Page 71 of Five Brothers

“Order up!” Mariette calls.

I dial my mother. I’m not worried, but if she’s on her way home, then I can stay and finish my shift at least. The call goes to voicemail, and I hang up, immediately dialing my father, who I know won’t answer.

“Krisjen! Order up!”

I wait for his voicemail and clench the phone in my hand, turning away from the customers at the counter. “I promise,” I grit out over my father’s voicemail, “you won’t be able to walk out of your fucking house someday without hearing my name. You are going to be sorry I was ever born.”

I hang up, slide my phone into my pocket, and take my backpack. I don’t blame my mother. She always paid Bateman, and if she can’t, it’s because of what my dad has done to us.

I don’t like the way she’s handling a lot of this. She has things to sell. The house. Her jewelry. She has options.

And yeah, trying to pimp me out is a whole other discussion, but if nothing else, my mother is a survivor, and none of this would be happening if my father hadn’t ditched us without a cent.

I toss my apron into the laundry basket as Summer stops next to me. “Are you okay?”

“I have to go.” I don’t even look at her. “I’m really sorry. I’ll try to make it up another time.”

“You’re supposed to cover the bar tonight,” Aracely snaps.

“Can I get some napkins, please?” someone calls out.

Followed by the bell. “Order up!”

“Seriously?” Summer begs me. “Not now. It’s busy.”

“I have to,” I tell the new girl. “It’s an emergency. I know I suck. I’m sorry.”

“Go,” Mariette tells me. “It’s okay. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

I flash her a grateful smile. Then I look back to Summer, ignoring Aracely. “I’ll get you back. I promise.”

“Yeah, you will.”

I laugh a little and spot the to-go bag under the warmer. I grab it. “I’ll take this,” I tell Mariette.

Macon wasn’t home for lunch, but we saw his truck pull in a half hour ago. Mariette probably thought he’d be hungry.

I hurry out of the restaurant and make my way to the Jaegers’ house. I didn’t tell Mariette that I wasn’t sure I’d be back at all, actually. If Bateman isn’t paid, he won’t return, and I’ll have to be home. What the hell would happen if I went to college in January?

I veer right, into the garage, and find Dallas, Macon, Trace, and Army all working on an old Cadillac. A gold one that everyone knows belongs to the mayor of St. Carmen.

It’s amazing how long the Jaegers have survived by making themselves useful to the right people. Public enemies but private friends.

“I have to leave early,” I tell Macon. He sits at his workbench, inspecting something that looks like it came out from under the hood of the car. “I won’t be able to cover the bar tonight.”

He twists his screwdriver slowly, the bolt spilling off onto the table.

Seether’s “Careless Whisper” plays in the background.

Macon doesn’t reply.

“What’s wrong?” Army asks me.

Macon takes the screw, rubbing his eyes.

I study him. “N-nothing,” I reply to Army.

I inch to the side to see if I can see Macon’s eyes. The bags are darker, and I set the food down in front of him so he sees. Is he okay?

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