I wouldn’t be going through my pops, and the way Maxwell was watching me, I caught the knowing look on his face. He also knew I wouldn’t be going through my father.
“Deal.”
We shook on it.
I was about to head back to my guys when he said, “I have to ask…”
He motioned to where my guys were perched, all standing on the backs of their trucks, watching the exchange.
“What was the idea for that? What were you going to do if this all went south?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I was going to offer you something.”
They wouldn’t have been able to stop me by then. They wouldn’t have been close enough to fight or try to protect me. I would’ve made the offer, and I would’ve stood by it. I would’ve done it all for them.
“What were you going to offer me?” Maxwell asked.
I met his gaze with no hesitation.
“Me.”
56
Channing
“What the hell was that?” Lincoln demanded.
I had to give Moose credit, because he was the one I thought would be on my ass the second the rest of the crew left. It wasn’t him. It was Lincoln.
We’d all returned to the warehouse, and Congo had just shut the door on the last exiting member. The ones who’d held back were my core: Chad, Moose, Lincoln, and Congo. It had long been the five of us. I just needed Bren, Scratch, and Heather here, and this would be my family.
I was lucky.
It hit me.
I was goddamn lucky because I’d been able to spend most my life with these people. They hadn’t filtered in and out of my life, with a few exceptions. Lincoln had joined up a year ago. Bren—I’d been the fuck-up there and hadn’t been in her life as much as I should’ve been. But I’d had Heather, Moose, and Congo with me since elementary school. Chad had joined up at the end of sixth grade.
These were my guys.
I goddamn loved them, but what I’d said to Maxwell was the truth.
It was time I told these guys.
“If things went bad with the Red Demons, I was going to offer myself.”
“Yourself for what?” Moose roared.
There was the menacing growl I’d expected from my best friend. Moose edged forward a step, his massive arms folding over his chest—literal tree-trunks, both of them. And how he got them to fold over each other was impressive.
“Yourself for what?” he asked again.
I raised my head, meeting each of their gazes, one by one. Then I looked back at Moose.
“I was going to offer to leave the crew.”
Moose’s nostrils flared.
Chad cursed, swinging his head from side to side.
Congo swore and kicked at a can near his feet. It slammed into the wall, bounced back, and he kicked it again. He sent it clear across the warehouse the second time.
No one cared. No one paid attention to him.
I waited, studying Lincoln.
He had no visible reaction. He was stoic, waiting for more.
Shit. He knew. There was more coming, and goddamn, he knew somehow. I glanced back to Moose and saw the same look there. He knew too.
“And?” Moose was the one who clipped that word out. “And now what? You’re not going anywhere, right? It’s all good. We’re good. The shit’s over.”
He knew that wasn’t what was going to happen.
So I braced myself, and filled them in.
57
Heather
Junior year
I’d left a few minutes before the basketball game was over. Sam was still inside, sitting with Logan and some others, but I’d wanted to get to Manny’s before everyone filtered in.
I might be a high school student, but I had work to do.
I was weaving through the vehicles in the parking lot when I heard him.
“You becoming a full-fledged Fallen Crustie? Going to their games too?”
I drew up short, my insides tightening at his voice, and I looked over.
Channing lounged against his truck, one foot over the other, his arms across his chest, and his head down.
I readied myself, prepared for anything he was going to throw my way, but he didn’t look angry. He almost seemed… I cocked my head to the side. That couldn’t be true.
He almost seemed resigned.
No way. Channing Fucking Monroe wasn’t a guy to let me become a “Fallen Crustie,” his derogatory term for them—not without a fight anyway.
“Maybe.” I stopped a few feet from him, sliding my hands into my back pockets. I tilted my head to the side, knowing it drove him nuts. He always wanted to step in, slide his hand around my neck, and pull me in for a kiss.
“I don’t go to school in Roussou anymore. I guess that makes me Fallen Crest now.”
His eyes darkened. “You’ll always be Roussou.”
We are Roussou.
The thought flared in me at his words, and I couldn’t deny that I wanted it too. The kiss. I touched the top of my mouth with my tongue. The thirst was there. The hunger. It’d been too long since I last tasted him.
He groaned. “Fuck, Heather. You’re playing with fire here.”
“Maybe.” I grinned at him. I couldn’t stop myself.
His eyes darted behind me. “You’re making new friends.”
Oh. That’s why he was here. All the flirting left me. “Yeah, but you knew that.”
“Friends come and go.” He pushed off his truck, walking toward me, a predator stalking his prey. He stopped right in front of me, now within inches. “These friends don’t seem to be going,” he breathed.
I didn’t want to look in his eyes anymore. There was too much history there.
I focused on his chest, murmuring, “Yes, they do.”
His arm shifted.
I felt him now, and I sucked in some air at his touch. His hand rested on my chest, then slid upward, curving around my neck. He tilted my head to meet his gaze. It was heated, but not from anger, not from wanting to fight. His eyes were fiery because of me, because he was touching me.
“If they hurt you… If she hurts you…” He let his threat hang in the air.
My heart skipped a beat. My body temperature was rising fast, and I was just barely restraining myself from pressing against him.
I touched his chest, intending to push him back an inch. But I didn’t. I only whispered instead. “I like Samantha. She’s a good person.” She was a new friend. I thought she could be a good one too, but only time would tell.
He grunted, his thumb rubbing against the base of my neck. “She’s connected, Heather.”
“I know.” He’d known that already. That wasn’t why Channing was here. He was here to remind me I was connected too, that I had others who would protect me. I wasn’t on my own, which I had to admit was sometimes how I felt going to school in Fallen Crest. I had friends, but they weren’t like him.
No one was like him.
I spread my fingers out, moving my hand to feel his heartbeat.
We weren’t a couple—when we actually were official—who did cheesy. We didn’t have the pretty words, the nice promises. What we had was different. We had history. We’d bled for each other. We’d fought for each other. We fought against each other. But as I smoothed my hand over his heart, I closed my eyes.
No. Instead of the romantic stuff others might have, we had this.
I felt my heart align with his.
We had the same heartbeat.
Channing gave in too, his arms moving around to hold me. He bent his head. I felt his lips brush my forehead.