It was mine.

Not his.

I made the decision who went there. I did. Not him. Not my brother. Not even Cross. He knew because I chose to take him there. And that’d been it. No goddamn one else.

“You’re going through something right now, and I just thought that if you couldn’t have one parent, you could see the other. That’s all I was thinking. I swear.” His hands fell from his hips. “I know I’m a douchebag, but I’m trying to be better. I’m trying, Bren.”

My insides felt like they were being ripped out, one organ at a time. “You fucked up, Jordan.”

“I know.”

“Bad.”

He sighed. “I know.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Bren.”

I could feel Cross’ gaze and looked over. There was a question in his eyes. He was asking what I wanted to do, but I only shrugged. I had no clue. My mind was already forgiving Jordan, but not my heart. God. It hurt to bring in air.

He’d stabbed me, just in the front.

“What do you want to do now?” Jordan asked. “I still have that cabin…” He let his sentence hang.

It was my decision. Stay or go.

If we stayed, I was giving in. I was letting Jordan off the hook. Yes, yes. He’d said the words. He apologized. He looked the part, but I still burned with rage against him.

I saw how Zellman was holding his breath, his cheeks actually rounded and puffed out, and how he was chewing his bottom lip.

The little boy inside him was alive and well.

His eyes skirted between me and Jordan. It was clear what he wanted to do.

No prison, but he wanted to party.

“When you become one of us, you have to agree to three oaths.”

“Three?”

“Three. The first, will you treat us as family?”

“Yes.” Without hesitation, without regret, without a doubt—yes.

“Will you fight for us as you’d have us fight for you?”

Another yes—no question, thought, or fear.

“And the last, will you forgive as if we’re one person?”

I had said yes.

That was the one ritual we had to be part of this crew. Each question had been chosen for a reason, and each answer had to be true. I’d meant it when I said yes to the last, and remembering that now, I cursed under my breath.

He hadn’t asked for forgiveness. It wasn’t put in words, but he wasn’t the only one here. I wasn’t either.

Zellman wanted everyone to make up, and he wanted to party. If I made us all go back now, I’d be hurting Z. His love for the group, his desire for everyone to be happy—I couldn’t take that away from him, not for this.

I let out a sigh. “We can go to the cabin.”

“Yeah?” Jordan’s eyes went wide. He almost took a step backward.

I nodded, but just barely.

He let out a whoop and high-fived Zellman. “Holy fuck, Bren. Thank you.” He started for me, but I shook my head. “No.”

He lowered his arm, nodding instead. “Thank you, Bren. I mean it.”

He headed for the truck with Zellman and yelled, “I meant what I said, B. I’ll make it up to you. I will. I promise. I’ll show you.”

“Yeah.”

I loved this crew, so much, maybe too much. If he took that away, I would kill him.

My love for the crew outweighed my distrust for him. That’s all I had at the moment.

His head bobbed forward as he got in his truck. They could wait for hours. I didn’t give a shit, because I was going to take my time getting back into that vehicle. Jordan knew it too. He turned the engine on, and just blasted the music. I could see him and Zellman talking to each other.

Cross was looking too, and after a few seconds, his hand came to rest on my hip. He asked in a low voice, “You okay?”

No. Not even close. “I don’t trust him.”

He glanced back inside. “Yeah, but we’ll have to see his game to play.”

When he looked at me, I saw the same mistrust lurking in his eyes.

I frowned. “What are you thinking?”

“If it’s worth anything, I don’t think he wants to oust you or anything.” His hand flexed on my hip. “Not that it would work. We’d just splinter. He knows that.”

“He’s already our leader.”

Cross gave me a half-grin. “Which you kinda stripped from him just now.”

I hadn’t. Wait—I hadn’t meant to. “Nothing’s official.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. We hadn’t had nominations or voted. Jordan could be the leader today, but Cross could be it tomorrow. It could evolve, and maybe it should. Maybe Jordan wouldn’t have such a big ego then.

“We’re crew,” I added. “That’s all we are.”

“I know.” Cross’ hand fell away. “You’re not getting any arguing from me.”

They were still talking. We could hear laughter now. Their heads were bent together, looking at someone’s phone.

I sighed. “Let’s go to this cabin, then get home tomorrow.”

I slid into the back seat, all the way over until I was right behind Jordan. Cross got in behind me, and as he shut the door, Jordan caught my gaze in the rearview mirror.

I saw the unease there. That gave me a small piece of satisfaction. He could sweat, knowing exactly where I was.

He could worry about his backside.

“Hey.” Cross approached me in the cabin and handed me a beer. “Here.”

I took it, leaning forward from my seat in the screened-in porch. My legs were up on a footrest. “Thanks.”

He sat in the chair beside me, and we looked out to the bonfire where Jordan and Zellman were sitting, watching something on Jordan’s phone.

“They’re watching cat videos,” Cross said, and I heard the laughter in his voice. “We’re the fiercest in Roussou, and half our crew are giggling like schoolgirls over cat videos.”

“The booze helps.” I reached mine out without looking, and we clinked our bottles together.

“Jordan’s downed ten beers on his own.”

The cabin Jordan got for us was owned by one of his uncle’s friends. It was small and quaint: two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a living room with a patio that opened to an outdoor deck. The bonfire pit was right behind it, with a river behind that. As soon as we arrived, everyone went swimming. The guys did a lot of dunking and wrestling. I just swam. Jordan glanced at me once, and I caught a slight gleam there. He had considered dunking me, but I gave him a warning look. The gleam vanished, and he grabbed Zellman, throwing him over his shoulder instead.

Now, after a grilled steak dinner, it was a little after ten.

My anger had thawed a bit. I still felt it, but it wasn’t so much on the surface. I glanced at my beer and knew the booze was helping. This was my sixth.

“Jordan doesn’t understand.”

“What?” I looked over at Cross.

He wasn’t watching me, but focusing on Jordan right now. The bonfire cast his face into shadows, and I watched them play across his features. His cheekbones and jaw were more pronounced. His face more angular. It gave him a more mysterious aura—and alluring at the same time.

“He loves his dad. He almost worships him.”

I looked back to study Jordan. Cross was right. Jordan spoke with pride whenever he talked about his father. He provided for the family. He’d bought their home and helped build the warehouse and so many of the other buildings around their estate.

Cross was right.

“But I don’t talk about my dad.” I never had, particularly not since he left.

“He might’ve assumed that’s because you were missing him, not the other way around.”

Cross’ words mixed with the booze and the way Jordan suddenly sat up, laughing at those stupid cat videos—and it all clicked into place.

Cross was right, so fucking right.

“Shit.” I sank down in my chair. “I was livid.”

“Yeah.”

“I wanted to cut him.”

“I know.”

I’d jumped to conclusions. “I owe him an apology.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do.” I looked to Cross. Our eyes met and held before he sat back in his chair, shadow covering the top half of his face again.

“You don’t. I don’t care if this was a mistake. You don’t owe him an apology.”

“Cross—”