Five Brothers
: Chapter 23

I head out to the patio, my arms full with plates as I push open the door with my butt. I set down the meals at table fifteen, grab the empty glasses at sixteen, and look out to the road, seeing Paisleigh … riding a bike.

My mouth drops open. What …?

I almost drop the glasses.

She races past, sitting on someone’s blue bike and trying to catch up to another group of kids.

I smile and laugh at the same time, about to call her over, but I don’t want to distract her and make her fall. When did she learn to ride a bike?

I guess the extended stay in the Bay is good for her. My mom is away for the week, so she’s none the wiser that I let Bateman take off—with pay—while the guys and I keep the kids. Mars hasn’t complained, and Paisleigh’s ready to move into the Jaeger house.

I watch her as I head back into the restaurant, smiling, but then I hear a rumble behind me and look over my shoulder. Two trucks fly in, filling the remaining parking spaces in front of the restaurant. Army, Dallas, and Trace jump out, and I search the cabs for Macon’s outline but don’t see him. I thought he went with them again today.

I glance over at the house. The garage is closed.

Walking back into the restaurant, I clutch the glasses in my hands, but then I spot him. Leaning on the lunch bar, sipping a glass of soda like he was there the whole time. The worry that started to wind its way into my chest and head melts.

He stands there, his gray T-shirt smudged with grease and dirt, and the sun has certainly worked its magic the past week, putting a tan on his body and color back into his face. The bags under his eyes are still there, but he’s sleeping at least. He looks over at me, and I give him a smile he doesn’t return, but that’s okay. I can read his eyes well enough now to know he had a good day.

It’s a little better since he started getting out of the house more. He refused my offer to make an appointment for him to talk to someone, even though I told him he could do it over the phone, and talking to someone is the best way for him to manage this. But Macon’s instincts tell him he can rely on only himself. I’ll keep trying, though.

Trace and Dallas walk past, whipping off their shirts, and Army circles my waist, bringing me in.

“Miss me?” he asks.

I laugh, drawing my hands back from his chest. “You’re all wet.”

He leans into my ear. “Clean your tables, and then come into the shower and clean me.”

I chew the corner of my mouth, and he waits.

“Seventeen! Order up!”

I jump and pry his hands off.

“Saved by the bell,” he teases as I walk away.

I slip behind the bar, refilling the glasses, and leave them there as I grab my order. I don’t know if Macon is looking at me, but I’m barely aware of anything other than him standing right there as I drop the plates at the table and make my way back for the drinks.

Someone touches my arm. “Can I get rice and beans instead?”

I nod. “Sure.”

I take the drinks to the table outside, come back in and get the rice and beans, and sweep through the room, clearing dishes and getting more napkins.

Army and the guys sit at a table, waiting, and people say things to me but I’m too distracted. I feel Macon’s eyes.

On my stomach, on my hair draping down my arms, on my chest through my white tank top. On my face.

Lost in thought, I’m in Army’s lap before I even know what’s happening.

He smiles, holding me tight.

“Seriously?” I ask.

He needs the whole world to know he’s horny.

Paisleigh rushes in. “¿Puedo tomar algo?”

“Huh?”

“¿Puedo tomar algo?” she says again.

I look at Army in confusion.

He chuckles, looking at my sister. “Yes, you can have something to drink,” he tells her. “Go in the kitchen and ask Mariette. She’ll get you some juice.”

But I grab Paisleigh before she runs off. “You’re learning Spanish?”

“Jasmine only speaks to us in Spanish,” she informs me. “Traeme una limonada,” Army tells her.

She salutes him. “Bueno.” And then she runs off, behind the counter and into the kitchen.

First, riding a bike. Now a new language.

“Seriously?” I say again. “She’s spent less time over here than me, and she speaks the language already?”

“Kids are sponges,” Trace adds.

“You don’t know Spanish.”

“Talking will never be what I’m best at,” he taunts, his double meaning clear with the gleam in his eyes.

Army and Dallas chuckle at his comeback, and I struggle not to roll my eyes.

Glancing over at Macon, I see a couple of women at the counter, one of them swiveling her chair in his direction and smiling. He doesn’t smile back, but he’s talking to her. He nods, his expression calm, his breathing relaxed. Tranquil.

“What’s going on with him?” I hear Army ask.

I tear my eyes away.

I don’t have to ask to know he’s talking about Macon. “Have you asked him that?”

I don’t want to talk about Macon behind his back, even though his family should be involved.

He’s talking to me, though, and I don’t want to ruin that.

“I mean with you and him,” Army clarifies.

“Nothing.” I shrug it off. “He just needs sleep.”

“You’ve slept in his room all week.”

Goose bumps spread up my arms at the reminder of how I can’t wait for the days to end now. How he just looks at me and doesn’t have to say that he doesn’t want to be alone, and I get my pillow and follow him.

Nothing has happened, but I wake up with his arms wrapped around me.

I stare at him talking to the girl. She taps something on her phone and hands it to him. He slips it into his pocket.

Wait … That was his phone. What was she typing into his phone?

Is he going to kick me out of his bed tonight?

“We’re just sleeping,” I murmur to Army. “Nothing else.”

“He keeps looking at you,” he states. “I don’t like it.”

The hair on my arms rises, hearing the jealousy in his tone.

I lift my eyes again, seeing that Macon is looking at me. She talks, but he stares at me now.

I stand up, turning to the guys. “Ready to order?” I ask, changing the subject. I don’t know what to say to Army about Macon, but I know it’s going to take me more than two seconds to figure out. I don’t have time to think right now.

“We already did,” Dallas tells me. “We’re getting it to go and taking it into the bar.”

The bar …

I blink and twist away, grabbing someone’s empty glass and making my way to the counter.

I stop next to Macon as I reach over the counter and pull up the soda gun. I start to refill the drink.

“I don’t think you should drink tonight,” I say as quietly as possible. “Or be having relations with women right now.”

He leans down on the counter again, lifting his cup to his mouth. His jaw flexes. “Relations …”

“You know what I mean.”

I’m not even sure what I mean. Do I mean a relationship, or just sex? I think about it for a second, picturing him on a date. Or taking someone to bed. I don’t like either.

I try to soften my tone. “I just mean that instant gratification behavior does more harm than good. It’s just a Band-Aid over the real problem.”

“I wasn’t going to fuck her, Krisjen.”

My stomach drops a little, like it does every time he says my name.

“Tonight anyway,” he adds, turning to me. “And I’ll be thirty-two in January. I don’t need relationship advice from a teenager.”

I lock my jaw, a lump stuck in my throat. My eyes burn.

A teenager? Is that how he sees me?

I care about him. Does that mean anything to him?

“Just fucking relax,” he says under his breath. “I’m not hanging myself today.”

My chest caves, my face cracking, and I don’t want him to see. I bolt, walking as fast as I can into the kitchen, behind the dishwasher, and press my hands into the cool steel of the countertop. Mariette and the guys work up front, unfazed.

Macon charges into my secluded nook, and I whip around, facing him.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he says. “You’re mad? Then hit me. I’m not made of glass. You can hit me!”

I glimpse the cooks through the small space between the ovens, seeing them look over, but Macon doesn’t seem to care who hears.

“I don’t want to hit you,” I say.

He closes the distance between us, and I suck in a breath as he grabs me underneath my arms and plops my ass down on the counter. He comes in close, one hand on the microwave behind my head.

“You want to take care of me?” he taunts. “Bring me soup and let me cry on your shoulder like someone who’s not a man?”

“That doesn’t make you less of a man!” I whisper-yell. “I just don’t want …”

I trail off. I don’t know how to say it.

“I don’t want …”

“What?” he barks.

“I don’t … I …” I stammer.

“What?” He bares his teeth, pushing away from me. “I don’t know how to do this. What do you want from me?”

“I just don’t want you to leave,” I burst out.

He’s trying to act in a way he thinks normal people do. Drinking, working, sex, because he still can’t let them know that he’s in pain.

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” I search his eyes. “You don’t want her. You don’t want to fuck around in that bar all night.”

Maybe ten years ago, but not anymore.

He inches toward me again, his expression pained. “You don’t know what I want,” he whispers, swallowing hard. “Krisjen, I can’t tell you the things I think about sometimes.”

My chin trembles. I’m scared.

But I do know him.

Taking him by the back of the neck, I draw him in, his eyes cast down and refusing to look at me.

“There are so many people who I don’t see,” I tell him. “My mom and dad. Milo. Trace. No matter how I try to slow down and see them, I can’t.” I take a washcloth off the rack and run the cold water over it, wringing out the excess. “I keep reaching for something I know is there, but I can’t grab it. Like they’re not real. No different than any stranger passing me by, and I just keep walking.”

I place the ice-cold cloth on the back of his neck, feeling him exhale.

“But I see you. Even when I close my eyes, I see you.”

He looks up at me, and I jerk my chin to the restaurant and Bay beyond us. “You take care of them,” I tell him. “I take care of you. End of story.”

He holds my gaze for several seconds, finally closing his eyes and leaning in. Pressing a hand into the microwave behind me again, and the other on the counter at my side, he almost brushes my nose with his. His warm breath falls across my lips.

I press the cloth into his skin, running my other hand over his neck and face.

And everything else in the world quiets as he leans into it. All I can see is him, and all he can see is me.

“Until someone else comes along …” I tell him.

He nods.