He rips at his belt, unfastening it, and then opens his pants. He slips his cock out, and I watch as he reaches between us, rolling on the condom.

  I kiss him long and deep, feeling him crown me. Slowly, I work my body down on him, taking him inside me and feeling the length sink deep.

  Breathing hard, I kiss him again and again. “You don’t listen or do what you’re told,” I whisper as I move on him, “because there’s something inside you, and it’s good, and someday, you’re going to know what it’s for. I promise.”

  I pull his head up, holding him to me as I fuck him. His fingers claw down my back as he sucks and bites my nipples hard.

  I bounce, taking him in deeper and harder, feeling the walls inside of me contract.

  “Oh God, Iron,” I whimper.

  I’m gonna come already.

  Leaning back, I roll faster and harder as he grips my hips, sucking in air through his clenched jaw and watching my body move.

  Heat grows low in my belly, tingles spreading, and I gasp, sweat covering my skin as it builds.

  The orgasm explodes, rocking through me, and I tip my head back, starting to cry out just as he puts a hand over my mouth.

  I jerk, sliding down his cock a few more times until my whole body goes weak.

  He brings me back up to him, his tongue sinking into my mouth.

  I just let him kiss me. I need a second…

  He squeezes my hips, breathing over my lips. “You’re not done, are you?”

  I smile, finally opening my eyes. “I might like a few more of those.”

  He smiles back, and I let out a little laugh, happy.

  I hug him to me, rolling my hips and starting to work him again, his hands roaming my body. He’s so warm.

  But then I raise my eyes and see it. The dark shadow through the window. Someone standing in the kitchen.

  My heart skips a beat.

  They take a drag of a cigarette, the end burning bright as they watch us, and I open my mouth to tell Iron we need to stop, but…

  I close it again.

  I go slow with Iron, feeling his tongue and both men’s eyes on me as I tilt my face up to the sky and rain glides down my body.

  7

  Krisjen

  Dallas’s back rises and falls in the next bed.

  He sleeps on his stomach, his mouth half-buried in his sheets, and I’m actually surprised.

  He has sheets.

  Milo’s were barely ever on his bed, and Trace learned quickly that I wouldn’t sleep over on just a mattress.

  But Iron has sheets. And now Dallas? There must be some evolutionary leap for men beyond twenty years old. Can’t say for sure unless I see Army’s and Macon’s, too.

  Dallas’s arm hangs over the side of the bed, his black hair nearly covering his eyelids, and I let my gaze glide down his naked back to where the gray sheet drapes just low enough past his hips for me to tell that he’s not wearing anything underneath. He literally came to bed after Iron put me in his and stripped himself naked with me in the room. I was already asleep, but…he wouldn’t sleep naked normally, would he? Not while sharing a room with his brother.

  At least I’m dressed in Iron’s white T-shirt. He put me in a pair of his boxers, too, but then he woke up a couple of hours later and took them off again. He must not have gone back to sleep afterward, though, because I woke up alone a few minutes ago.

  I pull the shirt, making sure it’s down, and then slide my hands between my legs, over my underwear. I close my fingers around myself, wincing. I feel like I’m bruised down there. It hurts a little.

  Trace is a little bigger, but somehow, I’m sorer after Iron. I was sore after the couch, too. Iron goes harder. Deeper, maybe. I guess it was him after all.

  The scent of coffee fills the room, drifting in from downstairs, and I close my eyes, rubbing myself just a little like it’ll soothe the ache. But I also don’t want the ache to go away, because it’ll be the one place he remains once he’s gone.

  I open my eyes, about to get up, but there’s Dallas. Staring straight at me.

  I freeze for a second. How long has he been awake?

  I jerk my hands out from under the covers.

  “You’re in pain,” he whispers. “It makes you prettier.”

  What?

  Then he turns his head, facing the wall and going back to sleep.

  This house, I now realize, is about to get a lot less friendly without Iron around.

  Pulling off the sheet, I pull on Iron’s boxer shorts and leave the room. Macon’s door, across from Liv’s, is still closed, as are Trace’s and Army’s. Soft blue light spills through windows, and I shiver as I head down the stairs. It’s probably about 6:00 a.m. By nine, I won’t be cold. The temperature outside always warms up quickly.

  I hear water run in the pipes around me and feel my nostrils tingle as I inhale the frying bacon and the faint scent of butter. I take a left into the dark, empty living room, and stop at the entrance to the kitchen. Iron works at the stove, and I start to speak, but I stop, watching him.

  The muscles in his back stretch and tense as he cooks, but his shoulders have relaxed, and every movement is fluid. Reaching for the salt, putting it back. Stirring something in the pan. The toast pops up, he grabs it. Everything one fluid pace. Calm, tranquil, serene.

  Quiescent.

  Stormless.

  Fuck.

  My mouth opens a little, feeling the lump of nausea rise. So many times I wished he would’ve calmed down, but now all I want is to see him fight. I want to know the spark in him is still there, undefeated.

  He turns and sees me, smiling a little, and I plop down on a chair at the island. It hurts to breathe. Removing the glass lid of the cake dish, I swipe some chocolate frosting off one of the two pieces that remain from the dessert Mariette had me send over for Iron yesterday. I lick my finger, my mouth watering at the taste of the sugar.

  I do it again, but a fork appears in front of my nose, and I laugh under my breath, taking it. He’s making breakfast for everyone, but I don’t want his breakfast. He doesn’t make breakfast. Army does. Iron making everyone a meal feels like an apology and a goodbye and defeat. He can make breakfast when he comes home.

  I dig in, stuffing as much chocolate in my mouth as I can, and watch him wait about three seconds before he yanks open the drawer, pulls out another fork, and joins me.

  We laugh, and I meet his eyes as he takes the seat across from me, both of us devouring the rest of the cake.

  We start racing for the finish, seeing who’s going to get the last bite, and I giggle as we’re both shoving in more than we can chew and swallow. He stabs the last bit with his fork, and I can feel the crumbs around my mouth as he looks at me and chews.

  “We need more,” he says.

  I nod, hopping off the stool and running for the freezer as he runs for the cabinets. He pulls out mugs and spoons, while I grab all the ice cream I can find. There’s a gallon of vanilla, some cherry chocolate chunk, cookies and cream, and a whole container of untouched strawberry.

  We set the table, scouring the fridge and cabinets for every topping imaginable. Whipped cream, nuts, and some fresh blueberries and kiwi already cut up from last night. We also find M&M’S, hot fudge, marshmallows, and some Christmas sprinkles, but I can’t imagine anyone in this house has been making cookies for Dex, so I won’t think about how they’re probably still around from when Liv and Trace were little.

  “What the hell?” I hear somewhere behind me.

  I look up, seeing Trace run his hand through his bed-head hair as he scans the breakfast table. Remnants of the black writing from his Halloween costume are still dried on his stomach.

  He shakes his head, flips on some music, and takes a seat, immediately digging in as I uncover the ice creams and stick fresh spoons in them.

  Filter’s rendition of “Happy Together” plays as Army enters with Dex. Dallas follows, and I take a seat next to Iron as Macon steps in, his back already covered in sweat from being in the garage.

  Everyone fills their mugs, toppings being passed around, and Dex sees all the candy and starts kicking his legs.

  Macon looms, washing his hands, and I toss a marshmallow in the air and catch it in my mouth in front of the baby. He giggles.

  “It’s easy to catch shit with a big mouth,” Dallas gripes.

  “Even easier when some shit isn’t as big as others.” I drop my eyes to the direction of his dick, chewing my marshmallow.

  Trace laughs under his breath; Dallas throws us both a look. I can’t hold back my grin. I guess Trace is bigger than him, too. Not sure why that pleases me so much. No, wait. I do know.

  Something moves in the corner of my vision, and everyone shifts or quiets just for a moment as Macon takes a seat at the head of the table. Army glances, and I start to look but don’t. Trace, Dallas, and Iron don’t make eye contact as he begins loading ice cream into a mug, too.

  I drop a few marshmallows on the table in front of Dex and take a bite of my ice cream as I grip the handle.

  “So…” I take another bite. “Why do you all put ice cream in mugs?”

  Trace jerks his chin to his brother. “Macon,” he tells me. “He always did it.”

  Army holds his up by the handle. “Easy to transport without freezing your hand.”

  “Or having your body heat melt the ice cream too fast,” Iron adds.

  “It’s also easier to scoop off the high sides of a mug,” Army explains.

  “And when it does melt,” Trace chimes in again, “then you can just drink it.”

  And he tips it back, demonstrating for me as he catches a glob of ice cream in his mouth.

  I close my fingers around my handle again, too aware of Macon’s presence at the table.

  They’re right. Whenever I eat ice cream, it’s not usually at a table. It’s on the couch in front of the TV. Having a handle is great. “Got to wonder why bowls even exist now.”

  Iron chuckles, and I watch as Macon squirts some whipped cream into his mug, quickly shooting out and leaving a dollop on Dex’s nose. The boy jerks, stunned, and then pats his hands up and down in excitement as he grins wide at his uncle, who winks at him so covertly, I don’t think anyone else sees.

  My heart starts beating harder, watching them. I’ve never seen Macon playful. His interactions soften with Dex.

  Army dives down and sucks it off his son’s nose, making the kid giggle.

  “We couldn’t keep Oreo ice cream in the house when I was little,” Iron muses. “It was my favorite, but it was also Dad’s.”

  “Mom would buy it; Dad would eat it all before the next morning,” Army tells me. “Iron would be so disappointed.”

  Trace stares off. “I don’t remember that.”

  “We were too young,” Dallas reminds him.

  His eyes remain on his mug as he eats and tries hard to look like it doesn’t bother him that he remembers so little.

  “He didn’t do it forever,” Army points out to me. “Dad would go in phases. Eat the shit out of something he liked until he got tired of it. Iron soon got all of his favorite ice cream to himself again.”

  “Only because Macon started hiding it from him,” Iron points out.

  I look over at Macon. He eats, staring straight ahead as if we’re not all sitting here.

  “When Mom got sicker,” Iron continues, “and Macon had to do the shopping, he would stuff it underneath the frozen pizzas in the deep freezer for me.”

  The table quiets, only Macon still lifting the spoon to his mouth, and for the first time I feel like I actually belong at the Jaeger table. I’m not the only one silenced by the reminder that their older brother thinks of them. Always.

  Iron steals glances at Macon like he’s waiting for any recognition or word from him.

  But Macon inhales a deep breath and tosses his spoon down, rising to his feet. “It’s a full day,” he tells everyone. “Make time.”

  He pours a cup of coffee and leaves the room, disappearing into the garage again.

  No one says anything, but the mood has shifted, the smiles and joking from a minute ago quiet now.

  The grandfather clock in the living room chimes, and reality steps back in as they all shove a few last spoonfuls into their mouths and get up. Trace sets his mug in the sink and then bends to retrieve a few garbage bags from the cabinet underneath. He starts cleaning up the trash from the party, while Dallas heads upstairs, the shower starting within seconds.

  I watch all of them go about their business, not speaking, and it’s not because of Iron and what’s about to happen. The house and everyone’s moods are always at the mercy of their oldest brother.

  And I don’t think it will get better with Iron out of the house.

  * * *

  —

  An hour later, we’re all standing inside the jail.

  “Feel free to pack away my shit,” Iron tells Dallas. “Maybe get yourself a bigger bed.”

  His younger brother flexes his jaw to cover up the shake. “Everything stays at it is,” he says quietly.

  Iron reaches out and hugs him, Dallas’s arms staying at his side for only a couple of seconds before he embraces him back.

  Iron moves to his youngest brother, holding him tight. “Stay sharp,” he tells him, pulling back. “Be better than me, okay? It wasn’t worth it.”

  Trace nods and looks away, blinking the water from his eyes.

  Army takes his turn, Iron having said his goodbyes to Dex at home.

  Macon isn’t here. He didn’t come out of the garage, and I know Iron waited, but eventually we had to leave.

  “He hates me,” Iron says to Army, his chin trembling a little.

  But Army shakes his head. “He loves you. That’s why he’s not here.”

  I bite my tongue. Bullshit. “This could be it,” my ass. What if Iron fucking dies in there? What if he makes dangerous connections and comes out ruined? All he needs is his brother to tell him he’ll miss him.

  And to tell him that he can come home again.

  “Do your time and get back to us,” Army says.

  Iron gives him one last hug, and I stand there, not sure if I should move in. I’m not even sure why he wanted me here. I’m not his girlfriend.

  But he stops in front of me. “Thanks for…your friendship.”

  I let out a small laugh, shaking my head.

  “I mean it,” he tells me.

  I reach out and hug him, feeling his arms around me and his kiss on my cheek.

  I joke in his ear, “Just don’t ask me to wait for you, okay?”

  “Not me,” he says, letting me go. “But…you will be a Jaeger someday.”

  I look at him.

  “You feel it, don’t you, Krisjen?” His eyes light up. “You belong in that house.”

  I swallow. Maybe I feel it. Maybe I feel it because I have nothing else and I’m too scared to try. Hiding in the Bay for the rest of my life would be easy. I love it there.

  He looks over at his brothers and then back to me. “Dallas, you think?”

  “Oh, fuck you,” I breathe out.

  He laughs and hugs me again.

  “Get home,” I tell him.

  They lead Iron away, the cop at the front desk buzzing the officer and Iron through, and I can’t help myself. “Call as soon as you can,” I tell him.

  He disappears behind the door, and we all move, watching him through the window. In moments, his black T-shirt is gone from our sight line, and I feel like my heart is being ripped out. Where are they taking him? Will he be okay? I just want to follow—

  “We gotta get to work,” Dallas says, interrupting my thoughts. “Come on.”

  They leave, and slowly, I follow them out, wishing I could at least see where Iron will be sleeping. As if it’s a summer camp and I get to approve it before I let him stay.

  I walk next to Army, trying to hold back, but I can’t. Someone needs to say it. “Look, I know Iron kind of asked for this,” I say to him, “but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s scared shitless.”

  Outside, clouds are covering the sky and Trace and Dallas head through the parking lot.

  “He looks up to Macon,” I bite out, “and Macon doesn’t show up for anyone. I never saw him at any of Liv’s games. He didn’t even put in an appearance at Dex’s birthday party. All Iron needed was a kind word from him, and Macon—”

  But Army turns, glaring down at me, and I lose my train of thought. “Once,” he states, “when we needed Macon, he was there for all of us.”

  “Well, not anymore.”

  “You don’t get it.” He searches my eyes. “I love Iron, but all he did was think about himself. It’s our turn, dammit. Macon needs us now.”

  I watch him walk off, realizing he’s just as angry at Iron as Macon is.

  Army hides a lot.

  * * *

  —

  “Order up!”

  I cock my head, using my shoulder to rub behind my ear to catch the sweat trickling down. I grab the plate, and then another, taking a second glance and tossing it back under the warmer. “This was supposed to be rice!”

  I’m not yelling. It’s just loud. There are fifteen conversations going on in the restaurant, not to mention Aracely carrying on her conversations as she moves plates about the room, even if it means shouting.

  I’m glad it’s busy, though. It helps to keep me from thinking about Iron and what he’s doing right now. It feels like we dropped him off a year ago, instead of just yesterday.

  The cook grabs the plate. “Give me three minutes.”

  “I don’t have three!” I blurt out, and snatch Summer’s plate from her, spooning the rice from her dish onto mine.

  “Krisjen!”

  “My order was first,” I tell her. “My rice.”