Page 73 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

T hursday morning, the tenor in the house changes, and I know with no one saying that the man of the house is back.

Falk’s black eye and ginger steps are another sign that he’s back. Apparently Trips and I getting that morning alone wasn’t a trap, but some strange gift given to us by the man who’s been Trips’ shadow for weeks.

Running my hand over the fading mark on my neck, I wonder if he knows how big of a gift that morning was. And if so, whether we should trust him with more.

How much has Trips already shared with the older man?

So many questions hover around us, but I can’t get answers until I gain access to open communication with all the guys.

Because the silence at the Westerhouse estate is just as frustrating as not being able to check in with Walker, RJ, and Jansen.

Both of us know the risks, though, so I don’t ask the questions cycling in my head, even while we’re seated beside each other in the car.

Instead, I curl against Trips, his touch more familiar today as he plays with one of my curls.

And as another gift, Falk gets us coffees again, despite Smith’s bitching.

We might have an ally.

Because good days come so rarely, I decide I’m well enough to take the risk I’ve been planning. Then I can finally check in on everyone.

After class, I don’t ask Smith to go to the bathroom. Instead, I meet Walker’s concerned gaze across the lobby as I turn away from him and towards the door.

The day is dreary, rain threatening, the bright scent of fresh grass competing with the hint of ozone warning of a big storm on its way.

I don’t know how to signal to Walker what I’m doing, but he has to know that I need a way to communicate, that despite school starting I still don’t have the internet.

But without a visual code— why didn’t we learn sign language? —I’ll just hope that he can catch on.

When I step outside, I worry that I’ve timed it wrong, the blue sports car not parked illegally today. “What the fuck is in my shoe?” I mutter, ducking down to pretend to fish something out.

Walker steps around me, and the urge to grab onto his ankle, to jump up and fling myself into his arms, to just touch him, for one second, is so strong that I dig my fingers into my palms to keep them to myself.

But the screech of rubber has me standing, the hint of a grin on my face caught by him, and when I flick my eyes at Aiden Johnson’s ride, I hope I’ve successfully telegraphed my target.

It would be better if Jansen were here, but once again, he’s nowhere to be seen, making me worried about what’s happened since I last saw him. It’s only been a little over a week since he peered at me through a crack in the bathroom ceiling, but a lot can change in a week.

Luckily, we practiced, drilled really, for months.

None of us are at Jansen’s level, but we all have basic lifts down.

So, when Walker bumps into Aiden, his apologies met with anger and annoyance, I know he’s done the lift.

And when Aiden rushes past and Walker spins, bumping into me instead, Aiden’s keys, wallet, and cell phone in hand, I take the keys and phone, leaving the wallet for him to figure out.

“Sorry,” I say as Smith yells, ‘Watch it,’ pushing Walker to the side. I take a few more steps before dropping to the ground, the cellphone jammed into my bra and the keys in my hand.

“Did you drop this?” I call, causing both Aiden and Walker to turn back.

“What the fuck?” Aiden barks, stomping back to grab the keys, before rushing to class, even later than he usually is. Walker, meanwhile, crosses to the other side of the quad, but not before I see the hint of a grin.

It worked. I’ve got a phone, and hopefully I can find a safe way to use it.

I need to know how everyone is and that the plan is still moving on their end. And I need to let the guys know that I’m okay. Mostly okay. Which is better off than I thought I’d be, even if I never would have told them that.

If I had, we’d never have gotten this far.

Mattie meets us at the door, and after a quick consultation, I’m invited to walk the grounds with her.

I feel like I stepped foot into a historical drama when Smith says those words to me.

But a chance to be outside is a chance I don’t question, so I follow the girl out back while Falk marches Trips toward the rose garden.

The pending storm from earlier still hasn’t hit, but the sky is dark enough that it looks more like night than day. “Wait, how are you out of school this early?” I ask Mattie, Smith giving us fake privacy from about fifteen feet back.

“Early release day. I’m killing time before I go to the movies,” she says, shooting me a grin.

“Are you, then? How were the movies last week?”

“Great. Thanks for asking.” She dances on her toes, too excited to keep it contained. What would I give to be healed enough to find an outlet for my energy?

“So, what can you tell me about your friend?”

She hops onto a bench along the path, walking it like it’s a balance beam.

“Well, he’s really sweet, and kind, and he says the nicest things to me.

He wants to get me gifts, but I don’t know how to explain that to Father, so instead, he brings me all my favorite foods. Oh, and he’s hot. Like super-hot.”

“Always a plus.”

With power that reminds me of her brother, and hints at the mountain of fencing awards she’s gathered over the years, she leaps from the bench, turning to walk backwards as I catch up. “Say, are you the same age as Trips?”

“No. I’m a year behind all the guys.” I probably shouldn’t be talking about them like we’re still together, but we are, and I don’t want to lie to Mattie.

There are too many lies, too much silence for the buoyant girl before me.

I will not be like the rest of her family.

And it’s not like the head of the household doesn’t know my situation.

Like hell I’m going to pretend my heart doesn’t belong to all the guys.

All of them.

Even the silent, grumpy one.

Not that I’m telling him that yet. Repairing trust doesn’t happen overnight, as much as I wish it did.

“I think I get the appeal of older guys,” Mattie says, pulling me from my thoughts.

One year isn’t much of an age gap, but at fifteen, I guess it is. “Yeah? Your friend is older?”

Her chin ducks as I catch up to her. “Yeah.”

There’s more there, so I stay quiet, hoping she’ll take the opening.

“Say, I know this is weird, but I’ve talked to my friends, and they’re useless about this stuff.

Their families don’t care if they date. And none of them have anything like the restrictions I have, so I’m not sure they’re the best ones to give me advice.

So, I know this is awkward and all, but yeah.

” She clears her throat. “How do you know when you’re, you know, ready? ”

I blink back my surprise. Mattie must really be struggling if she brought this to me. “Honestly? Probably a month after you think you are.”

She giggles. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I haven’t always made the best choices. And my mistakes landed me here. More or less.”

“That’s bleak.”

“Maybe a little. But your father, he’s…”

“An evil megalomaniac who needs everything in his life to be exactly the way he wants it to be?”

I laugh. “Yeah. That. So, you, more than anyone, have to be careful. You can’t rush into anything. The risks are too high.”

Her face drops. “That’s what I figured.”

“It’s not what you wanted to hear.”

“No, but still. It’s good to have an adult’s opinion.”

“Adult-adjacent, please. I’m not sure I can claim full adulthood yet.”

Half of a smile curls across her face, our path leading us down to the dock, the usually calm water choppy from the wind across the lake. She kicks off her shoes, plopping down at the end of the dock, dipping her toes in the water. After a glance at Smith on shore, I do the same.

“So, how’s your fancy prison?” she asks.

“Fancy. A prison.”

Leaning back, her auburn hair caught in the wind, she looks like a wild thing, some fey creature that should dance barefoot on the moors, not live locked in a silent house of secrets and abuse. “Do you hate him now?” she asks.

“Hate who?”

“Archie?”

Tuesday morning comes back to me, and a little of the tension she’s holding vanishes as she sees my face. “No. I don’t hate him. This isn’t his fault.”

“It’s our fucked-up family.”

“It’s your fucked-up dad. But we’ll figure it out.”

“You have a lot of blind faith in the future if you believe that, Clara.”

I say nothing, not sure how much I can trust her. Trips trusts her, but she’s still a fifteen-year-old girl.

Although, the longer I’m here, the more I feel like Westerhouse ages are like dog years—each day feels like a week, and each month like a year.

“It’s not just blind faith, is it?”

I glance at her, but she has her head tipped back and eyes closed, like she’s sunning at the beach instead of waiting on a storm, thunder muttering from the southwest.

Following suit, I take a risk. Today’s the day for them. “No, it’s not.”

“Do you really think you can go head-to-head with my father and come out the winner?”

“Not solo.” I stare at the dark clouds across the water. “It’s only possible if your dad’s weakness becomes my strength.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone.”

“Exactly.”

A flash of lightning has me pushing to my feet, Mattie slower to follow.

Before we step off the dock, she squeezes my hand. “I’m not on my father’s team.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I reply, the phone heavy in my bra as the wind tears across the water, the storm closing the distance fast.

With a split second to decide, I pull her into an awkward hug, transferring the phone from my bra to the pouch of her green sweatshirt, the weight of it registering as a slight rounding of her eyes.

“Keep my team safe? Maybe hang out outside a little more often?” I ask, knowing my best chance of working with the phone is out here on the grounds rather than my prison indoors.

This grin of hers is wild and real, the smile of the girl she would have been, had life not dealt her a shit set of cards. “Definitely. How else am I going to get to know my new sister?”

She takes my arm in hers, and together, we race the rain back to the house, the first fat, cold drops soaking us as we stumble into the kitchen, real laughter worth the pain in my ribs.

I won’t let the silence win.