I watch, realization hitting when I recognize the make and model of the car that owns those headlights.

  “It’s Conroy!” I tell him. “Pull it back!”

  He doesn’t. Just shrugs.

  “Dallas!”

  Goddamn him.

  I don’t have time to stop her. She flies past, her tires popping instantly.

  Ah, shit. Macon’s going to fucking kill us over more tires down the drain.

  Son of a bitch.

  She swerves left and right, finally skidding to a halt ahead, and I run up to her, pulling her out of the car. Trace jumps out the passenger side.

  I hold her by her upper arms. “You okay?”

  “Are you serious?” she shouts, scowling. “My tires!”

  She looks back at the road and the spikes, and I glance toward the ditch, but Milo and his pals are still down there and can’t see us.

  Yet.

  We have to get out of here.

  I take her hand, pulling her into the trees and back toward my truck, leaving her dad’s Benz in the road.

  “Where’s my brother?” she demands. “Why’d you take him? Mars!”

  “Shh,” I insist.

  Milo will hear her.

  I drag her back up to my truck in Calderon’s driveway with Dallas and Trace following.

  I point at Mars. “You sleep at his house,” I say, gesturing to JC. “Get home! Both of you. Hurry!”

  JC grabs Mars by the elbow, leading him away. We’re not far from home.

  “Let’s go,” I say, then to Trace and Dallas, “Take the truck. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll load up some tires to bring back for her car.”

  They climb in and shove off, racing down the road the short distance back to the house.

  I feel pretty fucking stupid for being that petty with that piece of shit, but I forgot how good it felt to do something that’s not work, and end the night with something pretty.

  I take her in my arms, then notice the white dress she’s wearing. Sleeveless and ending at mid-thigh, it has straps across her chest and back, showing slivers of skin. Her hair is soaking wet now, but she feels just as good.

  And slowly, I start to spin, holding her eyes the whole time.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, stumbling as she tries to keep up.

  “It’s our first date.”

  We’re dancing.

  I twirl her faster, around and around, again and again, and when I dip her fast and low, she finally smiles. Uncontainable and uncontrollable.

  I guess she’s sleeping over.

  13

  Krisjen

  “I need to get home,” I tell Army.

  He pulls me by the hand, up to his house. “Just let us fix your car before Macon wakes up and sees we just cost him five hundred more in tires.”

  Which he’ll have to pay for, because it’s one of his brothers’ fault—again—that they’re ruined.

  Trace and Dallas hop out of the truck, and Army releases my hand, heading over to them. But I grab his hand again. “I can’t crash here tonight.”

  He stops and looks at me, but I don’t know what I’m trying to say.

  He squeezes my fingers. “Sleep in Liv’s room,” he tells me. “Your brother is over with Santos’s kid. We’ll do your tires now, and you can leave in the morning.”

  He walks off, and I start to protest, but then he barks at Dallas before he reaches the front door. “Where the hell you going?” Army asks him.

  “To bed.”

  “Help us,” he orders him as Trace lifts the door to the garage and they start rolling out fresh tires.

  But Dallas just laughs under his breath and disappears into the house.

  Army clenches his jaw but lets him go, and I tuck my wet hair behind my ear. Rain kicks up mud on the ground, and I pull off my heels, bare feet in a puddle.

  “Army, stop,” I call out. “I can afford a tow truck and my own tires. I can’t stay here.”

  “I’m not going to try to fuck you!” he shouts.

  Trace stops and turns to me wide-eyed, and I just close mine for a moment.

  “Not tonight, anyway,” Army adds. “Get out of my hair and go to sleep.”

  Embarrassment washes over me, and I can feel myself sweating. A tickle of a smile curls Trace’s lips.

  I hold up my middle finger, mouthing, “Fuck you.”

  He pouts, using his own dialect of sign language while mouthing, “But I love you.”

  Asshole.

  I spin around and head inside, throwing my shoes into the living room as I search for a phone. Mine is still in my car, but one of them always seems to leave one behind in the house. I rummage through the living room, checking chargers, and then into the kitchen, but the light over the stove and the one in the hallway bathroom suddenly go out. I look around for any other sign of light.

  The electricity has died. I look outside the living room window, seeing that the lights on the street and the ones across the road are dark, as well.

  “Krisjen!” Army shouts. “Check the breakers!”

  Nope. I don’t live here.

  I find a lighter and flick it to life as I head around the pot of water on the kitchen table that’s filling up from the leak in the roof. I walk upstairs instead, going for Iron’s phone, which is probably still in his room. He couldn’t take it to prison.

  I stalk down the hall, his door dead ahead, but a sound hits my ears, and then I notice something under my feet.

  I lower the flame and see water on the floor.

  What the hell?

  I hold the flame above my head, but I don’t see any leakage from above.

  And then I hear the sound again. The crying.

  Dex.

  Peeking my head into Army’s room, I see Dex standing in his crib and walk over, making sure he’s okay. I touch his head full of straight brown hair and feel his pajamas, making sure everything is dry.

  I caress his little cheek. “I’ll get you something to drink, buddy.”

  Leaving his door open, I grab towels from the closet in the hallway and lay them over the water.

  Then I notice where it’s coming from. I walk toward the bathroom, my feet stepping on the stream that flows out from under the door.

  I hesitate a moment, knowing something’s not right.

  I push it open.

  Macon sits on the floor, his back against the tub, and the sink is lying on the tile. Water from the broken main gushes out of the pipe, and I can smell the vomit. My stomach coils. What happened?

  He has one knee propped up, his arm resting over it, and his head turned away. I drop down in front of him, checking for blood or any sign of a broken bone.

  He just sits there, though. Eyes open. Calm breathing.

  “Krisjen!” Army calls for me.

  I don’t move.

  A cup from the sink rolls over the water, and I pick it up, holding it under the stream spilling from the pipe. I fill it and then twist the valve, shutting off the water. I set the cup and a clean hand towel on the little table next to the tub.

  I breathe hard, taking his face and trying to turn it toward me, but he gently jerks away.

  I lean in, smelling him. I don’t think he’s been drinking.

  What the hell happened? Did he do this?

  I feel him watching me, and I look up. “What happened?” I ask in a whisper. “Are you hurt?”

  He doesn’t reply.

  “What can I do?”

  “Leave.”

  I shudder inside. I don’t want to leave. Did he get sick? Maybe he leaned on the sink too hard? Or fell into it?

  Or…he got angry and ripped it off the wall.

  I hold his eyes while his soften on me. “You look pretty,” he whispers.

  And I study the drop streaming down his wet face, telling myself it’s just water from the broken pipe. I want to touch him. I want to help.

  I hold back.

  Rising, I walk away and start to close the door. “I’ll take care of Dex,” I tell him. “I’m right downstairs.”

  And I twist the lock on the inside of the door, leaving him alone.

  * * *

  —

  I set the glass on the breakfast table the next morning, listening for Macon’s footsteps on the floor above me. He’s usually up by now.

  I cleaned up the water in the hallway, fixed the breaker, and got Dex a snack and a drink, and put him back to sleep before the boys even got done with my car last night.

  Then, I slipped into Liv’s room before they came upstairs.

  Once Trace and Army were in bed, though, I still couldn’t sleep. I left the room three times over the course of the night to gently try the bathroom door, still finding it locked every time. I almost woke up Army, because I started to get scared. Something was definitely wrong, and maybe leaving Macon alone wasn’t the best idea.

  But the fourth time, about three thirty in the morning, the door was finally open and the bathroom empty. The water on the floor had been cleaned up.

  I stare at the icy, yellow drink I just placed on the table, but then I grab it again and pour the smoothie into a black mug. I set it at Macon’s seat.

  I’m still in my dress, I haven’t slept, and I probably wasted my time, making him something for breakfast, but it’s only 6:00 a.m. and Mars is still asleep. I already called, and he told me to leave him alone.

  Sounds like he had fun with his new friend in the Bay, at least. He didn’t want to rush home. Not sure why that makes me happy.

  Army and Trace drift into the kitchen, Aracely busy cleaning up the mess the boys made when they got back last night.

  “What the hell happened to the sink?” Dallas shouts, heading to the moka pot.

  No one answers him, and I busy myself, wetting a dish towel before I sit down at the table to clean the mud still on my feet.

  A long pair of legs walks past, and I instantly recognize Macon’s work boots.

  “It’s on the goddamn floor,” Dallas keeps going. “One of you fucking her on it or something?”

  I flit my gaze up, seeing Dallas throw me a look. Macon pours coffee, Trace pours cereal, and Army busies himself making Dex’s breakfast.

  “Dallas, knock it off,” Army tells him.

  But I go back to cleaning my legs. “We were on your bed, actually.”

  “Good, you can wash my sheets.”

  “You’re just a fuckboy, Dallas. I’m not auditioning to be your wife.”

  Trace pours milk and grabs a spoon; Macon sits.

  Dallas scoops some sugar into his mug. “Oh, I wouldn’t marry a slut.”

  “You couldn’t keep a Saint anyway,” I mumble. “We’re hard to impress.”

  “That hasn’t been my experience.”

  I look at him, smiling as I rest my chin on my hand. “Oh, tell me about it.”

  Please. Tell me everything. I’d love to know who he’s had.

  Amy, obviously. That doesn’t mean he knows us.

  “Bitch.” But he says it nice and soft, and I almost smile. It’s good to be back to normal.

  But Army slams a piece of silverware down on the counter. “Shut up!” he yells at Dallas. “Just stop!”

  “Or what?” Dallas taunts.

  But it’s me who answers. “Or I’m going to stay forever.”

  “You’re probably pregnant already.”

  I scoot into the seat next to Trace, resting my head on his shoulder but still looking at Dallas. “Uncle Dallas. I like the sound of that.”

  “Would you even know who the father is?”

  I lift the coffee to my lips. “Well, it’s definitely a Jaeger.”

  Trace snorts, dropping his head and shaking with laughter.

  Food hits my forehead, and I jerk, watching scrambled egg spill from my skin onto the table.

  “Ohhhh,” Trace murmurs.

  I kind of want to cry, but I sort of want to laugh, too.

  “Goddammit. Are you gonna do something?” I hear Army ask, but I can’t see who he’s talking to.

  And before I even see him coming, Dallas reaches over and grabs me by the neckline of my dress and hauls me onto the table.

  “We’re going to look back on this and laugh,” I squeal.

  “We’re not sleeping together.”

  “Can we shower?” I retort.

  Trace’s laughter fills the room, and I feel a whole container of sugar dump on my head. I cry out, kicking on top of the table. “You’re gonna love me! I swear!”

  “Fuck off!” Dallas growls.

  But I hear a faint voice pierce the commotion, different from the others. “Krisjen…”

  I turn away from Dallas’s onslaught, trying to open my eyes.

  Dishes tumble to the floor.

  “Krisjen?”

  I blink, everything going still as everyone stops.

  Macon sits at the head of the table as Army leans halfway over it, one hand on my arm, the other fisting Dallas’s hair.

  Macon stares at the table, the look in his eyes settling like a hole in my stomach.

  I release my grip on Dallas’s chest.

  “Make me another one?” Macon asks me. He holds the mug with the smoothie, tipping it back and emptying it down his throat as he rises from the table. “And dinner tonight,” he says. “Something different than what’s on that fucking menu. Please.”

  He leaves the table and heads for the garage.

  “I can get you something from town,” Army calls out to him.

  But Macon shakes his head, his voice sounding strained. “Just her.”

  * * *

  —

  I can’t stop stealing glances out the restaurant window. As if I can see Macon a hundred yards down the dirt road inside of his garage.

  I’ve been distracted all day. I borrowed Trace’s truck, took Mars home, and cleaned up the house, while Bateman picked up Paisleigh from my grandparents’. He’d stay with the kids until my mom got home, which I’m grateful for, because I don’t want to go home right away when I take Macon his food tonight. I keep checking the clock, dropping plates, forgetting flatware—because something is wrong, and I can’t see him right now. The door is open, but not even a glimpse.

  What was going on last night? Macon loses his temper, but that was…

  He crumbled. Collapsed on the bathroom floor, and he stayed in there almost all night.

  If it were Trace or Army, I could bully them into spitting it out, but Macon is impossible. He bitches about having to do everything on his own, but I doubt even he believes that he doesn’t have to. Men like him don’t feel like men unless they do it alone.

  I shake my head, piling the dishes into the tub, because the busser never showed and neither did Summer. They’re probably together.

  Macon’s voice drifts through my head again. Just her, he said. Two little words that made me feel so important. To someone who’s important.

  The savory scent of soup fills the kitchen, and I lift the lid on a pot simmering over a burner.

  Inhaling deep, I almost shiver at the warmth under my skin. It’s in the high seventies today. Definitely cold enough. For the tropics.

  My phone buzzes, and I reach into my apron, grabbing it as I replace the lid.

  Bateman.

  “Hey, how is everything?” I answer.

  “Baby, I have to leave.”

  I pause. “Please…”

  “She’s late,” he tells me. “I have to go.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “And she hasn’t paid me.”

  Jesus Christ. Is this really happening? Again?

  “You have to come,” he says, “or I’m calling their father.”

  Yeah, good luck getting ahold of him.

  I rip off my apron. “I’m coming.”

  I hang up, seeing Mariette pause mid-pour as she fills a pie shell.

  “I’ll be thirty minutes,” I tell her, running out the door. “I’ll be back, okay?”

  She expels kind of a strangled, stressed sound, because she offered to be understanding, but we’re busy right now.

  “Half an hour!” I shout, pushing through the door. “I’ll hurry.”

  I jump in my dad’s car and race out of the Bay. I shouldn’t have taken a job. I should’ve stayed at home with Mars and Paisleigh. I figured Army was right and I needed something to do with my time while they were in school, but it would be nice for them to see a familiar face when they get home. Someone who’s not paid to be there.

  I just don’t want to fucking be there. It doesn’t feel like my home anymore.

  I cruise down the driveway, screeching to a halt in front of my door, and kill the engine, jumping out. My mother’s car isn’t here. No surprises there. She’s courting a new boyfriend, on the hunt for husband number two. There’s not time for kids, I guess.

  Bateman opens the door before I even get there, stress etching lines on his forehead. “I’m really sorry about this, honey,” he says. “It’s not your fault. I know that.”

  “Go,” I tell him, walking into the house. “It’s not your fault, either.”

  It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow. I get it. He’s got things to do.

  Nor should he work for free.

  He grabs his bag, walking out the door. “They’ve had dinner. No homework over break.”

  I nod. “Happy Thanksgiving.” And I help him close the door.

  He’s gone, and I pause. That might be the last time the kids ever see him.

  Did he say goodbye?

  Knowing him, probably not. He assumes he’ll be back once she straightens her shit out. He’s been with Paisleigh since she was two.

  “Krisjen!” Paisleigh exclaims, and I turn to see my sister dragging a plastic dinosaur on a leash. “Can we watch a movie?”

  Mars is behind her, strolling from the kitchen to the stairs.