Page 21 of Five Brothers

“You don’t have to fuck Trace to be his friend.” Iron looks over at me. “He’s lonely. Dallas is always in a bad mood, Army is a lot older and has a kid, and Macon doesn’t talk to anyone. It would benice for Trace to know you’re around. I know he acts like a tool, but he’s twenty.”

I always liked Trace. But I don’t want to be walked on. He and I started at the wrong place. We can’t just be friends now.

“His only memories of our mother were after she’d gotten to her worst,” he tells me. “He was never nurtured, not the way the rest of us were or how Liv was, because she was the only girl. Trace missed out on a lot. He needs a woman in the house.”

After she’d gotten to her worst …

Their mother died by suicide more than eight years ago. Two months after their dad died of a heart attack.

She’d been depressed long before that, though. That’s about all I know. Trace doesn’t talk about it, and I never pressed Liv for details. They were so young, I doubt they really knew the full measure of what had happened with their mom. Macon and Army will remember the most.

I just shake my head. “I can’t pay you for the car,” I admit. “And I’ve got my own problems, Iron. Trace will be fine. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Nothing has ever been okay,” he whispers, looking down for a second. “I’m used to it. Trace is still young.”

I watch him, both of us falling silent.

He’s worried. He knows he probably wouldn’t have avoided this if he could go back and do it over, because Iron lives for people to give him a reason to hit them, but he doesn’t feel good about what he’s done, either. Did it just finally dawn on him that his family needs him, and in a week, they’ll be without him for years?

He clears his throat, digging out a set of keys, and I see they’re not mine. “Do you have another car at home?” he asks.

“My dad’s old Benz.”

“Does it run?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “It should.”

He sighs, gesturing for me to climb on his bike behind him. “You don’t have to pay me,” he says. “I need something to do this week.”

He starts the bike, and I take the helmet he hands me, pulling it on and fastening it as I sit down behind him. Wrapping my arms around him, I hold tight as he takes off, through the green and shade of the swamp, over the tracks, and onto the two-lane highway as his tires finally touch pavement.

He revs the gas, sending the bike lurching, and I squeeze my arms around his waist, pressing my body close to his.

He’s warm. And tight under my hands.

My friend Amy said he was good. She said he and Dallas didn’t let her get any sleep.

Thoughts of how he might’ve been with her versus me—if it was him last night—hit me, and I push them away.

It’s not worth dwelling on. I won’t be going back over there.

We cruise into the main village of St. Carmen, a street sweeper cleaning the spilled palms and flowers from the storm last night as potted ferns and perennials swing from hangers under streetlights. Shops begin to open, and I unlock my fists, pressing my fingertips flat against his stomach. The wind blows my hair over my back. And while thoughts creep in that I’m practically doing the fucking walk of shame when Clay and the rest of my friends are busy with classes, making something of themselves, I force myself to appreciate this moment. It feels better than school. Better than home.

I wish he’d keep going. Down the coast. To the Keys. Cuba. Anywhere.

I always feel too much guilt.I should be doing this. I should be doing that. I shouldn’t sit down. I shouldn’t wake up late. I shouldn’t drink or party or skip a workout.I rest my cheek against his back, close my eyes, and fly through the wind.

Before I know it, he pulls up to my house, and I see the gate is open.

My mother is home.Great.

He slowly pulls down my driveway, and I spot my mom’s new Maserati parked off to the right. She bought it, because she’s still married to my father, and while I’m sick of her, I’m kind of excited to see my father react when the first payment comes due.

Iron stops behind it, out of direct view of the front of the house. It’s nice how he’s trying to save me from getting yelled at, because he knows no parent wants their daughter getting brought home—in the morning—by a Jaeger.

I sit there, not letting go, though. “Is it weird I’m enjoying this town more with all my friends gone to college now?” I ask him.

I feel him take something out of his pocket.

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