Always Crew by Tijan

BREN

“I want to see her!”

A strangled sounding yell woke us up the next morning. Cross flipped over in bed, his feet hitting the floor a second later. He grabbed pants and then he was up, flying out the door, and I could hear him running down the stairs. My guess, he was taking three steps at once and then bam. He was on the main floor. The fact he wasn’t trying to be quiet spoke to how worried he was, but I could’ve told him not to be.

I recognized that yell.

I would’ve recognized that yell any day, any time, anywhere.

My dad was here.

And then, like a bad déjà vu moment, I heard my brother’s voice responding right back. His was low and muffled, but it was there, and even up here, even with a concussion, I knew he was pissed. This had been my life for so many years until Channing moved out.

I took a deep breath. One breath. And then I sat up, ignoring the pounding in my head.

I had had concussions before. This wasn’t anything new. I knew the protocol. Knew what I had to do, couldn’t do, but heading downstairs and making sure that either or both of my family members didn’t leave was one thing I could do. I moved slower, gingerly, because fuck, my vision was still wonky. Grabbing some shorts, a bra, and a shirt, I padded barefoot out to them.

No one heard me coming.

Well, no one except Zellman who was coming out of his bedroom.

He was standing at the top of the stairs, only in boxers, and I saw some scratches on his back that I didn’t need to see. There was movement inside his room, and I looked. A girl stared back at me, her hair a mess. She blinked a few times, lines around her eyes soft from sleep, and then she rolled back over, taking the bedsheet with her.

It was the nurse from the ER, and I didn’t even want to know how that had transpired.

I mean, I knew how.

When?

Never mind.

I moved up behind Z, and he glanced at me, moving so there was room. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said back.

We were both talking in muted tones.

There was more talking happening downstairs, all quieter than before. Cross had joined the conversation, and I heard the squeak of another door. Recognizing the basement door, Jordan was about to either join the convo, get coffee, or head back downstairs. A beat later, he passed by the stairs and glanced up. Doing a double take, he changed courses and came up.

He nodded at Z, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. Instead of boxers, he was wearing only pajama pants. They were slipping low on his hips and his eyes took me in, staying on the side of my face the longest. “What are you doing up here?”

Right.

I forgot.

“You guys had people over last night. Cross thought we’d sleep better up here. The sounds, you know.”

He cringed. “Sorry. I didn’t even think of that.”

I shrugged. “Usually you’re fine. No big deal.”

“How are you feeling this morning?”

I lied, “Better.”

Both started laughing.

“Such a shitty liar, Bren.” Jordan tsked, grinning, but he nodded toward the bottom of the stairs. “Should we wade in?”

There was sound behind us, coming from Zellman’s room. The bed creaked, padding barefoot, and then his bathroom door shut on a similar sounding creak like the basement door.

Zellman was hiding a grin.

Jordan’s head inclined. “Are you kidding me?”

Zellman shrugged.

I added, “It’s my nurse from yesterday.”

“What?”

Zellman laughed under his breath. “She slipped me her number, asked to give it to you. I used it instead. She didn’t seem to mind last night.”

And now I knew how that happened.

“Jesus.”

I was snickering, too.

“Enough!” That came from Cross, and hearing his irritation, the rest of us snapped back to attention.

I sighed.

Yes, I had a concussion, but I’d been the one to call my dad to town. Cross was right. Enough was enough. I started to move down the stairs, but Zellman caught the back of my shirt. He raised his eyebrows. “You can hide today, you know. You’ve earned that. We can handle this.”

That was tempting, but I shook my head. “Concussion or not, I need to deal with my dad and let Chan know that he doesn’t need to literally sleep on my couch to take care of me.”

“You sure, Bren?” Jordan dropped his voice low.

I could hear my brother talking in a muffled voice downstairs. The old memories were starting to swim to the surface. I couldn’t deal with that. They’d be fighting in two seconds, Cross was in the mix.

Yes. I was sure.

Cross was standing in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest as I came down the stairs.

My dad was standing just inside the door, to the right. He was throwing a look my brother’s way, while alternating with a different one toward Cross. His eyebrows were furrowed, and the sides of his mouth were turned down.

I’d been more shocked at seeing him the last time, seeing him out of prison, so I hadn’t really taken him in. This time I did. No one looked up at me. I was still barefoot, so I was silent, and I paused, taking a moment, taking a breath, and really looked at my dad.

He’d always been trim, almost lean, but there was slightly more bulk to his frame now. I was guessing from lifting weights in prison. His hair was kept the same, trimmed, but it always pushed the line between being trimmed down and starting to get a little curl to it. He had it almost military shaved this time. No beard. No mustache that he used to keep. He was tan, but he’d always been tanned. And he liked to wear frayed, yet baggy, jeans along with a white shirt and a jean jacket over it. The shirt was usually stained. The jacket was always tossed on to cover the stain, so the jacket ended up frayed to match the jeans. It’d been his go-to attire, and that was the biggest difference now.

He was still wearing jeans with rider boots, but his jeans were new. They were almost trendy jeans.

I felt a little kick to my sternum because I didn’t know how I felt about that.

New jeans. A belt, for the first time I ever saw one on him, and a buttoned-up shirt. Dark blue to match his jeans. It almost looked denim, but it wasn’t. But that wasn’t it. He had a tie, too. A dark gray tie.

I reached out without thinking, grasping the handrail, and I squeezed.

I didn’t know why I was squeezing.

He looked like someone who was coming from church, and that gave me pause.

I must’ve made a noise.

All three looked up, but those eyes—they were mine.

I sucked in a breath at that.

I knew. I always knew, but in the past few years, I had started to dream that I had Mom’s eyes. I didn’t. Channing did. Me. I had our dad’s eyes. And his hair because I was remembering that he spent so much time outside that his hair had gotten sun streaks from it. Not now. It was dark like mine, though mine was still darkened black from this summer.

I wanted new hair for a new chapter in my life.

Having him here, he was bringing an old chapter back, a lot of old chapters back, actually.

My heart started pounding. My vision started to swim.

I didn’t know how I was feeling about any of this.

“Hey.”

There. I drew in another harsh breath, because that was Cross. Low, gravelly, and smooth at the same time. He was my anchor. That voice, I clung to it, and let it pull me back in. I felt it readying my world again, making everything go back to equilibrium.

I turned my head, finding Cross and only Cross.

His eyes were narrowed slightly, concerned, but also patient. I saw it all, and I felt it all.

He’d let me lead.

I gave him a slight nod, and he returned the motion, moving back a little as I descended the rest of the stairs.

Channing was standing in the small clearing that led past the stairs and in front where the television was. It was the way to the kitchen.

He didn’t look like he’d slept either. His hair was sticking up, like he’d been grabbing at it. Unlike Cross, my brother had pulled on some sweats that rested on his hips, and like Cross, he was also shirtless. His tattoos seemed to stand out more this morning for some reason. It might’ve been my concussion. Everything was brighter, more detailed, more blinding.

The scowl on my brother’s face was almost more glowering than I remembered last night.

Then, because I had to address him, I lifted my gaze and felt another piercing effect. His eyes were on me, searing me, looking into me. They were warm. Sparkling. Almost glittering. And he was looking me all over, tracing my face, looking down, taking in my toes, sweeping back up, and as he did, I warmed under the scrutiny. I didn’t know why.

Yes, you do.

I paused, hearing my own voice mixed with my mother’s voice whispering in my head.

She/I was right.

Me and Dad. That’s how it’d been for so many years.

Mom was gone. Channing was gone. It’d been him and me. There’d been bad years, but there’d been good, too.

My throat swelled up, remembering that last night so many years ago.

In my room.

Hearing his footsteps going to bed.

Feeling that guy with me, hoping, praying, needing a miracle that he would check on me, and then he did. But he didn’t open the door.

I needed him to open the door.

Then his hands, and his words when he did come in, after I stabbed the guy, and after I was getting ready to finish the job.

“Bren.”

I forgot he said that.

I rocked back, almost falling until a hand touched my arm. Cross. His strength moved through me, and I clung to it, remembering. I was allowing myself to remember.

I was straddling the guy, already stabbing him.

Then, a hand to my arm. My dad. He was so gentle at that moment.

“Bren. Sweetheart.” He drew me off of him, setting me on my feet, while at the same time taking my knife in his own hand. He moved, touching my shoulders and guiding me to the door. “Go, Bren. I don’t want you to see this.”

He thought I went to the door.

He thought I left.

And he turned, the guy had made a gurgling sound.

My dad didn’t look to make sure I was gone. He just knelt and finished what I’d been about to do.

It all hit me right then, all at the same time.

I’d forgotten what he said exactly, and the aftermath, how he saw I hadn’t left, but he wasn’t mad. He took a deep breath, the sound of both of us panting in that quiet room, sounding like deafening echoes to my eardrums.

He crossed the room, took the phone, and dialed 9-1-1. He held it to me, saying, “You should be the one to call.” He nodded to the guy. “I’m the one who did it all. Not you. Got that?”

I swallowed all those emotions as I was brought back to the present, feeling tears threatening to fall. I said, my voice shaking and in a whisper, “Hi, Dad.”

“No.”

Channing broke the tense silence that had fallen over the room.

He moved forward. “No. This is enough. You came here? To her house? Just go.” He rubbed between his eyes. “We will come to you. I’ll bring her to you.”

Derrick.

I was going to use his first name because it felt wrong to call him Dad. He wasn’t, not really, not anymore.

Derrick turned to him, a gleam of pain tightening his features, but he masked it. His jaw clenched, and his Adam’s apple moved up and down. “Channing—”

“Don’t Channing me either. You’re here for her, not for me…and by the way, are you actually here for her? I had a word with her boss yesterday. He filled me in a whole bunch about Red Demon activity. Your timing is suspect—”

Derrick glanced my way but didn’t say anything.

Well, leave it to me because I would say what I needed to. “I called him. Channing—”

“No.” Channing looked my way. His eyes were burning, blazing. “I knew you would, Bren. He knew you would because that’s who you are. You handle things eventually, but I told him.” He swung back to Derrick. “I told you to call me before even thinking of heading her way. I told you.”

“I know.”

Channing tipped his chin up, his anger radiating off of him in waves. “Then why are you here?”

Derrick held his hand in the air, then he blinked a few times. The side of his mouth flattened, and he swallowed again. “I’m—she called me, Channing. My daughter called me. You’ll understand one day, too. I came. I didn’t want to give you the chance to stop me. I—” He swung his hand toward me in an almost helpless gesture. “She called me. It’s been years since I’ve seen her, and she called me. Me, dammit.”

He was whispering by the end, pain filling his gaze, and he hung his head.

Channing drew in a sharp breath, seeing it all.

He looked at me. “You want this?”

He was trying to protect me.

“I—” I closed my mouth because what could I say here? He was finally being my brother, something he’d fought to achieve for so long, and I was letting him. I needed it now, welcomed it, but … He was our dad, both of ours.

Channing’s next words were stricken, cutting to the bone. “You got so dark, Bren. So dark. I thought we were going to lose you one day.”

Derrick closed his eyes, as if physically struck. Then he held firm, standing still.

He was doing what I used to do, standing so still that I thought I could disappear.

I was so like him.

I hadn’t realized it until now.

“I have to talk to him, and it’s time. Things are happening. His world is mixing with mine, so I made a call.”

Channing’s gaze held mine, weighing my words, and he dipped his head down. “Fine.” His hands went to his hips. He cursed. “I should put a shirt on.” He eyed Cross. “That’s what you sleep in? When you sleep next to my sister?”

Cross let out a sharp, but strangled laugh. “Fuck you.”

Derrick had opened his eyes, hearing the new exchange, and he looked from Channing to Cross with an almost awed expression.

Channing rolled his eyes. “Where are the other two dwarves?” He swung his head toward Derrick, a hardness biting his tone. “Bren’s decided, so you’re about to meet her three dwarves. Sleepy, Dopey, and Grumpy.”

A creak came from the top of the stairs…it was Zellman and Jordan. Of course, they were staying in the shadows, listening until they needed to be made known. They moved out so they were in view now. Both still shirtless, and Jordan glared at Channing. “I echo Cross’ sentiment. Fuck you.”

A hard smile crossed my brother’s face. “Here’s the Wolf Crew, Derrick. You want your daughter back in your life, they come as a package.” His gaze passed over me, softening. “Moose said he was going to take a shower. That bathroom is small downstairs. I should make sure he didn’t literally get stuck just trying to enter the room.”

He shot our dad another look before heading to the basement. Going down, we heard him holler, “Moose, you alive down there?” There was a thump, followed by a pounding of footsteps, and we could hear Moose’s deep voice responding, though his words were muffled.

Zellman and Jordan came down the stairs, hesitant as they looked from me to my dad.

Right.

Introductions.

That was my job.

Cross beat me to it. “Derrick, I’m Cross Shaw.” He touched the small of my back, nodding behind me to the others. “This is Zellman and Jordan. Like Channing said, we’re a package deal with your daughter.”

I leaned into Cross, his hand sweeping up and down my back. I needed that touch, yearning for more.

My dad saw it, noting my reaction, and he nodded slowly. “I heard, but now I’m seeing it for myself.” He gave me a timid smile. “You’re glowing, Bren. Damned glowing. Makes a dad proud to see that.”

Glowing.

Huh.

Never had that term used to describe me before, but fine. I’d take it.

Zellman yawned. “Okay. Now that it seems like knives aren’t going to be drawn, can you all move it to the kitchen? I’ve got a chick I need to move out of here.”