“I did. It was... short of my expectation.” I grin at my own joke, and damn if she doesn’t laugh as if she understands it full well.

She probably does.

“You be careful, boy,” she warns with a gentle ease. “Expectations are for fools, and you are far from one of those.”

I reach out, giving her hand a light squeeze, and she offers a knowing smile, worry working its way into her eyes.

“Your mind is heavy, boy.” She tips her head. “Will you listen to it?”

My lips pinch together, and she nods, squeezing me back. “Do what you must. Now, go on. Get home.”

I kiss her forehead, jogging back to the car, and I’m almost positive she doesn’t walk inside until the bumper of this busted ride is out of sight.

I continue down the dirt road, through the tall trees our father planted when we were infants as an added form of armor—you can’t touch what you can’t see—and right as I pass through the final row, the Brayshaw mansion comes into view.

My home since I was only months old.

My home until the day I die.

It’s big and beautiful and sacred to our name.

The wide and winding driveway allows for full view of the pool and pool house, a small glimpse at the right, back side, and leads you straight up to the porch.

My phone rings the second I’m stopped, Mac’s name lighting up the screen.

“What up, bro?” I answer.

“You’re home quicker than expected.”

“Checkin’ me out on camera, fucker?”

“What can I say, I missed my bedmate,” he teases. “Saw you roll by the school.”

“Speaking of, how’s your girl, she need an extra hand?” I fuck with him, but my boy only laughs.

“Any stories to share?”

A scoffed laugh leaves me. “Bro. Don’t get me fuckin’ started.”

He laughs into the line but makes quick work of catching me up to speed on the drama at the school.

There’s a rumor about a fight that’s coming but no word on who or why yet, meaning we’ve got rich kids in panic mode.

You’d think spoiled assholes with money to burn would rebel with order, but not here. They crave the shit. Crave us, period.

They depend on our word, wait for us to tell them to worry or walk on like nothing.

Either way, whatever it is that has people whispering will show itself soon enough, and we’ll be there to handle it when it does.

Mac ends the call and in perfect fucking timing, too, ‘cause when I look up and out the windshield at my house, it’s a full porch I find.

Maddoc stands at the railing, Raven right beside him, Cap and Victoria on her left, and little Zoey already two steps down.

They’re smiling at me.

Waiting for me.

Damn if it’s not a settling-ass sight.

We finish our late-night dinner and make our way into the living room to bullshit. Cap and Maddoc are laughing at something Zoey says while Victoria pretends to talk to her on a toy phone.

I look to Raven and she knocks her elbow into mine, a small smile on her lips. A half a second passes, and her sigh comes next.

I’m right there with the comfort seeping in. The security.

The relief that comes with having someone in your corner, no matter fucking what.

We’re lucky.

Not everyone has a safe place.

Pretty sure Brielle doesn’t.

And there it is.

Fuck.

“Talk to me, Ponyboy.” Raven turns to me, proving yet again she can sense when things are off.

Both of our eyes follow Maddoc when he stands, dropping to his knees a few feet away. He and Cap begin tossing a small ball back and forth, playing keep away from Zoey.

I smile at my niece, cutting a quick glance at Victoria when she joins us on the couch. “You ever wonder what happens to kids who don’t get to come to our group homes? Or the ones who fuck up and are forced to leave it?”

When neither of them says a word, I look their way.

Raven watches me with steady eyes. “No. I haven’t.”

“Me either.” Until now. “They all come from jacked homes, it’s why they need a new place to begin with, yeah? Why their files end up here?” I pause. “What if some of them go from one pile of shit to another?”

She nods, both she and Victoria fully focused on me, each wearing curious expressions.

Shit here is risky and dangerous most of the time. We know this. There’s always a new issue popping up after the last, a casualty of some kind, but our people are treated like equals until they fuck up, there’s no abuse, and we don’t allow senseless hate. When we find out about any of these types of things, the ones who gave it are met with a harder form of it.

At the end of the day, shit’s pretty good around here, in a fucked-up, crossroads kind of way.

It can be good for anyone who wants it bad enough.

Can’t it?

Raven tips her head, a perceptive glint in her light eyes. “Royce?”

I look from Victoria to Raven, two girls who came from ugly places, wanted more, and found it right fucking here.

“What if we fucked-up and got something wrong?”

The girls share a look, slowly bringing their focus back to me, but the conversation is squashed when Zoey’s little hand finds mine.

“Hu-mon, Uncle Bro! Be on my team.” She gives a hard jerk of her head and I follow as she tugs on me. “Let’s beat these boys!”

We all laugh, and then we spend the next hour playing keep away, refusing to call it a night until Raven is passed out on Maddoc’s lap, and Cap is lifting a sleeping Zoey off of a beanbag.

It wasn’t that long ago that it used to be just the three of us staying up late together, especially since Maddoc hardly ever slept before Raven, and then when she came along, his nights were full.

Not that they weren’t right there with us most evenings, but before they’d get too tired, they’d disappear—what couple doesn’t want a few non-sleeping hours in bed alone?

Me and Cap would last a few longer, watching movies and whatnot, but that changed too, as it should.

I’m not and never will be mad about them spending time with their girls, and Cap has two to balance his time with.

Shit, I’ll sometimes head to my room when it gets late so they don’t feel bad and stick around for me. I know they do sometimes.

They would never, fucking ever, want me out of the mix and I love them for it, but they deserve their alone time.

Right now, though, sitting up in my room at two in the morning, the others passed out in theirs...

Not sure I’d admit it, but I’m itching beneath my skin.

Will this forever be my new normal?

My brothers with their girls, and me by my damn self?

Untrusting.

Unattached and uninterested.

A fly-by fuck at best, not that I keep things quick, but ties are cut when the door closes behind me.

That’s how I like it.

Ain’t it?

Nice and easy, thoughtless.

Careless.

Girl-less?

My phone beeps on the bed at my side and annoyance heats my skin.

This is when the calls and texts always roll in, after fuckin’ dark when I’m useful.

With a sigh, I pick it up, and as I read the name on the screen, a frown takes over.