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eat. They even made sweet tea that’s so sweet anyone who drinks it is at risk of falling into a sugar coma.
Me: I’m depending on you to lock the doors tonight and flip the porch light.
It’s my written reminder to Brandon to do what I’ve been encouraging him to do every night since we’ve been home.
The party started off as a family one with tons of little kids running around like they owned the place, but at eight anyone under eighteen had to go. Mom kissed me on the cheek, packed up Brandon and left. I’m officially at my first adult party. I’m assuming they’re letting Chevy stay because he’ll be eighteen himself soon and they consider being kidnapped an age handicap.
Brandon: I feel better when you or Mom do it.
Me: I know, but you can do this. I have faith in you.
He needs to do it. Simple things can cause him anxiety, and the kidnapping backtracked a lot of progress we had made. He was locking the doors before my kidnapping, regressed, and we will re-win this situation.
Brandon: I’ll do it. I promise.
I breathe out in relief. Brandon doesn’t like to break promises. He’s enough of a Terror boy that his words mean something. Me: I love you.
Brandon: Love you, too.
It’s a cool night, but not cold. The type that makes it nice to sit and admire the stars. All three boys wear black leather jackets. Oz and Razor wear their cuts as well, and Chevy’s football hoodie swallows me whole, but keeps me warm. The music is loud, the beer free-flowing, there is lots of laughter and stories being told and a part of me is sad that I can’t find an ounce of energy to go enjoy this party the million ways I thought I would as I grew up a child of the Terror.
I’m lost. Chevy is lost. So is Razor. I glance up from my not-even-touched red Solo cup of beer and look straight into Oz’s eyes. Oz and I share a complicated relationship. He’s like a big brother to me, and with me being someone who doesn’t like anyone telling me what to do, Oz and I have always clashed.
Oz is like his father, Man O’ War. He’s a huge solid wall of muscle and intimidating to those who threaten his family. He’s also a big soft teddy bear to those he loves. By the way he’s watching me, I can spot the spark of pain because he doesn’t know how to help not only me, but also Chevy and Razor.
By blood, Oz is an only child, but we’re his family. Chevy and Razor his brothers, me his sister. Isaiah had a lot of things right. Sometimes the best family is the kind that doesn’t share blood.
I glance over at Chevy and Razor and they’re both looking down at the table, the equivalent of crying into their beers without shedding a tear. Sadness is a bowling ball rolling down pins in my stomach.
This entire situation has become too big. The Riot, being kidnapped, being watched, being threatened, helping the detective and now Chevy finding out that the foundation on which he has been raised is crumbling.
Since Dad died, I’ve tried living life on my own. Thinking that if I did, it would hurt less, but I’ve been hurt anyway and all that’s happened is me ending up lonely.
I’m tired of hurting.
I’m tired of being alone.
I’m just plain exhausted.
I can’t do this on my own anymore. Neither can Chevy, and by the way Razor is looking like he was run over by a truck, he’s close to collapsing, too. I meet Oz’s eyes again and mouth, Help us.
He blinks. I don’t ask for help, and even when we were closer, I hardly ever asked for help from him. He rightly thought of himself as the leader of us and I used to constantly fight him for the position.
I’m not fighting now. I need a friend. So does Razor, and so does Chevy. We need someone who is thinking straight and God knows it’s not the three of us. If Oz truly is our brother, our friend, our leader—he’ll figure out how to shake us out of this stupor.
We were stronger together as a group and we need that strength again.
Oz slams his hand down on the table, causing it to shake and Chevy and Razor to snap out of their trances. “Enough of this bullshit. Everyone in the woods—now.”
He swings his legs over the bench to stand.
“It’s Violet’s party,” Razor says.
“Yeah, I got that in the text, but we’re sitting here like it’s her wake. Get up now and in the woods before I kick all of your asses.”
Razor smirks, Chevy snorts and the first rays of hope blossom inside me. Chevy rises to his feet. “I’d like to see you try to kick my ass.”
“Not try,” Oz says. “I will.”
