Page 11 of Five Brothers

Trace has always been deliberately irresponsible, but unlike Milo, he’s nice. Not very considerate, but not once did I ever get the impression it was personal. I didn’t love him, so I didn’t worry about it.

But that was personal. I was well aware he wasn’t going to missme when this was over, but it’s not like him to rub things like that in.

Rain hits the windows, and I head down the stairs, barely noticing the house is now quiet and dark. Lightning flashes outside, and I fist the keys, opening the front door. I take a step but stop, remembering the gator.

Looking around, I scan the yard and the dirt road beyond the fence, spotting lights from the fire station next door and the repair shop across the street. Music beats against the walls of the bar far off to my left, but most of the cars have cleared out of the Jaegers’ place, and I don’t see anyone—or anything—outside.

I would love an escort to my car, but I’m not about to ask Trace for help. I leap out into the yard, pulling the door closed behind me, and run to my car. Drops hit my head as I round the front of the vehicle, but before I can hit the button to unlock it, I know something is off. The car isn’t level. I drop my eyes to the front tire on the driver’s side, seeing it’s flat at the same time I notice a gash in the rubber. Right there. Plain as day.

I drop my head back, growling. “Ugh!”

Goddammit, Aracely. Seriously. She’s not even interested in Trace. What did I ever do to her?

And I know it’s her. She pulled the same shit with my friend Amy this summer, which I sympathized with, because Amy hooked up with Dallas and Iron. Both Aracely’s exes.

I can see her being aggravated that a Saint is sleeping over here. Having fun with their men (as she would see it). But Trace was never hers. And I thought she liked me.

I guess she thought she’d put up with me until I left for college, and since I didn’t, she’s now letting me know that my time is up.

The wind stirs, rain blowing sideways, and I climb into my car and pull out my phone.

I dial Maker Street Tow Service, but the line just rings. I hang up and try again, but it goes to voicemail.

I start to dial Clay but stop. She worked tonight. And she has classes.

I hover my thumb over my phone. Mom, Dad …

Milo would come and get me. For sure. They’d all come and get me, but they can all fuck off. Can I drive on a flat tire?

I think that hurts the rims or something, but I push the button, turning over the engine anyway. Shifting intoDrive, I press the gas and nearly topple over, grabbing the steering wheel in both hands for support. “Damn,” I blurt out.

Shutting off the engine, I dash back out into the rain and run around the car, seeing the rear passenger tire is flat, too.

I throw out my hands. “Jesus, Aracely. Do you want me to leave, or are you trying to keep me here?” I call out to the empty street, just picturing her watching all this from the woods.

Goddamn.

Locking my car, I run back into the house and up the stairs. Swinging open the door to Liv’s room, I spot someone asleep on the bed and stop.

Face down, no shirt … I have no idea who it is, but I can’t crash here.

“Come on,” I gripe under my breath.

Snatching the blanket off the bottom of the bed, I close the door and walk back downstairs. I can hear laughter followed by moaning somewhere behind me, and I kick the couch before I drop my keys to the coffee table, kick off my sneakers, and then plop down on my back, pulling the blanket over me.

I’ll look nice and pathetic still here in the morning. I can’t even change the tire once the rain stops, because I need two of them now. Hopefully, I can reach a tow service in the morning.

I tap out a text to my brother.

Car trouble. Stuck in the Bay. Be home in the morning.

I reach behind me, finding one of the many chargers they keep around the house, and plug it in my phone.

Drops of rain catch the moonlight on the windows, lightning filling the room for a second. Small sounds drift downstairs—a laugh, a thud, a creak—and I can’t help but stare at the ceiling, listening. Anyone would think I might be upset that all those sounds are probably Trace, but all I’m wondering is if he was that loud with me so anyone downstairs would’ve heard.

I remember hearing Liv and Clay once. Last year, during an away game when we were on the lacrosse team. They were enemies—hated each other—but we were all on the same team, sharing a hotel room one night. I was in one bed with Amy, and they were in another bed together. And I woke up and finally knew my suspicions were correct. They didn’t hate each other at all. I swear I could hear the sweat under the sheets as they went at it.

When I felt Amy start to stir next to me, I triggered the alarm on my phone and pretended to wake up, because Amy seeing them wouldn’t be the way Clay would want everyone to find out she was into girls.

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