Page 44 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

T he phone is heavy in my hand, my heart clenched in my chest. I called Emma, and she screamed in joy, promising she’s coming back to the cities early tomorrow so we can go out for brunch at a new spot by the river.

It felt strange to text Summer, but she needed to know we’re back, and her invitation to coffee or drinks was unexpected.

I couldn’t tell if it was a business meeting or a friend one, but I said yes anyway.

But my dad?

I stare at his name on my fancy new phone, not knowing if I can call him.

What do I say? Obviously, not the truth. But how much can I lie? And what about my mom? The last half year has been peaceful in a way that I’ve never experienced. I’m not worried about her censure or her approval. Between her and Bryce, I’d had no choice but perfection.

Freed, I’m still figuring out who I am. But I don’t want to be perfect, not anymore.

I hit call before I can chicken out, and when it goes to voicemail, I don’t know if I’m relieved or weighed down by the unknown when I leave a stupid, short message telling him I’m back, ending it with a, “Love you, Dad. Call me back.”

Hanging up, my hands shake. This is what makes me lose my mock cool? Calling my dad?

I’m not going to last the week if I don’t get a better handle on myself. Even if it’s been heavenly pretending to be Marcy—basically the happier, freer version of myself—that’s not what’s ahead of me. Although, I wouldn’t mind bringing a bit more Marcy to my life going forward.

Sprawling across my mattress, the sun sneaking through the windows, the muttering of the guys in the kitchen, it’s both so familiar, yet foreign, that I don’t know what to feel.

Just like everything else today.

A knock on the door has me calling out, and Jansen steps through, closing it behind him.

“Have you called Emma or your dad yet?”

“Both. Emma’s coming down tomorrow. I left a message with my dad.”

He sprawls out next to me. “Evie’s coming down tomorrow too, and I have a feeling she’s coordinating her visit with Emma, if you know what I mean. And my mom told me to keep Prince Fluffington, which is so weird. I mean, he was a new cat to her, but still. I never meant to steal one of her babies.”

“Where is his majesty?”

“Holed up in my room. I figure I’ll give him free range of the place in a few days.”

I roll to him, resting my head against his chest. “Hold me?”

His arms wrap around me, and I can finally take a deep breath.

The endless summer sun makes time linger, but the quiet with Jansen, the steady beat of his heart under my ear, reminds me why we’re doing what we’re doing. We deserve better than a life on the run. We have family we love, friends we’ll miss. Lives we weren’t ready to abandon.

No matter what comes next, I’ll remember this moment.

This is what we’re fighting for. And the fight is worth it. Entirely.

The epic feast Walker made, followed by a planned movie marathon of all the Daniel Craig James Bond movies, complete with popcorn none of us had room for, reinforced what I’d tried to remind myself earlier.

We’re worth fighting for.

Even Trips stayed and watched with us, quiet in his chair, not bantering, but not leaving. There weren’t any snide comments or weighty looks while I was passed around the room like a living teddy bear as the night wore on. But between Skyfall and Spectre, he leaves, and my heart sinks.

Rolling out of RJ’s grasp, I scoop up a bowl of popcorn and plop my ass in his chair, wanting to see what the fuss is about.

The only other times I’ve dared to sit here, I’ve been out of my mind with stress.

So, I give it a go, only to find that it’s just a chair.

The same as the other one across from it.

Jansen clicks the next movie on, and as the first chase starts, Trips, against all odds, steps back into the room, his lips in a straight line as he sees me in his chair.

Jansen sees him a second after me and pauses the movie.

“Ooo. Somebody’s in trouble,” he singsongs, his grin reaching manic levels of mischief.

Everyone turns to stare at Trips, to see what he’s going to do. And I tug the bowl of popcorn close to my chest. Not scared, but wary. He stays where he is for a second, then marches over to RJ. “Move.”

“No.”

I don’t think any of us expected that, not even RJ if the tension across his shoulders is any measure.

“You’re going to let her keep the chair?” Jansen asks. “You’ve literally thrown me out of it the few times I’ve tried.”

The redirect shifts Trips’ glare from RJ to Jansen on the couch. Then he huffs out a breath. “Well, Crash. Any ideas about why I like that chair?”

His gaze turns to me with the first flare of energy I’ve felt from him in months. This is familiar. Pushing me, challenging me, asking me to prove that I’m at least as good as he is, if not better.

Glancing around the room, I take a second to think, Walker reaching over and starting the movie again, assuming that whatever I’m going to come up with isn’t something we want whoever is watching us to know.

“I can see both doors to the room,” I say as Trips pushes Walker closer to Jansen and takes the side of the couch closest to me.

“Half of the reason. Why else? Imagine the TV’s off.”

I do, then spin to check behind me. “You can probably see the windows reflected in it during the day, right?”

“Yup.”

I risk looking at him, and while his eyes shout fire, grief consumes me. “No one can sneak up on you when you sit here,” I whisper, wishing that wasn’t the reason he always takes this seat.

“Exactly. And it’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch.”

Standing, the popcorn in my arms, I nod to the chair. “Take it.”

He waves a hand at me. “Keep it. You’ll need it more than me. And I can see basically the same shit from here.”

After a second, I settle back into the chair.

The rest of the movie flashes in front of me, and I don’t notice any of it.

Instead, I cuddle the bowl of popcorn and wish that I existed in an alternate reality.

One where this was a typical night. Where there wasn’t disaster around every corner, mountains of memories of terrible things for all of us.

Walker, so overlooked that he gave up on ever being seen for himself, despite being one of the most naturally talented people I’ve ever met.

RJ, responsible for literally keeping a roof over his family’s heads, even though he was only a kid, still carrying that responsibility, adding more and more weight until it’s crushing him.

Jansen, stealing to survive for so long that he can’t survive without the thrill of stealing.

Trips, broken in more ways than anyone ever should be, and still trapped in the iron grip of his abuser.

And me—twisted by consistent small tugs from people I assumed knew better than me for so long that I can’t even figure out what shape I’m supposed to be.

I want the alternate reality so badly, my lungs ache for a breath of pure, free air.

I’m going to make it happen. For all of us.

And the plan begins the second this reprieve ends.