apology to her. The executive producers of this project—I think it’s their apology too. We came in with our own agenda, but it’s not what you’re thinking. It’s not what anyone is thinking, so while I can’t tell you fully what’s going to end up on the editing room floor, I can say that you want us here. Other projects were in the wind about coming here, and those wouldn’t have been as favorable. We got here first. That’s big in our industry. Those other pieces won’t be so kind.”

  Her eyes were swimming in unshed tears, but her head was up. Her chin was rock solid.

  “I was engaged to someone who wanted to hurt Samantha and Mason. Sam tried to tell me, but I chose him. I chose wrong. I’m trying to do right by them this time.”

  I glanced away.

  Thinking.

  Weighing the pros and cons.

  I decided.

  “I still would like to be interviewed, because whether it was your intention or not, I know my principal wants attention drawn to the crew system here. I need to make sure both sides are told.”

  She was nodding before I’d finished, and she tucked that strand of hair behind her ear. “I think hearing both sides would be good.” She coughed, clearing her throat, getting herself back in check. “We would love to interview you and your crew.”

  I looked back at her.

  She flinched. “And everyone else who needs to redo their interviews, apparently.”

  After talking to Becca/Becky, I was officially let go as her helper.

  I’d fulfilled my community service hours by then, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

  Monica came in just as Becca was saying she needed to have a “talk” with Principal Broghers. I didn’t know what that was all about, but it wasn’t my problem. None of this was my problem anymore. As Becca swept out the door, Monica bit her lip, seeming to wait for whatever I was going to say to her.

  I didn’t really have much in me, surprisingly. “You can say whatever you want.”

  Her mouth opened. “What?”

  I started to move past, pausing right beside her, my words quiet and just for her ears. “You don’t have anything on us. Not anymore. And about Allen…” Now I looked at her. She turned, and I saw the beginning of fear in her gaze. “Have a great life with that one.”

  That was it. A good luck and goodbye.

  Prom was in two days. Maybe it was because I’d been hiding from so much this year, maybe it was because I felt I was standing still as everyone went past me, maybe it was because I now had to talk about my crew publicly, maybe it was because today was just another threat against us, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last, and I knew we would survive no matter what. Maybe it was all of those things, or maybe it was just because I was feeling again, but whatever the reason, I felt hope.

  I felt a new beginning coming. And while I used to look to the future with panic, wondering who it would take from me, I didn’t this time.

  As the bell rang, I walked through the library and saw Jordan walk out, his arm around Tabatha. Zellman was already in the hallway, already bickering with Sunday, and waiting at my locker was Cross.

  I was almost looking forward to what the future held.

  Or maybe I was just growing up.

  Whatever it was, I smiled at Cross as I drew near, and he looked behind him. “I don’t see someone you want to beat up. That must be for me.” His eyes warmed. He reached up, brushing his hand over my cheek and drew me in, his forehead resting against mine.

  He said it softly and simply, “I love you.”

  Oh yeah. Life was good right now.

  “I love you too.”

  “Oh, gawd! You two. Stop with the public displays of cheesy shit.” Zellman was groaning. “We can only take so much before we start seeing Bren’s face when we jerk off to the nudie magazines.”

  Everyone stopped.

  No one said a word.

  Then:

  “Gross!”

  �
��Ew!”

  “Oh my God! Are you serious?”

  I felt sick.

  Cross looked sick.

  Even Jordan was eyeing his best friend. “Dude. That’s disgusting.”

  “What?” Zellman scanned the group. “No one else does that? Really?”

  Cross stepped toward him. “Do you and I need to have a talk?”

  Zellman swallowed. “It’s a compliment. Bren’s hot.”

  Sunday didn’t say a word. She cocked her arm, and the back of her hand came swinging. Smack! Right into Zellman’s head.

  “Ow!” He ducked a second swing, glaring at her. “Woman. Stop.”

  “That’s gross. You think of your crewmate when you jerk off?” she asked.

  “What? Like you don’t?” He shrugged. “Come off it. Like you’ve never imagined Cross when you’re playing with yourself?”

  “No! I think of you!”

  He perked up. “What? You do?” He surged for her, capturing her hand. “’Cause ninety percent of the time, I think of you. I mean, if we’re all being transparent here—”

  “No one’s being transparent here. Only you.” Cross cut in. “Please. Stop.”

  Zellman ignored him. “Bren’s like two percent of the time, and it’s enough where I get uncomfortable about it. That’s why I said something.”

  “And the other eight percent?” Sunday folded her arms over her chest.

  Zellman rubbed at the side of his jaw. “Do I have to be transparent about that too?” He leaned forward, dropping his voice, though everyone heard. “Because, babe, you shouldn’t know those. I’m a guy. We’re crude. A lot of the time.”

  “Stop while you’re ahead,” Cross suggested.

  Zellman turned to him. “I’m ahead?”

  “No, but your girl doesn’t want to stab you right now.”

  “But I might,” I growled.

  Zellman threw me a carefree grin, as if he assumed I was joking, but as Sunday stalked off and he went with her, he glanced back. There was a twinge of uneasiness there.

  He stopped halfway down the hallway and yelled back, “We’re good. Right, Bren? You’re not gonna slice me when I pass out Saturday night? Cause I’m 98-percent sure that’ll happen.”

  I flipped him off. “Since we’re all about being transparent right now, yes.”

  He hurried to catch up to Sunday. “Okay. I’ll—please don’t murder me. Crew mates don’t murder crew mates.”

  I tipped my head back. “Crew mates don’t say about crew mates what you just said about me!”

  “Yeah. Okay. I see that.” Sunday was turning the corner, with Zellman hot on her heels. He raised his book in the air. “Sorry, B!” Then they were gone.

  Jordan coughed. “I’m noticing you’re here. In the hallway.”

  I knew what he was asking. “Yeah. I told her. It’s getting set up.”

  “About all of us?” Cross asked.

  “She’s salivating over you especially.”

  “Great.”

  I laughed.

  And like before with my smile, Cross’ own grin appeared. Jordan grinned a little too, and even Tab softened at the sound. It’s like I never laughed.

  Did I laugh?

  Crap. I might never laugh.

  I sighed. I’d have to work on that. But not now.

  “How’s Sunday doing with the baby?” I asked Tabatha.

  She straightened from Jordan, shrugging. “I don’t know. I bring it up sometimes, but she doesn’t want to talk about it.” She looked over her shoulder to where Sunday and Zellman had gone. “I was at her house the other night. Z came over, and I heard them fighting. I don’t know what he’s all told you guys, but he’s trying to find out who the guy is. She won’t tell him. Me either, because…” She leaned back against Jordan’s side. “For obvious reasons.”

  Cross frowned. “I don’t like knowing one of those pieces of shit has hurt one of ours, and he’s getting away with it.”

  “Yeah.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I know.”

  Jordan was looking down at her, but glanced over to me.

  Cross noticed the look, and the three of us were on the same wavelength. Or I was pretty sure we were.

  “Her phone,” I started.

  “That’s a good idea,” Cross said.

  And Jordan clarified for us. “Take her phone.”

  “What?”

  “You know her passcode to get in her phone?” I asked.

  Tabatha shook her head. “No.”

  That was easy enough. “Watch her one day. Like, watch her open her phone, get the code, then take the phone. We can snoop through it, if you want.”

  “Are you guys suggesting we break into her phone?” Tabatha seemed shocked.

  Jordan grunted. “Yeah. Why not? She’s protecting a piece of shit. We should know who it is.”

  “But that’s her right—”

  “Not about this.” Cross shook his head. “Or just watch her for the passcode. We’ll do everything else. When her phone goes missing, you can be honest and say you have no idea where it is.”

  “Oh, boy.” She chewed her other cheek. “What are you guys going to do?”

  I lowered my head, my eyes still on her. “Do you really want to know?”

  She gulped. “Maybe not.”

  The warning bell was about to ring. We all knew it, and since I was no longer needed as the camera team’s helper, I guessed saying I wouldn’t glare during future interviews wasn’t enough. I had a class to go to as well.

  The bell rang.

  Jordan held up a hand, walking backward. Tabatha lingered.

  Cross waited for me to get my books.

  “Just get the code,” I told Tabatha as we passed. “Do it sooner than later, just to be safe. It’s better to know with a situation like this than not know.”

  We weren’t normally a PDA couple, but Cross lifted his arm and put it around my shoulder. I didn’t care.

  I was a PDA girl in that moment.

  “Oh, wow.”

  I tensed, tucking the last strands of my hair into the braid before looking to the doorway. Heather stood with a stunned look on her face.

  She shook her head. “I mean, wow.” A flurry of eye blinking. “Bren, you look amazing.”

  Oh, fuck.

  I looked like a girl.

  I was in the white tulle dress with pink sparkles. The store clerks had a bunch of fancy names for how it was designed, but it was strapless. The top was sleek, dipping down just a little between my breasts. There was a minimal amount of tulle at the bottom. It didn’t puff out or anything. But what sold it for me was when I put Heather’s leather jacket on again.

  The look. The feel. The vibe. It was me.

  “Thanks?”

  She started laughing. “You hate it, don’t you?”

  I lifted a shoulder, moving to my closet. I grabbed a clutch. Taz said we had to have clutches. And they had to match. I looked at mine. It was black. My dress was white and a soft shade of pink.

  My clutch didn’t match.

  Taz was going to have a breakdown.

  “Bren?” Heather moved closer, her voice quiet.

  The clutch was supposed to match.

  Why didn’t I do this stuff ahead of time? How hard was that?

  Dresses. Purses. Even fucking bracelets. Makeup. None of that was natural to me. I knew I was pretty, or pretty enough. No one made fun of how I looked. And Cross loved me. He wasn’t a shallow kind of guy, but would he love me if I was ugly?

  Taz. Sunday. Tabatha. I knew those girls would be all decked out. Dresses that molded perfectly to their bodies. Their hair was always good, but I knew they’d be masterpieces tonight. They understood mani-pedis and blowouts. All that was second nature to them. And jewelry—who knew there were so many kinds of earrings.

  I didn’t have my ears pierced.

  “Bren.” Heather was right behind me now.

  I knew it was coming. I was prepared, knowing she’d feel how tense I w
as.

  When her hand touched my shoulder, a soft curse slipped out. “Oh, babe.”

  I was crying. I’d felt tears coming all day, and I’d pushed them off.

  Prom was a rite of passage, right? Not for me. This was a nightmare.

  “Aren’t you supposed to learn about makeup, nails, the difference between flats and stilettos? Sisters. A mom. You learn that from them, don’t you?” I looked at her. “Where’d you learn that stuff?”

  Heather was beautiful. Always had been. She had a sexy tomboy look to her, and she never seemed self-conscious. She was confident, strong as hell, and used her sex appeal like a weapon at times.

  I grew up watching her, watching how she handled her brother, how she handled my brother, how she was a badass boss at her restaurant.

  She hugged me, her lip trembling.

  I’d never seen Heather’s lip tremble. Never. I never saw Heather cry, choke up. She wasn’t weak, not the way I was right now.

  “Bren, hon.” She smoothed a gentle hand down my back, then picked at some strands and tucked them into my braid again.

  I looked at my clutch. “I went to the Fallen Crest Spa this morning. The other girls all wore button-down shirts. Someone explained later they did that so they could take the shirt off and pull their dresses on and not mess up their hair.” I sighed. “I wore jeans and a tank top. A tight one. The hair stylist looked at me in horror, but I didn’t know. No one told me. I don’t do girly shit. Taz goes to the salon, and I go cave diving with the guys. That’s how I grew up.”

  “Bren.”

  I heard the tears in Heather’s voice. She hugged me once more, and tucked her head against my arm. “I lost my mom when I was young, too, but not as young as you. I don’t know who taught you about tampons, but I got my mom for a while longer. She did teach me some of that stuff. But I had Rose, Marie, Theresa. They worked when my dad still ran Manny’s, and those ladies were like second moms to me. They tsked me if my pants were too tight, but that was my style. Just how I was. I don’t know why, but I never cared. Never bothered me, but you know what did bother me?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  She smiled. “Fitting in. That’s something you’ve always had that I didn’t. Chan was in Roussou. I was in Fallen Crest. I never felt like I belonged in one place or the other, so I was kind of a loner. There were friends, acquaintances, but not a crew like yours. Then I hooked up with a good friend, she brought along a couple baddies, and somehow that evolved into years of friendship.”