Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(78)

“Oh yeah,” I spin the bandana around my wrist. “When?”

“Couple days ago. I went into the Chinese place downtown to use the restroom, and when I was coming out, he was walking in.”

He hates Chinese food.

He followed her there.

“What’d he say?”

“Asked how I was, how it was going at the house, and about you, duh.”

I nod, rubbing my lips together. “What’d you tell him?”

“That if he was smart, he wouldn’t go around asking about Captain Brayshaw’s newest Bray Girl.” She shrugs, passing me the joint.

Bet he just loved hearing that.

“He just laughed,” she continues. “Saw him leave a few minutes later. He got a new car.”

My brows pull and I look to her. “Yeah?”

She nods. “Must have found himself a nice gig wherever it is he took off to. That sucker couldn’t have been cheap.”

I nod, but don’t comment.

What are you up to, Mike?

Nira takes one more hit and passes it back again, slowly pushing to her feet. “I’ve got to take a shower before the rest of the girls get done with their chores and hog the hot water. See you around.”

Just like that, the other half of the day is left for me and my jumbled mind.

I make my way around the front of the group home, glancing from the girls’ to the boys’ home just across from it, and out at the street ahead.

Fuck it.

I drop onto the grass where I stand and pull my phone out, flipping it around in my hand.

I take a deep breath, glaring at the screen.

I decide to try Maria again, but again there is no answer and her mailbox is full. It’s annoying, and to be honest I don’t even know why I keep trying, if she doesn’t want to talk, that’s fine. I shouldn’t care.

I don’t care.

But why the fuck can’t she answer?

What if it was about Zoey?

Where’s Captain?

And why the fuck is Mike still here and how the hell did he buy a new car?

I scoff at myself.

He’s here because he hasn’t had a chance to say bye to me yet.

Maybe I should go find him?

Maybe I’m just bored out of my mind.

“What are you doin’, girl?”

My shoulders fall, a sigh leaving me as I glance over my shoulder, shielding my eyes to see beyond the sun. Maybell comes down the steps, a town car pulling in in perfect timing with her feet hitting the walkway.

“Getting some sun.” Getting away from the Bray house.

She eyes me, her lips pursed. “Mmhm. Come on now, get on in.”

I frown. “Why?”

Her dark brows lift. “’Cause I said, child. Get in. You can use a distraction. Getting some sun,” she mocks with a scoff, “Girl, please.”

A chuckle leaves me, and I’m tempted to ask how she would know, but that’s a fool’s question. She knows everything, so I push to my feet. “All right.”

The car doesn’t stop at the main grocery store she would normally go to, I know because I used to help her carry them inside. The driver continues down the road a little farther, and around the corner where another smaller store sits amidst a neighborhood.

We get inside and start checking off items on Maybell’s long-ass list—it takes a lot to feed ten to twelve teenage girls.

“I heard you made your cinnamon rolls,” she says, pointing to a large bag of rice.

I bend down to grab it, dropping it into the cart, before bringing my eyes to hers. “Gee, wonder how Rolland was aware I knew how.”

Her smile is small as she continues to push the cart farther down the aisle. “I wonder...”

When I shake my head, she chuckles and nods toward a case of flour.

“You know, that’s my recipe.”

My eyes slide to hers, and slowly I set the item into the cart.

“Made those for Raven’s mother when she was young, for Rolland and the boys’ biological fathers, for the boys as they grew...”

For everyone but Zoey.

I frown, my hand shooting out and gripping the metal cart and her eyes come to mine.

They’re gentle and knowing, and it pisses me off more.

“Why tell Rolland knowing he’d ask me to. That wasn’t my memory to take,” I voice. “Hasn’t she lost enough family firsts or traditions?”

Maybell’s smile is kind, maybe a little saddened. “You’ve been making those for her for some time, Tor.”

My heart shakes.

And there it is.

She did know.

“Why would you teach me how to make them?” I didn’t mean to whisper, but that’s how my words come out.

I don’t even know why I asked.

The answer is obvious.

Because she knew. She knew where I was disappearing to each day and what Zoey was missing out on already, so she gave me something she trusted I’d give her. A piece of home I never knew existed. Sure, it’s a damn recipe, but it’s their recipe.

I let go of the cart and face forward again.

We get halfway around the store, the cart already half full, when her usual helper from the group home finds us, deeming me useless.

I could stay, but she’s aware I’m not fond of others and would use this lady’s arrival as my escape anyway, so she turns to me before I can.