“Comic relief.” Zellman shot his hands up in surrender, standing and backing away. “That’s my job today. Comic relief, everyone. Cross. Comic relief.”

Cross’ eyes flicked to the ceiling. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” He finished his beer and headed for the side door, tossing the bottle in the trash.

Jordan straightened. “Where are you going?”

Cross stepped out. “Need to think.”

He was going to watch my house. We might’ve started going there because of me, but it was just as much his spot now as mine.

Jordan looked at me. “Where’s he going?”

I ignored that. “Taz is worried he’ll move out.”

Jordan and Zellman fell silent.

“She thinks he won’t deal with the hassle of getting a lock for his room. He’ll just move somewhere else.”

“Damn,” said Zellman.

“Where?” Jordan asked.

It was obvious. Jordan’s family had money, unlike the rest of us. They didn’t have a lot, but enough to give Jordan an entire building, and they had land. A large bonfire here didn’t attract the cops’ attention, and there were lots of fields and woods around for people to slip away and do whatever. Plus, they had a creek that wound through their land. It was a good swimming area. With all that space, a camper set up in the back could be missed by Jordan’s parents for weeks, maybe even months, and that was if they didn’t just agree to letting Cross use the extra bedroom in the shed. There was a loft set up over the office room that acted as the first bedroom. With an outside hose for a shower, this place could easily be lived in.

I snorted. “Where do you think?”

Zellman slapped a hand on the coffee table. “I am down with that. I’m here most of the time anyway. Having Cross live here? I say hell yes.”

Jordan shot him a look. “It’s not up to you.”

I frowned.

So did Zellman. “What? You’re saying you might not let him? Shit.” He flung a hand up behind him. “He could pop up a tent back there, and your family wouldn’t even know. We’re here almost all the time.”

Jordan stood, gripping his beer. “You’re here almost all the time. Not Cross, a pretty boy my sister has a crush on. We just took down some fucker who tried to force himself on her. She’s all mixed up in the head now. I don’t want her to get any more confused.” He walked to the open door, staring out at where Cross had gone.

“But he’s in our group.”

There was no question that Cross wouldn’t do anything with Mallory. He knew better. We all did, but it was her. What she thought, felt, would feel—I got it. I understood both sides.

Jordan hung his head. “That’s the problem.”

We weren’t going to figure it out, and I didn’t want the tables to turn against me. The Drake/Race conversation had been shelved, though I knew it wouldn’t stay there for long. Jordan could sense trouble coming, and he was going to push. He’d want to be prepared for whatever was coming our way. I understood, but that wasn’t what I wanted.

I wanted to avoid the whole thing, for as long as I could anyway.

I stood, handing the rest of my beer to Zellman, and started for the door.

As I left, Jordan called, “You have to tell us. You know that, right?”

There was no hiding. I knew. He knew. We all knew.

I stopped and looked over. “I know.”

He nodded. “Tell Cross he’s welcome here, just can’t let my sister know.”

I looked back, nodding again.

Then I was gone.

Our roles were reversed this time.

Cross was the one sitting on my hill, and he looked up at my approach. He had a ball cap on, pulled low, but I still saw his eyes. They were guarded again. I glanced back over my shoulder before either of us said a word.

The hill was only accessible by breaking off from a small walking path a couple hundred yards back. Behind me was covered with trees, and beyond that was the path and a gravel road where we had both parked.

Before I’d pulled onto the gravel road, I’d paused to notice a new construction sign in the field behind our hill.

“Hey.” He sat up, resting his arms on his knees. “You see the sign back there?”

I clenched my jaw as I sat. “I should’ve brought alcohol.”

He laughed and reached to his other side, pulling out a whiskey bottle. He set it down between us. “Good thing one of us was thinking.”

I grunted, reaching for it and taking a sip. Fuck. That burned. I hissed, but Cross’ hand was up waiting for it. I handed it over, and he did the same. He put it back between us, looping his arms around his knees, and he hunched forward.

“You here to talk me out of moving out?”

I shrugged, looping my arms over my knees too. “You know me. I’m down for whatever.”

He continued to watch me. “But you feel bad for Taz.”

Because I’d been her. I’d been the sister hoping her brother would come home one night, but now… “She’ll get over it.”

If Cross was really considering moving out, there was a reason for it. I wasn’t going to question him, not yet. I’d wait for my turn to pounce.

He frowned. “I wasn’t expecting that response.”

“It’s your decision, but do you really want to stay at Jordan’s full time?”

He grinned. “Who said I was thinking about Jordan’s place?”

I looked at him. An uneasy emotion began in my gut, filling me up until one of those damn knots was back in place. “Mine? My brother would go nuts.”

He stretched his legs out and reached for a handful of rocks. He tossed a couple, which sank into the tall grass at the bottom of the hill. “I don’t think your brother would notice, but if he did, I think he’d understand. If anyone understood, it’d be him. Besides, your brother loves me. What’s the problem?”

I snorted.

Love was a stretch. More like Channing put up with Cross.

He was the least of his worries. Jordan was usually instigating a fight. Zellman was a laughing hyena—Channing’s words, not mine. But Cross, he was steady. He was good. He was my best friend, and my brother knew things weren’t romantic between us.

Cross was the only one Channing might be okay having live with us. That was a big might though.

“We could sneak you in,” I said. “He might like it, actually. I’d be home more than I am now. He’s always bitching about that.”

Cross laughed. He began flinging the small rocks harder and harder. The last one hit the road, rolling into the middle. He was holding back. He could hurl ’em all the way to my old house’s front lawn if he wanted.

“Want me to live in your closet?”

I laughed. “Why not? It’s good enough for me.”

We shared a grin. I used to curl up in bed with him. That changed around puberty. There were wet dreams, we both smelled, and we had awkward breath in the middle of the night. Cross never asked me to move, but I did. I’d gone through a phase where one zit meant the world was going to end. I liked to think I was more sane now.

But it never had to be the closet. It was his closet, his home, his room. It was him. I felt safe.

“Speaking of that, are you really going to take on Sunday Barnes?” he asked. “Isn’t that below us?”

“She was planning the first attack. Rumors. Whispers. That sort of thing. You know, the coward way.”

He sighed, tossed the last of the small rocks, and stood up. Offering a hand to me, he nodded toward town. “Come on. Let’s go do something about her. I’m in the mood to stir shit up.”

I took his hand, stood, and dusted off my jeans. “What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know.” He put the whiskey bottle underneath a bush, then led the way back. “I’m improvising.”

I trailed behind him, but right where we would’ve disappeared into the trees, I turned back. My old house remained in my view, and I could see the lights on inside. The mother walked past in an upstairs bedroom, one of the kids in her arms. She had her arms wrapped so lovingly around him. The little boy wore a towel, the yellow hood almost covering his head.

My throat swelled up. Why I had a problem breathing lately was beyond me. It was annoying.

“Bren?”

I swallowed, forcing whatever emotion had been rising away. “Coming.”

This had started out as a normal evening for me. I’d been content.

I wasn’t anymore.

Now I was ready to stir shit up too.