Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(18)
“Zoey Bear! I miss you!”
“I miss you!” She giggles. “Uncle D said you want me to watch cartoons with him tomorrow ‘cause you’re not home.”
“Uncle D is a li—”
“Okay,” Cap cuts me off with a glare and I fight a grin.
We might be fucked-up assholes, but we’re trying to teach our niece, Cap’s baby girl, our way of life, and one of the biggest pieces to keeping it as straight as we’ve managed is our no lie rule. No matter how big the issue, how fucked-up we imagine the aftermath of the truth, that’s what we give. Always.
Sure, this is tiny and nearly irrelevant as far as dishonesties go—my brother trying to compete for that top uncle spot with me—but to a toddler, a lie is a lie.
So I smile for my niece, nodding my head, and damn, she gives back.
Maddoc chuckles to himself and I flip him off when Zoey looks to her dad as he stands up and disappears from sight.
“So what’s on the menu tonight?”
Light chuckles leave them, and they all look to Raven.
I try to push away the hint of seclusion it brings. I mean, fuck, I’m the one who came here without them when they’d have hopped in the car with me without a question asked had I asked them to.
Still, that nasty sense of fish out of fucking water creeps in.
Raven notices, her eyes narrowing, but I avoid eye contact.
“Well, we ordered Chinese at the pregnant lady’s request,” Victoria teases.
“But she said it tasted like shit,” Maddoc grumbles. “I swear to God, all she wants to eat is Doritos with hot sauce and sweets.”
I laugh, making a mental note to stock up on loads of bad-for-you shit for her when I get home.
Cap comes back, setting a plate in front of Zoey, and she climbs down to eat.
“What is that?”
“Fried chicken. And guess what he fried it in?” Victoria raises a playful brow. “Crushed up Doritos.”
I smile and Maddoc shakes his head at his girl, grabbing two plates from Captain and then they’re all on screen again, food in hand.
Maddoc nods his chin at my bag, so I tear it open and pull out a fat tri-tip sandwich.
“Not much to pick from around here, but they’ve got enough barbeque shit to last a lifetime.”
All three give light nods.
I know they want to ask where ‘here’ is, but they won’t. They know I’ll tell them the truth if they do, but the fact that I didn’t offer it up means I don’t feel like sharing yet, and they won’t push unless they feel the need to.
Instead, Cap asks, “Mac head out already?”
“Yup,” I say through a mouthful. “He’ll be there by morning.”
My brothers nod but not Raven.
“You’re fine without him?” She watches me closely.
“I’m a big-ass boy, RaeRae,” I tease.
She drops her fork with a click that echoes through the speaker. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. You’re by yourself. Away from us.”
“I’m good.”
“Says the guy who hates riding in the back seat by his damn self.”
A choked cough disguised as a laugh fills the stale smelling room, and I shift on the bed.
“For real, I’m fine.”
Worry draws her brows together, but she looks away, knowing I’m here and they’re there and there’s nothing changing about that until I decide there is. I love her ass for pausing to voice her concern though—she understands me fully.
Captain shifts the mood to something lighter, and we bullshit our way through the rest of dinner, hanging up after we agree to hop on at the same time tomorrow, and every other night until we’re all back where we should be.
When we were seven, our father gave us tokens meant to link us physically, when emotionally we were since day one.
He gave Maddoc a key, Captain brass knuckles, and me a white gold chain donning the family crest.
Each had their own meaning linked directly to who he saw in our eyes, and mine is a presentation of our family’s strength as a whole.
At seven, I was smaller than my brothers, skinnier, but not weaker. I was ten-foot-tall in my mind when I stood less than half of that. I remember our dad told me I walked spine straight and shoulders strong, head high and proud.
He gave me the chain that then hung low over my abdomen, and said the crest was mine to wear proudly, like a soldier with his tags, like a general does his medals. He said it represented the fight our family had. The fight he knew I would never walk away or cower from.
At seven, maybe even younger, our father saw strength we didn’t yet know, but believed in.
But we know it now.
I pull the chain from beneath my shirt, reading over the inscription on the back, the same inspiration etched into each of our items.
A couple of years ago I tattooed the words on my body, so that if I ever lost this necklace, they’d still be with me, reminding me of what I could never forget.
Family runs deeper than blood.
A bold, brave statement that’s the truest I’ve ever heard.
We understood the power of those words as kids, and we hold them even higher now.
The ones we love most, we share nothing less than our hearts, minds, and lives with.
Something like having dinner together might seem trivial to those on the outside, but it’s far fucking more to us.