Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(25)

“Screw ‘em.”

The corner of his lips twitch, but he faces forward.

A loud crash pulls our attention to the house, a sharp, screamed ‘fuck’ following, and my shoulders fall.

I don’t want to get out, but I don’t even belong in this car.

I turn to Royce.

“That your aunt?”

I sigh. “Yeah. I’m surprised she’s up. She’s always either gone when ten hits or good and passed out. I think that’s why she makes me come in late, so she doesn’t have to stare into the same eyes that haunt her own nightmares.”

I look to Royce and while his anger seems to have deepened, he doesn’t have to ask what I mean, the answer’s so obvious.

Before my dad became an evil dad, he was an evil brother.

“What do you do once inside?” he rasps.

“Cook, clean, fix what needs fixing, sometimes talk my cousin off a ledge, even if it’s a day I want to throw her over it.”

“Why do you bother with her at all?”

“Because it’s what’s right.” I give a small smile. “What sign are you?”

“Sign?”

“Your zodiac sign.”

He frowns. “Pisces ”

A grin pulls at my lips and I look away. “Now it all makes sense.”

When I look back, he eyes me curiously, and with slow, almost reluctant movement, Royce reaches over to shove my door open.

Impulses of a boy, manners of a man.

I climb out, waiting for the sound of the soft engine to roar away behind me, but it sits idle until I’m on the porch pushing the front door open.

With my hand on the edge of the worn wood, my body tucked half inside, I trail the little white car as it inches away, squinting at the brake lights when it comes to a full stop in the exact spot Mac was parked when Royce lifted me off the ground and led us both into the back seat earlier this morning.

The car continues to sit there, leaving no doubt in my mind that the guy sitting in the driver’s seat has his eyes on me from a quarter of a mile down the road, waiting for me to close myself inside. Still, I stand there a few minutes longer.

I somehow know once I step into the house, he’ll be gone, and not just for the night, but from this town.

And I’m right.

It wasn’t so bad meeting you, Royce Brayshaw.

See you never.





Chapter 7





Royce

The solo drive home is a shitty, long one I never want to take again, but far too fucking necessary.

Straight-up, my little trip gave me zero satisfaction, but instead fucked with my head in ways I didn’t see coming.

I should be fuckin’ whistling along, but instead I’m cussing myself out, irritated over shit that maybe I shouldn’t be.

My mind’s playing games, my thoughts are a chaotic-ass mess, and every time I think I can drown them out, they give me the middle finger and float right back to the damn surface. Mocking me. Screaming for me to do something that I know is real damn dumb and bound to be a mistake. But I need a fucking minute.

I need to breathe with my brothers beside me because god damn.

What the fuck, man?

Thank fuck I’m home now, it’ll be easy to escape myself here.

On that thought, I turn onto Brayshaw property with a heavy sigh of relief.

I cruise right by the girls and boys group homes at the entrance, slowing when I reach the backside and spot Maybell pushing open the back patio door.

She’s the old wise-ass woman who’s been in the Brayshaw family since forever, long before we became a part of it. She started as a maid, but quickly earned the respect she’s worth, and has been loyal to our family name since the day she stepped into it.

I, for one, fully believe she’s some kind of psychic. The woman knows everything, senses even more, but leaves our minds to work where necessary. She speaks on issues or concerns only when she suspects a need for it.

She also was the one who raised my brothers and me, when my dad was here... and when he wasn’t. We love her like I imagine a son would love his mother—with as much of ourselves as we can.

I knew she’d be watching for my safe return.

She’s always watching.

I put the car in park and quickly run over to her before she reaches the steps.



“Come on now, Miss Maybell,” I tease. “Don’t break a hip.”

She gives a small scoff, but grins through it. “And don’t go thinkin’ you’re too big for a whoopin’ now.”

I chuckle, pausing a step beneath her and she lifts her wrinkled hands to pat my cheeks.

“Boy,” she says softly, her deep, dark eyes searching my own.

Not a second later, a small sigh leaves her, and she steps back.

“You found what you went searching for,” she says.

I told no one where I was going or why, but like I said... psychic.

“I did. It was... short of my expectation.” I grin at my own joke, and damn if she doesn’t laugh as if she understands it full well.

She probably does.

“You be careful, boy,” she warns with a gentle ease. “Expectations are for fools, and you are far from one of those.”

I reach out, giving her hand a light squeeze, and she offers a knowing smile, worry working its way into her eyes.