I was distracted when my dad asked gruffly, “You got more to yell at me about?” A pained expression in his gaze held my tongue, and he added into the pocket of silence, “I am sorry for being a crap father. I know all you said was right, and that I’m in the wrong. I get heated, speaking too fast, but you’re right about all of it. And Channing’s done a great job.” He drew in a breath, those eyes flashing wetness for a second. He raised a hand, touching my shoulder and he had to take a moment. Swallow. Then his head dipped down as he lightly squeezed my shoulder. “He did good. You do what you gotta do, and I mean that in every way.”

I’d been holding in oxygen, and it seemed like I’d been holding it in since he got out of prison.

Hearing his words now, that huge boulder in my stomach dissolved. I was blinking back tears, and I didn’t know how to handle that.

This was not my old dad. He had changed.

“Thanks, Dad.”

His eyes were so sad, but he gave me the smallest smile, his hand squeezing again. “Anytime, honey. But you should go. These guys won’t be here long, so make sure not to call them in. They’ll know it was you, and then, well, there’ll be problems.”

I nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“I didn’t go to your job to use you. Yes, I went to do surveillance, but it was also my excuse to see you. I ain’t perfect. Lord knows how much I ain’t perfect, but I love you and I’ll continue to work on doing right by you. I’m sorry if you thought I was using you. That thought never entered my head, to be honest.”

Cross and Jordan moved in, closing in our small circle.

My dad inclined his head toward them, his hand moving around and pulling me to his side. “I got a long road ahead to make things right, but I’m going to try. That’s a promise I can make, but for now, you all need to get going. Do your thing. College. Studying, whatever it is. Take care of my girl.”

“And her job?” Cross had his head tilted forward and to the side. “Her brother?”

Derrick stiffened, his head raising up. His hand was gentle on me, but his arm was rock solid. “Don’t narc. Let Channing do his job. Let my girl do her job, but no snitching. That ain’t a problem for you guys to take on. You hear me on that? You guys are clear of this, so stay clear.”

Cross’ head dipped again, his gaze meeting mine.

I was at a crossroads, it seemed.

Then the decision was made for me, in that moment.

A guy rushed inside. “Cops coming!”

Another guy yelled out, “Let Prez know. Get the civvies out of here.”

Girls were running around. Guys were dashing. Windows were locked up.

Heckler came over, at a more leisurely stroll and dug inside his pocket. He pulled out the phones, putting them on the table. He said to Derrick, “Get out of here. Your kid, her friends, you. You’re clear of this, Pops. That’s how Max wants it.”

My dad’s fingers now curled tighter into me, but his head jerked up and down. “I’ll be at the house.” His words were for the biker.

Heckler moved his head up and down, staring us down for a beat. “Get a job, Pops. That’s what Max wants for you. Keep clean.” He said to me, “You don’t need to worry about your dad. We got no plans to dirty him, hear that? And we’re taking off. Your boss asks you questions, you don’t say shit. Got it?”

My lips parted. My throat went dry.

I said, “Got it.”

Yeah. Seems like I chose. I was on the side of no-snitching. Then again, when had it ever been an actual question for me? I was crew through and through.

Cross grabbed up the phones and took my arm. “Let’s go. We gotta jet now.” He pulled me toward the door. Jordan was already heading out. When I lingered, he said, “Now!”

So, we went.

I looked back, seeing my dad one last time, and then we were gone.

From: Tazsters

To: Cain Group

Subject: why why why

Why has everyone stopped calling, texting, and emailing. I need my emails. I live for my emails.

Where have all the emails gone?

—The Best Twin

BREN

I was experiencing déjà vu, but not at the same time.

This time was different.

Another year, another time, and we’d been driving Alex Ryerson back.

Another month, another time and I’d be walking out of jail.

Another moment, another place and we’d be at the hospital getting someone patched up.

This time, it wasn’t us. It wasn’t our fight. We were heading home, except for a quick stop at the drive-thru for Jordan. He wanted food since we never got the burgers or chicken baskets from The Twister Sister.

Walking into our house, one after the other, we moved around the kitchen.

I grabbed the plates.

Cross grabbed the drinks and glasses.

Jordan went back outside, taking the food with him.

No words were spoken. None were needed. We all just knew.

I dipped in the bedroom, changing clothes and grabbing a blanket.

Cross was waiting for me at the door. He’d taken everything out, and I saw as we stepped outside that Jordan had the fire going. The patio table had been moved over, the stools moved aside to make room so we could eat next to the fire pit.

We all sat down.

Plates were passed out.

Food was portioned.

Drinks were poured.

We sat. We ate. We just were.

After the food was done, the wrappers put away in a garbage bag, and another round of drinks had been poured, Jordan was leaning forward. Elbows resting on his knees, he was staring into the fire.

He said, “I’m going to go to Roussou tomorrow.” The fire’s reflection was playing over his face, casting him in orange and red dark shadows. It lit up his eyes. They were somber. “I’m going to bring Zellman back.”

And even that made perfect sense.

We needed all of our crew together.

BREN

My phone woke me the next morning.

Cross was curled behind me, one of his hands on my hip and he stiffened, groaning. “Who keeps fucking calling you at—” He looked, and then growled. The phone kept ringing, but I didn’t move. This was a small luxury I indulged. Cross would field it for me, and he did, reaching over me to my nightstand.

“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, sitting up and hitting accept.

“This is a call from the Potomahmen Correctional Facility. Do you accept the charges from inmate—”

“Yes.”

A second later, I heard my ex’s voice coming from the phone, and Cross was glaring hard at the room. “What do you want?”

A laugh from Drake. “Can I talk to her?”

“Why?”

Even though Cross hadn’t put my phone on speaker, I could hear Drake loud and clear.

“Just let me talk to her. Please.”

He turned to me. “You don’t have to take the call. You can tell him to go to hell.”

I sighed, sitting up. A yawn left me, but we both knew Drake was calling for a reason. I had no doubt that what he wanted to tell me wasn’t what he was going to say at all. But knowing Drake, knowing the games he always played, I still knew I needed to take the call.

Simply put, it was what it was.

I shrugged but held my hand out.

Cross handed it over and slid out of bed. He went to the bathroom, and I watched him the whole walk, enjoying it immensely.

Taking the phone, I hit the speaker button and sat back. “What do you want?”

Another laugh, this one louder and more genuine. “There she is, my old Bren.”

I rolled my eyes. “I ain’t your old anything, except if you’re referencing an old regret, but I do. I truly do. I regret ever dating you, and also, why are you not dead? You snitched. By prison law, you should’ve been gone in the first week.”

Another laugh, but it was lessening. I was getting to him, or the threat had. “That’s cold, even for you.”

Except it wasn’t, because while I had been worried about getting that call, the one stating someone I used to care about had been shanked in prison, it never came. The more time that past, the more confident I became that Drake had somehow escaped certain death. Then again, that was also something he did.

“Let me guess, you had another card to hold over someone?”

An abrupt laugh. This one was short and brief, still genuine. “Something like that, yeah.”

Cross came back, then disappeared into the closet. We were in his room, so it was a larger walk-in than mine upstairs. He came back with sweats pulled on, but nothing else. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest.

I found myself getting distracted.

Once again.

“Why are you calling?”

He drew in a long breath. “Word is that my baby mama had my baby.”

I frowned. That’d been weeks ago. “Yeah?”

“Sunday’s not letting me see the baby.”

“Why would she? Isn’t that too early?”

“Not for pictures. Not to even be told what she named my kid. Fuck, Bren. I don’t even know if I have a son or a daughter.”

Oh. Whoa. Sunday was being cold, ice cold.

“That’s nothing to do with me.”

“That’s the point of this call. You do me a solid, I’ll do you a solid.”