Page 25

I just wave a lazy goodbye and keep walking, night air cooling the sweat on my skin. No clue where I'm going, or where I'm ending up tonight.

But anywhere's better than home.

I get a few blocks on foot before headlights flash across my boots.

A beat-up Honda Civic comes to a stop beside me, bass thrumming through the speakers. The window drops, and my little brother Carlos leans across the passenger seat with his thick brow furrowed. “Yo, it's cold as fuck out here.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, yanking open the door to slide in. Stale fast food hits my nostrils.

“So, what happened?” He throws me a wide-eyed look before pulling away from the curb. “Why you needing a ride in the middle of the night? I have midterms tomorrow.”

I take in his messy hair and pajama pants. “Sorry, hermano. Had no one else to call.”

Ain't that some shit? I have a whole gaggle of friends, and yet I made my baby brother leave his dorm at midnight to give me a ride.

Okay, Logan probably would have done it if I asked, but I'd rather be a moody bitch about it.

“You in trouble or something?” Carlos asks, merging onto the freeway.

I shake my head. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?”

Staring out the window, I watch streetlights smear across the glass, brainstorming ways to come up with five thousand dollars. “Just… business stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

My brother hums, clearly not buying my shit. “Business stuff? At midnight?”

“Jesus, chill. It’s nothing criminal.”

“That’s exactly what a criminal would say.”

I huff out a laugh, even though nothing about my situation is funny. “You’re not a social worker yet, man. Stop treating me like the bad guy.”

“Well, somebody’s gotta keep your dumb ass on the straight and narrow.”

“Good luck with that.”

We lapse into silence for the rest of the drive. City lights flicker past, some song playing low over the hum of the engine. My thoughts keep looping back to the same nightmare—Arnie’s grimy face, Devon getting the shit kicked out of himself. Then he disappears, only to end up in jail. What the fuck is wrong with that guy?

Clearly, he needs help, but if I know Dev, the asshole is too proud to ask for it, which is complete macho-man bullshit. We all need help sometimes. So what's his deal? Calling Logan to bail him out was no problem, but I hate how much it pisses me off that he didn't call me.

Is that it? Specifically needing something from my ass is where he draws the line?

When we finally pull up to my Bronco, Carlos lets the engine idle for a beat before he says, “So what’s really going on? Anything me or Mom can do?”

“Just… fell behind on something. Trying to get it squared away.”

That's all I'm willing to say. Like hell I'm involving him or anyone else in my bullshit. Jesus, it's his first year of college. He doesn't need to worry about anything other than keeping his grades up.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I reach for the door handle and force a grin. “Good luck tomorrow. Don't flunk.”

“Christian.” He’s still watching me with those hazel eyes we share, one hand loose on the wheel. “You don’t always have to keep everything to yourself, you know.”

Something sharp twists inside my chest, but I don’t address it. Nodding, I get out of my brother’s car. “Night, bro.”

“Night. Don't forget about the party next week.”