: Chapter 17

If only Iron were here, it would be a perfect day. I should go see him. Keep him connected, so he remembers why he has to come back. I sent off a care package yesterday with some food, a card filled with pictures of our roasted oyster night at Mariette’s and everyone’s signatures, and some magazines. I want to see his face, though. Make sure he’s not fighting.

“Thank you.” I take the bowl of chili and grab a plastic spoon, giving Mrs. Chadwick one last smile before walking away.

This is my favorite part of the Annual Bug Jam. The chili cook-off. There are at least a dozen tents filled with the scent of spices, some of the booths belonging to families with their secret recipes, and some businesses trying to connect with the community. The cotton candy booth is next. They have twenty-one flavors.

I stroll, seeing Dallas still sitting on his bike out in the parking lot, three women standing around him. I shake my head. Dude doesn’t even have to get up to get what he wants.

Trace has Dex on his shoulders, and I don’t see Army right now, but he mentioned wanting to go look at the cars on display.

I’m going back on Dallas’s motorcycle, though. That was fun. He was trying so hard to scare me, but I didn’t mind, because he wouldn’t purposely hurt himself just to hurt me. Like he wouldn’t deliberately crash the bike with us both on it.

But I hesitate, chewing on that thought for a second.

“Look at them, huh?”

I pop my head up, seeing Jerome Watson. My face falls. It didn’t even occur to me I’d see him today.

He half sits on the edge of his chili booth’s table, looking different in jeans. His flannel is tan, blue, and green, making him look more handsome than I like. A white apron is tied around his slim waist.

“There’s something admirable about how they’ve held on to the land this long.”

He doesn’t look at me, and I turn my head, following his gaze. Trace and Dex dance with Liv and Clay. Aracely gets in Dallas’s face, while he smokes another cigarette and is clearly trying not to laugh.

“I like survivors,” Jerome tells me. “No one can say the Jaegers aren’t resilient.”

I look back at him, the heat from the chili seeping through the bowl to my hand.

“But every year is the same for them, isn’t it?” he asks me. “Nothing changes. The battles, the turmoil, the same faces, the same bullshit, the same dirt roads and dilapidated houses … Things live in the Bay; nothing grows.”

I lock my jaw, breathing heavier. That’s not true. Jerome stands up, and I don’t back up as he slowly closes the distance between us.

He lowers his voice. “What will you do when you tire of their bodies and realize you didn’t know you’d miss having possibilities in life? Hmm?” He stares down at me. “A beautiful home? Being able to send your children to college and give them a future? Maybe opening your own business?” He cocks his head. “A children’s boutique,” he finally says. “I can see you running something like that. It’s cute, like you.”

I start to back away, but he grabs my hand and puts it on his chest.

“And I have a body, too,” he whispers.

I don’t have a chance to rip my hand away before someone takes it away from him and encloses me in his arms. I tense but look down and see the Tryst Six emblem on a leather bracelet. He locks me against his chest, his jaw resting against my head.

I relax. Army.

Jerome looks at him over my head, and I see people out of the corner of my eyes, taking notice of all of us.

“It’s good to see you,” Jerome tells him. “Been a long time.”

Heather Lynch and A. K. Weathers stare at me, holding their frozen lemonades. They must be back from Florida State for the holiday.

“I don’t know why”—Jerome grins—“but I’m lamenting all the times we made each other bleed in high school.”

High school? Army would’ve been like fifteen when Jerome was eighteen.

“That was good times,” Jerome goes on. “But a woman is one thing we still haven’t fought over.”

Jerome’s eyes drop to me as he steps up. Army’s arms barely move, but I feel the slight tightening of the muscles around me. Jerome’s gaze rises to his, his expression stern and void of emotion. “I once promised you I’d have everything that was yours,” he tells Army. “I will.”

I clutch Army’s wrist, feeling the bracelet under my hand.

“You won’t” comes the strong, deep voice behind me.

But it’s not Army.

My heart hammers against my chest. I look down to my fingers wrapped around the wrist with the bracelet, my pinky brushing against the long bones in the back of Macon’s hand.

Jerome turns and walks away, back to his booth, and the arms around me fall away as I twist around and look up at Macon. His head is turned, watching Jerome, his eyebrows lowered as he stares. Army, Dallas, and Trace linger out of the corner of my eye, the pulse in my neck throbbing as my back and my arms still buzz under the skin everywhere he touched.

Without looking back down at me, he leaves, and I hesitate until Army finally arrives and takes my hand. My fingers gone limp in his, I barely hear him ask, “Are you okay?”

All I can do is nod. Thoughts creep in that I don’t want to face.

It felt like him. Exactly like him.

The couch …

But I shake my head clear. It wasn’t him. A part of me just wants it to be.

When I heard his voice, my heart wound up and started going nuts like one of those windup toys that bounce up and down, up and down, up and down. I was just surprised. He doesn’t normally do things like that.

He did it for Jerome, unable to resist carrying on their high school pissing contest. Not for me.

“All right, everyone!” someone calls over a loudspeaker. “If you have a team, please make your way to the east parking lot! The Forty-First Annual Bug Jam will kick off in ten minutes!”

Army starts leading me away, and I see Trace tip back and empty his bottle of beer.

The pads of my fingers still vibrate, feeling his bracelet.

Déjà vu washes over me.

Macon is just still a mystery I’m trying to crack, so my imagination is going wild. I know it wasn’t him.

“Participants must be eighteen years or older, spectators—”

“So what did he say to you?” Army asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

Macon rarely speaks to me.

But then I realize Army is asking about Jerome. “Oh, um …” I look up and shake my head clear. “Just some nonsense about how real chili has beans.”

It serves no purpose to repeat Jerome’s bullshit. Today is about fun.

“Dumb motherfucker,” he mumbles under his breath. “If it’s got beans, it’s not chili.”

I shake my head. “It’s just a stew.”

The announcer goes on as we approach the crowd, pushing our way through to the light green VW Beetle that I only know was made in 1969 because I watched Trace and his buddies restoring it one night last summer.

“The record is thirteen people,” the woman calls over the speaker. “Held by the Hurricane Ladies Book Club.”

“Named for all the hurricanes they drink while they pretend to talk about books they don’t read!” Baylor Kane, a senior at Marymount and the son of one of the moms in the Hurricane Ladies Book Club, teases nice and loud.

Everyone laughs, and I look around at who we have on our team. Aracely, Army, Trace, and Dallas. Liv and Clay walk up to join us. Someone must be watching Dex for a few minutes while we do this.

I arch up on my tiptoes, scanning the people behind me. Did Macon go home?

“And that’s not fair, either!” another guy shouts. “Women are smaller.”

“You’re pretty small,” another woman fires back.

“Ohhhhh” come taunts from the crowd, followed by some laughter and a chide: “There are children here!”

Army pulls me along. “Let’s do this.”

The teams start approaching their cars, wind kicking up as I pull my hair back into a ponytail and pull on my hoodie again. I look back at Dallas. “You joining in?”

His mouth twists to the side, but I can see the amusement in his eyes. He whips off his jacket as all of them pile their leathers next to the rear tire.

“Boys in first,” Clay instructs. “I’m not getting crushed.”

Macon probably went home. I don’t know if it did any good to get him out today. I probably just solidified in his mind why Saints are frivolous and foolish.

The MC announces all the teams, and as soon as they call out Sanoa Bay, I spit out, “Eyes up.”

The boys raise their chins, taking the hint. Don’t avoid eye contact. Let them see you. Clay and I cheer extra hard—Liv too cool for that—until the speaker moves on to the next team.

“Staff will be walking around to ensure everyone is safe,” she says, “and to offer help if you need. Are you ready?”

Everyone shouts and howls, and there are a few rushed instructions about the rules for arms and legs that I don’t hear, but then the air horn slices through the air, splitting my ears at the same time everyone starts leaping into the cars.

It starts too fast for me to tell what’s going on, but the men go first, sliding into seats and hopping into the back.

“Krisjen!” Army calls. I dart my eyes to him in the passenger-side seat as he gestures for me to hop up to the sunroof. “Slide in. Come down in my lap.”

Trace scoots his seat up on the driver’s side, squeezing his legs into as tight a space as possible as Aracely throws her weight into Army’s door to get it closed. Stepping up onto his open window, I hop up to the roof of the car, about to swing my legs in first, but someone pulls me down into the back seat. I squeal.

“Hey!” I laugh, getting caught up in the fun. Dallas shifts underneath me, and Army throws him a look from the front seat.

“We got to puzzle this shit together,” Dallas barks. “Little people on the floor.”

He shoves me down between his legs, but I end up in some weird position on my side, my left leg unable to fit enough for me to sit.

“We’re gonna need to lay someone this way!” I hear Trace instruct. He shifts his seat in front of me, and I pull my hands back, checking that my hair isn’t in his tracks. I wince. This feels unsafe.

“She’s not gonna be able to breathe!” Army yells, and I hope he’s talking about me. I need more room.

I try to shift my legs, but they run into more legs, and I see Aracely coming down feetfirst above me. I flinch. “Watch my head!”

Cheering starts outside, I try to turn my gaze, but all I see is Dallas’s crotch. I try to inhale deeply, but this is ridiculous. Why do I have to be on the floor?

“Aracely over here!” Dallas shouts. “We have to use every inch of space. Krisjen, move!”

Something knocks into my head, and I finally growl. “I’m going to die down here!” Clutching Dallas’s thigh, I haul myself back up.

“Don’t be a baby,” he shoots back. “Just sit on me, then.”

“Sit on you?” Army blurts out. “She’s not sitting on anything of you.”

“I’ll sit on his ex,” I offer, watching Aracely slide through the roof.

Someone laughs, and Dallas grabs me by the waist, trying to move me over onto his lap as he digs his fingers into my stomach. I try to hold back my laugh because his fingers tickle. “Let me go!” I shout.

“No—”

But then I’m out of his arms, his words cut off as I’m flipped over, straddling someone else’s lap in the seat next to him. My smile fades, and I don’t blink as I stare at Macon and he stares back. Aracely descends, pushing against my back and shoving me into Macon.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly like that,” I hear Trace say. “Aracely, get in Dallas’s lap like Krisjen’s in Macon’s. Your puzzle pieces fit together once before.”

“Shut up!” I hear her snap.

Puzzle pieces.

Someone pushes into me again, and then again until I’m almost nose to nose with Macon.

His eyes don’t leave mine.

Holding me, he takes my arms and guides them around his neck, pulling me flush with his chest. Tight.

His hand covers the back of my head, protecting it, and it only takes a moment for me to get a handle on what we’re doing and to follow his lead. Hugging him close, I circle his neck with both of my arms and bury my face in his neck as the car jostles underneath us, more bodies piling in.

“Ara, damn,” Dallas groans. “You gain weight or something?”

“Dallas?” she says with a heavy accent, and I can tell she’s about to say something in Spanish. “Yo pretendi mis orgasmos contigo.”

I recognize Army’s laughter, because he, Macon, and Iron are the only ones who are bilingual. For some reason, their parents raised Liv, Trace, and Dallas with only English.

Macon’s fingers curl into my skin. Goose bumps spread down my arms. I close my eyes. This could be it.

Dallas goes on, “What the hell did she say?”

“You don’t want to know,” Army replies.

Jerome is nowhere in sight. Macon holds me, and when his arms tighten, so do mine. Someone knocks into me again, but I don’t get hurt. Macon’s got me.

The space inside the car is getting tight.

I can’t breathe.

It’s hot.

I never want to leave.

“Clay, you need to shave!” someone shouts.

“I shaved!”

“Get your foot out of my face.”

Voices, grunts, an insult about someone’s breath …

His neck is warm. I can feel the creases in the skin of his neck on my mouth. I shift, trying to press my stomach to his, but I rub against him. I stop breathing, he holds me.

“Are we done?” someone asks.

No. I close my eyes.

“Someone shout! Tell them we’re done!”

“Done!” I hear Army and Dallas shout.

“Done!” comes someone else.

“Oh my God, hurry,” Dallas bites out. “I can’t breathe.”

I inhale him, I …

The air horn goes off, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter …

before I finally open them.

Cheering fills the air, car doors flying open and everyone starting to fall out. There’s laughter outside, but as the car empties, I pull back, lingering, though I can’t meet his eyes.

I don’t know what’s going on here. What does he want? He’s confusing. I hate that.

But my attention keeps drifting to him.

“We fucking lost,” Trace gripes.

“Did those old bags win again?”

“Be nice,” Liv says. “Like we were going to win with you four taking up space in here.”

“God, it’s hot,” Clay complains.

Everyone climbs out, and hesitantly, I follow. I join everyone else outside, Army pulling me to his side. The Hurricane Ladies Book Club, pealing with laughter and having a hell of a time, collect their trophy and gift basket.

“Beer tent,” Trace calls out.

Army follows, pulling me.

But I dig in my heels. “You go,” I tell him.

He opens his mouth to argue, but I assure him, “It’s okay. I have to get my brother and sister anyway. They’re at the bounce houses with friends. My mom is away for the weekend.” I pop up and kiss him on the lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I turn to leave, but he pulls me back. “Hey.” He pauses, looking into my eyes and knowing something is wrong. “Let me give you a ride.”

“It’s a short walk. We’re good.” I keep my tone light, smiling for him. “Go. Have fun.”

He looks at me like he has more to say, but I turn and leave before he can.

Guilt nips at me, but I wouldn’t even know what to say if I wanted to explain.

I wasn’t lying. My brother and sister are at the bounce houses, and I do need to watch them tonight, but I could’ve taken them in Trace’s truck to the Bay. They like it there.

I just …

I need to be alone.

I walk through the crowd, but then someone pops up in front of me, blocking my way. “I have a key to the truck. Let me take you home instead.”

I raise my eyes, see Dallas standing there. He cocks his head, but the look in his eyes isn’t playful.

“It’s no trouble,” he tells me, holding up the keys.

I look back to see if Army is still there, but he’s gone.

“I thought we were becoming friends,” Dallas teases.

I study him. “And what does that word mean to you?”

He chuckles, and I take my leave as quickly as possible.

“See you tomorrow,” I tell him.

I’m not sure Dallas does much of anything out of the goodness of his heart. And while I’m glad he’s talking to me—and doing it pleasantly—I know he always has a motive, or he expects to be paid for going out of his way.

He’s not complicated in the way Macon is. With Dallas, once you know what he doesn’t want you to know, I’m guessing a lot about him makes sense.

But also, unlike Macon, Dallas will pull you under to save himself. He may have good moments, but I’m not sure he’s good.

I slip in between a game booth and the visitor’s center, heading toward the bounce houses, but as soon as I’m out of site of the Bug Jam, hands shove me in the back, sending me flying to the ground.

What the hell? I gasp, catching myself with my hands, and hurry to flip over, looking up at my attacker.

Milo stands there, then squats down. “You okay?”

Three girls flank him, all four of them looking down at me.

Oh shit.