: Chapter 4

What is his problem? As if I didn’t feel like a big enough loser waiting only ten whole minutes before I followed Iron back over to the Bay when I said I would never be back again.

Now he’s kicking me out.

But then …

Oh wait, no, stay.

I shake my head, his mouth so close I can feel his breath. At some point I really need to learn that men are just not worth the trouble.

“What the hell is going on?” Macon barks, and I see him out of the corner of my eye, walking out of the open garage.

Everyone stands there, but I’m not saying anything. This isn’t on me.

Finally, Army pipes up, “Nothing!” And he pushes Trace toward their work truck.

“Then get to work!”

Iron’s eyes don’t leave mine, and I shouldn’t, but I smile just a little, because he has to leave, and now, so can I.

“Iron, let’s go!” Army shouts. “We’re late.” I hear the others climb into the truck. My smirk grows, the challenge hanging between us.

Iron jerks his head, looking at Macon. “Give me your knife.”

“Why?”

“Just give it to me, Macon!”

Iron holds out his hand, and Macon hesitates as the truck’s engine starts up. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a pocket knife, tossing it to Iron.

Iron swipes it midair and twists around, heading back toward the restaurant down the street.

We all stand and watch as he stalks toward the stairs, but then he stops at my dad’s Benz, unsheathes the blade, and it hits me what he’s going to do.

“No!” I growl, but I’m too late.

He bends over, stabs the front left tire, dragging the blade through the rubber to widen the gash.

“Ah!” I cry as laughter goes off in the truck behind me.

Iron runs over, tosses the knife back to Macon, and smiles. “Change that one, too?”

“You son of a—” Macon bites out, charging up next to me as we both watch Iron-fucking-Jaeger pull himself up and over the side, hopping into the truck bed.

“What the hell are you doing?” I scream.

He flashes me a white smile.

I ball my fists. “You asshole!”

He lets his head fall back as he laughs. “Go, go, go!” he shouts to Army in the cab.

They all howl as Army speeds off.

“Whoo!” Trace hollers.

“Goddammit!” Macon calls after them.

“I can order an Uber, you know!” I shout.

“We’ll be back at five o’clock!” Iron calls out, leaning up on his knees as they drive off. “Tell Mariette we want our usual, and can you make those stuffed mushrooms you brought on the Fourth of July?”

“I’m not making you shit!”

“But I’m going to prison, Krisjen.”

He sounds so fucking innocent, like I’m going to feel sorry for him. Trace covers his face with his hands, unable to stop his laughter.

They disappear down the street as Macon and I just stand there. Paisleigh giggles inside my car.

“God—” Macon says through his teeth. “Son of a …”

I look up at him, his scowl darkening as he turns from the truck that just sped off down to me.

I shrug. “It’s not my fault,”

“Just …” he grits out, holding up his hands like he’s going to strangle someone before gesturing to Mariette’s. “Get over there and work this off. So help me God, I’m going to fucking explode right now.”

I don’t have a chance to argue further before he walks back into the garage, but I’m not sure I would’ve anyway. I would just leave. If I had a car.

I kick a rock, looking over at the Mercedes that now sits as lopsided as my Rover did last night. Fuuuuuck these boys.

Dammit!

I grab my sister out of the car and walk back to Mariette’s, shouting at Macon as I pass by the garage. “I’m keeping my tips!”

Ispy the clock over the menu on the wall and pick up my pace, setting the sandwiches down in front of the two old ladies and collecting their empty dish of appetizers.

I wanted to be gone before five, so Iron can’t gloat when he walks in and sees me here.

The day went quickly, though. For my first time working ever, it’s not that bad. It feels like I’m being helpful, and I like that. Bring ’em drinks. Take their orders. Refill sodas. Clear plates.

It’s kind of fun. I like people.

And the best part is I kept busy. The other server left early, so I’ve been swamped since noon, and although it was stressful to cover that many tables by myself, it was also strangely satisfying to multitask. Refill at table four, clean fork needed at table eight, order’s up for table thirteen, hot sauce for table one …

I did something today. And did it well. I was never a great student, and an even worse athlete, but I’m good under pressure. Who knew.

“Hey, back again?” I ask, dropping menus in front of two road workers I just saw at lunch.

The one to my right grins, his blond mullet sticking out of his trucker hat, but honestly, he makes it work.

“We like pie,” he teases.

The other one laughs, and I set their waters down as I dart my eyes to the wedding ring on his finger.

“Well, be sure to take some home to your wife,” I reply.

The other one chuckles, and I don’t look back as I walk away.

I wipe down a couple of tables, positioning place settings, when the screen door flaps closed behind me.

“Krisjen! We had so much fun!” my sister boasts. “I love those boats!”

What? I turn and watch her run to me, wrapping her arms around my neck as I scoop her up. Jasmine Cabrera walks in with her five-year-old, and Dex in a stroller. She babysits a few of the neighborhood kids, while her husband is away half the year fighting fires all over the country. I think he’s in Arizona now.

I eye Jasmine. “You took her on an airboat?”

“I babysat for free.”

I’m about to say something, but then I close my mouth, no matter how inappropriate it is for Paisleigh, Dex, or her—being four months pregnant—to ride on one of those things. My sister looks like she had a blast, and no one died, so okay.

I plant Paisleigh in a chair and pull the plate of macaroni and cheese I ordered in front of her as the rest of them take a seat and start eating. Jasmine holds Army’s kid in her lap, feeding him, and I look down at the boy, noticing his eyes are blue, unlike his father’s. He must get them from his mother. Wherever she is.

He chews, looking up at me, and I stick out my tongue and cross my eyes. He still just stares.

I check the clock again. It’s almost five thirty.

“Eat up, kiddo,” I tell Paisleigh.

I shoot my brother a text. Be home soon.

Then, I bring up my camera and squat down next to my sister, in selfie mode. She immediately giggles and follows my example, making a funny face for the camera before I snap a shot.

I send it to Mars and my mom. As if she’s bothered to check with me at all today to make sure Paisleigh is safe. Tomorrow the kids will be in school, so if I decide to make this a job, it’ll be easier. I don’t have to worry about Paisleigh being at home and ignored by her.

“Krisjen!” someone shouts behind me.

I jump, recognizing Trace’s voice. On a whim, I open TikTok and start filming my facial expressions, because I figure I can make something funny out of this later.

“Krisjen!” Trace bellows again. I roll my eyes, hearing several sets of boots trail behind me. I move the camera up to see him and his brothers.

“Where’s dinner?” he asks.

I look over my shoulder. “It’s in the kitchen. Get it yourself. I’m not serving you in front of everyone.”

“Just in private, then?” He flashes a smile as they all sit, and I catch sight of Iron watching me. “I’m really dirty,” Trace shouts. “Want to shower?”

Still holding the phone, I walk over to his table and snatch the tip left in the middle. Trace rises and grabs for me, but I hook my leg behind his, sweeping his leg out from under him, and push him back down in his seat.

His brothers laugh, and I walk away. “If he only wants to hang out with you when it’s dark outside, he’s a”—and I lower my voice to whisper as I talk into the camera—“fuckboy.”

“Ohhhhh,” Trace laughs like a good sport.

Army sits down with his son in his arms. Iron—I see through the camera—is staring at my ass.

I think it was him last night. It has to be. Has he ever noticed me before? Picking up signals is one thing I am good at.

But he is going to prison for three years. Pretty sure anyone looks good to him right now.

I stop filming, trim the footage, and add a background tune. I post it and stick my phone in my back pocket, seeing some people come in out of the corner of my eye.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” a familiar voice says.

I whip around and catch Clay and Liv just stepping through the door. I smile big, a flutter hitting my stomach as I wrap my arms around Liv, hugging her. And despite the fact that it’s only been eight weeks since she left for school, my eyes burn a little. I don’t mind the town being empty of all the people I used to know in school, but I miss her.

I clear my throat, stepping back. “Long story,” I tell her. “But they needed help, and I was free. Staying long?”

“No …” She hooks her thumbs through the belt loops on her jeans. Her nipple pokes through one of Clay’s tank tops, which she probably borrowed because she forgot how hot it is here. Dart-mouth will be getting snow soon. “I head back tonight,” she tells me.

Just flew in for the weekend to see her girlfriend. How sweet. I’m jealous.

“I’m glad you’re around, though.” She rubs my arm. “Is Trace behaving himself?”

“God, no.” I peel off my apron. “But everyone loves him anyway.”

“Liv!” Army shouts.

She looks over at her brothers and then whispers to Clay. “Gimme a minute.”

She walks over to the table, Clay calling after her: “Grab a pie!”

I wait until Iron rises and wraps his arms around his sister before I grab Clay’s hand and pull her to the end of the counter at the back of the restaurant.

I’m glad I still have one friend who stayed home for college.

“I need to tell you something.” I sit down, but she remains standing. “I’ve been dying to talk to someone.”

“As long as you’re not pregnant …” she says.

My face falls, and I just sit there, my mouth hanging open like I can’t bear to tell her.

Her blue eyes bug out. “Oh God. No.”

I snort. “I’m kidding.”

She sighs, relaxing. “Well, what is it, then?”

I glance around, making sure we’re not in earshot, and lower my voice, leaning in close. “I had sex with someone last night. Not Trace.”

She stares at me like she’s waiting for the rest. “Okay … Um, were you safe?”

“Well, the thing is—”

“Does Trace know?”

“It’s … not that kind of relationship.”

“Okay, so who was it?”

A lump gets caught in my throat. “Fuck, I have no idea.”

She gapes at me. “What?”

I can’t help but let out a little laugh. “It’s hard to explain, but with the darkness in the room and the angles and …”

“All right, okay.” She holds up her hand, stopping me. “So you just didn’t see his face? Like, seriously? Where was this?”

“In the Jaeger house.” I hesitate before finishing. “I know it was one of them. On the couch.” I watch her eyes go round again. “I was just so lost in what we were doing, I don’t know. Clay, it was the best thing I’ve ever felt. All of it. Every second.”

A gleam hits her eyes. “Really?” she teases. “Better than your showerhead?”

Oh God. I drop my face into my hand. I actually told her about that, didn’t I? A long time ago. She, Amy, and I were making margaritas. I overshared.

“I don’t know,” I whine. “Maybe I was just better with him? Or maybe I was on my game and he was on his game and it was just great that one time and would never be like that again; I have no idea, but shit, it was amazing.”

And it had almost nothing to do with the part where he was inside me. The hands, the arms, the heat from his mouth on my cheek—my hair—and how when he pressed himself into my back and wrapped himself around me, a part of me wasn’t missing anymore. That’s what it was supposed to feel like the first time. Every time.

God. A light sweat travels down my chest, and …

Clay shoves something in my face, and I blink, seeing her snap her fingers to get my attention.

I spaced off.

“And you’re sure it was one of the Jaegers?” she presses.

I nod. “He was wearing the bracelet, and I’ve been with Trace enough to know those weren’t his moves.”

He’s a possibility, but not a likely one.

“What do I do?” I ask her, lowering my voice again. “I mean, I’m not expecting round two, but I want to know who it was.”

“Ask them.”

“Oh, right. That’ll be hilarious. ‘Hey, guys. Which one of you left your handprint on my ass last night?’”

Some diners turn in my direction, and I shut up. Shit. I’m talking loudly again. I look over, spotting Iron and Army glancing in my direction.

Clay shakes with a laugh. “He left a handprint?”

I show her my neck and the reddish-purple busted blood vessels right above my collarbone. “He left marks everywhere,” I say. “Do you want to see the insides of my thighs?”

Liv stops right behind Clay and cocks an eyebrow at me.

I swallow. “You walked into that one out of context. Sorry, babe.”

She knows better anyway.

She steps up to Clay’s side, amusement in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Do you really want to know?” Clay folds her smile between her teeth.

Liv heads behind the counter, toward the kitchen. “Probably not,” she mumbles. “I’ll get the pie.”

I smile after her, then look to Clay. “So, what do I do? How do I figure out which one it was?”

“Well, I’m guessing more of him than just his dick touched you last night, right?” she presses. “See which one starts acting familiar with you. Putting his hands on you. Looking at you differently. Being flirty.”

I look over at the guys’ table, Trace fitting together six packets of sugar, ripping them open in unison, and pouring them all in his iced tea at the same time.

“Any of them besides Trace doing that today?” she asks.

Iron chews his ice.

“Maybe,” I murmur. “I mean, we can probably rule out Dallas, right?”

“Did it feel like him?”

I look at Dallas’s back, a bad taste hitting my mouth. “Well, it wasn’t hate-fucking, but … it was aggressive, I guess.” I shoot her a look. “God, if it was him, I probably don’t want to know. It wouldn’t be him, right? He hates Saints.”

She kind of flinches, tilting her head side to side, thinking. “I’m not sure how much that’s true. I wouldn’t rule him out, honestly.”

“Oh God.”

“Relax.” She laughs quietly. “My guess is Iron. But I sure wish I could stick around and watch this one play out.”

No, thanks. I’d rather endure this mess only I could get into without my friends spectating.

Liv comes out with a pie box, holding it by the string.

“I’ve got to go,” Clay tells me.

I rise and move with her toward the door. “Lighthouse?”

“Back to my mom’s, actually. She’s away.” She does a little dance. “We’re gonna skinny-dip before Liv’s flight.”

I’ve seen girls skinny-dip in the Jaeger pool, but obviously Liv’s going to want Clay naked in private. Understandable.

“Have fun,” I tell her.

She gives me a hug. “Are you going to be okay? We can stay over here if you’re uncomfortable …”

“Go.” I push her toward the door. “I’ll be over on my side of town tonight. I’m not staying.”

Liv embraces me quickly, and they both leave, climbing into Clay’s old Bronco. I’ll see Liv at Thanksgiving, but … this was the last time she’d see Iron outside of …

My throat tightens.

Three and a half years.

But instead of sadness and pity, I’m mad at him. Then I lock eyes with him, seeing his narrow on me, because he can tell something is wrong. But I just head over to Paisleigh instead. She’s stopped eating and is tearing her napkin into strips, puzzling them back together.

“Ready to go?” I chirp.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

“You’ve got school tomorrow.”

She drops her head back in dramatic disappointment like kindergarten is living hell. I pick up her sketchbook and markers, stuffing everything into her backpack. I take her hand and start to walk out, but I crash into someone and look up. Two men have entered the restaurant, dressed casually in slacks in a pathetic attempt to blend in, but they’re Cucinelli. My father wears them. Tourists don’t.

Their short-sleeved button-ups are pressed, and I can smell the leather scent all rich men pick up somewhere in their day. Their briefcases. Shoes. BMW seats.

The dark blond one doesn’t look at me, but I know him. I squeeze Paisleigh’s hand.

“Ouch,” she whines.

They take a seat at a small table next to the windows, and I pull her behind me, over to the Jaegers. “Is one of my cars ready yet?” I ask Army.

“I don’t know. I—”

“Probably,” Iron interrupts, starting to rise. “Here, I’ll walk over with you. Macon needs dinner anyway.”

“It’s fine. I can do it myself.”

I don’t want to get into it with him again. He stranded me over here with my little sister today. I mean, I could’ve gotten a ride somewhere, I’m sure, but he doesn’t think, and it’s not cute.

He stares at me. “I’ll take you.”

“You’ve been enough help,” I snap.

Trace scarfs down his food, Dallas standing next to the window, eating a sandwich and never really relaxing. Army is nearly finished. On workdays, they skip lunch, and my stomach growls as I realize I did today, too.

I reach over and grab the food off the counter that I’m taking to go for Mars, Paisleigh, and me, but I stop and lean in a little, speaking low as I look at Army. “The two guys by the window,” I tell him. “One is from the health department. The other is Garrett Ames.”

His eyes flash to the table mid-chew, the last bite of his burger pinched between his fingers. He swallows. “How do you know the first one is from the health department?”

“He goes to my church.”

“You go to church?” Dallas asks.

Trace snorts, and I hold back my eye roll. They literally sent their sister to the same Catholic school.

I lock eyes with Army again. “Garrett Ames doesn’t come to places like this, is my point,” I whisper. “Just letting you know.”

I’m not sure what they can do to find out why he’s here, and with a health inspector, but it’s not for the food. Whatever magic the Jaegers weave, arms they twist, or people they bribe to hold on to everything they have here, they better get on it.

I see Iron staring at the men, his shoulders squared and his jaw flexed.

“Walk me,” I tell him, changing my mind.

He doesn’t seem to hear me, and I can only imagine what he’s planning.

“Walk me,” I growl.

He needs to get out of here before he tacks on another five years to his sentence. Jesus.

Pushing away from the table, he grabs his phone and takes the brown bag stapled shut on top of the counter. We leave, Iron holding open the door for my sister and me.

“You coming back tomorrow?” he asks, his stride slowing to match mine, because mine matches Paisleigh’s short one.

“Why?”

I’m not sure if I’m asking why I should take the job, or why he seems to want me to, but he just stares at the ground, and I’m taken aback by the smile that he’s almost hiding.

“I shouldn’t have said that shit this morning,” he tells me, “but you were fun, kid. I’d rather wake up tomorrow and see you around than not.”

I was fun? What does he mean?

The Jaegers’ garage door is open, light pouring out as Macon leans under the hood of a car, his arm completely buried somewhere in all the parts. Both of my cars sit outside.

“How’s it going?” Iron asks him as we head in.

Macon digs in his pocket and tosses me the Mercedes keys. I let go of Paisleigh’s hand, catching them. “Thank you.”

“A few days on the other one,” he says.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out what I earned today in tips, my temper cooled since I spouted off to him this morning. I set the stack of folded-up bills on the edge of the car he’s working on. “This is what I have in tips. I can Venmo the difference this week if you let me know what it’s all going to cost.”

I’ll dig up the cash somewhere.

I take his bag of food from Iron and walk over, setting it on the worktable as he looks at the money. “They make that much?” he asks Iron as if I’m not here.

Iron just smirks. “Krisjen makes that much.”

I start to turn but notice the nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam next to the food. No glass. Then I look down into the huge gray Rubbermaid trash can, glancing at Macon before I peel away a few paper towels and spot at least two other unopened bags of food from Mariette’s.

And the neck of another empty bottle.

“Garrett Ames is at the restaurant,” Iron tells him. “Krisjen says the man he’s with is from the health department.”

Macon continues to dig under the hood. “Don’t pretend to worry like you’re going to do anything about it. I’ll handle it, like I have every single year they try to come for the Bay.”

I take my sister’s hand again, the keys and bag of food in my other. “Find something they want more,” I muse out loud, looking up at all the old license plates bolted to the ceiling. Maine, South Dakota, Arizona … Strange that I’ve been to Fiji and Athens but haven’t even seen the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore. “Or give them a reason to find it unappealing here, I guess.”

I leave with my sister, buckling her into the car and setting the food safely on the passenger seat.

But before I climb in, I look up.

Macon stares at me from under the hood, and I pause, frozen for a moment.

He never looks at me.

I can count on one hand the number of times he’s spoken to me.

A flutter hits my stomach, but before I can read the look in his eyes, he turns back to his work and refixes the ever-present lock in his jaw.

I climb into the car, my forehead cooling with a light sweat.