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I step back into the living room, the TV playing Castlevania on low volume, while Trace throws up his booted legs onto the coffee table, knocking over empty beer bottles.
They’re drunk. But at least they’re safe. I walk over and swipe up three bottles by the neck with one hand and dump them in the trash. I plop down on the couch, next to Trace, Iron on his other side and Dallas in the chair.
Where the hell were Macon and Army? Did they know about the fight?
“Where’d you disappear to?” Dallas asks me, picking up his bottle off the end table.
I sip my water. “Were you looking for me?”
He makes a face, and I breathe out a laugh. Of course, he wasn’t. Probably didn’t realize I was gone until just now.
Trace belches and scoffs at the same time. “Just have her out of here before Macon sees her,” he says.
I look away, not sure how he knows I have Clay in the bedroom. But before I can respond, headlights flash through the front windows, and we all turn our heads.
In less than five seconds, Macon is barreling through the front door, and my heart leaps into my throat, seeing the rage all over his face.
His eyes dart over the room, his jaw set, and he lands on Iron, rushing over with his arms flying. He swings at Iron, and I drop the glass to the rug, curling into a ball and turning away.
“Macon!” Army shouts, coming through the front door next.
But no one moves.
“You fucking fought?” Macon bellows at him.
I steal a peek, nausea rolling through me as he slaps Iron again and again, and even though Iron is nearly as big, he doesn’t dare fight back. He just holds his arms over his head, trying to protect himself.
“You goddamn motherfucker!” Macon growls and then launches over and swings at Dallas. He shields himself best he can in the chair.
“Macon!” Trace yells.
“Goddammit!” Macon fires back, slamming Iron over the head again. “Goddammit, you lousy sons of bitches!”
“We had to, Macon,” Trace tells him.
“Shut up!” And Macon slaps Trace twice over the skull, as well.
He rises, breathing hard and fists balled as he glares down at his brothers. I look away, my whole body in a knot.
Then, Macon kicks the coffee table, sending it toppling over to its side and everything onto the floor.
“You think those fucking little shits will spend a single night in jail with their connected mommies and daddies?” he shouts. “Do you? Huh?”
“Macon…” Trace tries, but my brother isn’t listening.
“Goddammit,” he growls and storms out of the room, shoving a small table in the foyer to the floor as he passes.
Doors slam, and I look over, seeing Dallas beet red and sweating, but sitting in the chair quiet and frozen. Iron has a cut on his cheek, a thin line of red glimmering in the light. Trace leans his elbows onto his knees, the laughter and pride they felt five minutes ago all gone now.
Dex cries upstairs, and Army turns to go, but he stops and faces us. “You guys got any goddamn idea how much pressure he’s under?” He only pauses a moment before he slams his hand into the wall, shouting, “Do you?”
He steps up to Iron who can’t face him eye to eye. He stares at the floor.
“What’s he going to have to give them to keep your ass out of jail?” Army grits out. “You ever think of that? You’re tying his hands, Iron!”
I blink, reminded that our situation in Sanoa Bay is growing precarious. Or more precarious than I let myself believe.
And Macon hasn’t told us.
But he’s scared. Very scared. That’s very obvious now.
I still sit with my knees up to my chest, but my muscles have relaxed a little as Dex cries.
I almost rise to get him, but Army turns to leave.
He stops once more at the entryway. “You know, we were supposed to grow up someday,” he says over his shoulder. “Eventually, we were supposed to grow up, and he wasn’t going to have to do everything alone anymore.”
I bite the corner of my mouth to stifle the sudden guilt. I want to leave. Dallas has zero attachment here. Trace and Iron are constantly fucking up and putting themselves at risk. Army has a kid who takes precedence.
“He wasn’t always going to be the only one to care about this family,” Army says, something strangled in his voice. “That’s what he thought anyway.”
And he leaves, heading up the stairs to his son.
It was a helluva thing, to put this burden on people. To stay someplace you weren’t happy. To support people who expect rather than appreciate. To know that a richer life is out there and not have the freedom to seize it.
For a long time, I've known that Macon is just as trapped as I am, but for the first time, I pity him, because he must know this is all for nothing. Even now, he must feel it. Are we worth saving?
