Uncle Jase stands up. “And a few haircuts, too.”
“Jase,” Aunt Carly whisper-warns him.
Manbun chuckles. “Went from the military back to the streets for a bit. Did a stint in Haynesville, and then the show. Kept it tight back then. Figured that might have been the problem.” He reaches over and shakes Uncle Jase’s hand. “So, I’m letting it grow out.”
“I knew he was a criminal,” I whisper to Brisa.
“Don’t judge. We are now, too,” she whispers back, scowling.
“Excuse me?” Kiki whisper-gasps.
“You all might remember Ranger. He was on Convicted Ink’s first season,” Dad says, and we all look at him.
Ranger raises a hand. “Thanks for the invite, and sorry about the face. Had a rough night.”
“Have a seat, Ranger,” Momma Joe says. “You’re just in time.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” He nods.
After he sits, Momma Joe stands and takes the foil off the pans of lasagna. “Joe is fine. Why don’t you all introduce yourselves to our guest?”
After table one’s intros are complete, it’s now our funeral … I mean, turn.
Brand introduces himself, and Ranger asks, “You the kid on the radio?”
Brand nods.
“Not a huge country fan, but I dig your music,” Ranger says.
Brand looks at Kiki and laughs.
“I remember this one.” Ranger points at Kiki. “Tags told us all her name was Jailbait. Looks like someone didn’t get the message.”
Silence falls over the room, and then Kiki raises her finger and flips him off. Everyone laughs.
Brand raises his hand. “That would be me.”
“And you’re still breathing, huh?”
Brand smiles. “Right beside her every day, for the rest of our lives.”
“Cool, man, cool. Hope it works out for you all.”
He looks at me, and I quickly say my name so he doesn’t say he remembers me, “Truth.”
He smiles. “Always prefer that to a lie.”
Fuck, I think but quickly add, “My name. Justice’s sister. Cyrus’s daughter, and Tara’s, too.”
He nods and sits back. “I got you.” Then he looks at Brisa. “And how about you?”
Brisa opens her mouth then shuts it, and then does it again.
We. Are. So. Fucked.
Zandor clears his throat and, in a deep, protective tone, tells him, “My oldest, Brisa.”
“Interesting,” he says, looking over at Patrick.
“Patrick,” he says quickly.
“My boy,” Xavier adds.
“Got it.” Ranger smiles coyly. “Totally got it.”
“We’re missing a couple,” Jase informs. “Our youngest, Max, and Z’s youngest, Amias, and Tris, should be here soon. They wanted to finish their game and walk over from Z and Bekah’s place.”
“You have any kids?” Aunt Carly asks him.
“Never plan on doing so,” Ranger answers, his eyes sweeping around the table, stalling briefly on me, Brisa, and Patrick, before he smiles brightly at Momma Joe. “But I sure do appreciate you allowing me to borrow yours for a Sunday afternoon.”
Chapter Seven
Idiom
It’s a piece of cake.
Truth
Cake has too many calories.
Lying in bed, after the most fucked-up weekend of my life, attempting to emotionally prepare myself for a Monday morning, a Monday morning that I expect to be worse than even the first day at Suckshore, or the first day after seeing shit about Kiki on The Sound, or even the first day after seeing shit about myself, my Snapchat notifications start popping up.
Kiki invited Brisa and I to chat.
I love Kiki, but she has already taken on the momma role, and the little Falcon is still in her basketball of a belly. But she wasn’t wrong; last night could have been so much worse.
Of course, Brisa and I started a side Snap, with me apologizing profusely that I left her side for one second and her confiding in me it was the best two minutes of her life, encompassed by the best night of her life.
She went into great detail about how Patrick basically football held her through the crowd, which happened to be celebrating and not about to riot as I had assumed, following the direction we’d gone. He had deposited her outside the doorway in the hall, told her to stay put and, one second later, Ranger, who we now know as Wyatt Dalton, charged toward her and asked her if she was okay before she planted a kiss on his bloodied lips.
I went on to tell her that it was completely unsanitary to kiss a rando who was bleeding and that she had no idea if he had any diseases that could be transmitted through bodily fluids and that it was totally illegal, to which she replied:
- Okay … Kiki
Again, I apologize.
When little bit Brisa pops up on my screen, a conversation cloud above her head, I watch the jumping dots for a second before getting:
- Unsanitary, illegal, or otherwise, that kiss saved our asses.
She then goes on to send Snap after Snap in great detail about how she:
- Got an airdrop message from Ranger with his number, while you were piggybacking as we left the warehouse.
- I didn’t reply because I read somewhere to leave them hanging, no matter how excited I am to reply so they don’t think I’m clingy or desperate.
- We’d been texting for hours, leading up to my life being ruined.
- By answering his questions with all kinds of lies.
Bit Brisa peering up at me without clouds or dots above her head, I tap out:
- What do you mean all kinds of lies?
Bit Brisa and the cloud appear immediately, while I ignore notification after notification from Kiki.
- Age, last name … You know, just little white lies.
I start to type back that they aren’t really white lies when her next Snap comes up.
- He blocked me before I could explain after the ‘Last Supper’ of Steel Sundays.
My response to her uber-dramatic Snap:
- Last Supper?!? A little dramatic, don’t you think? We got off easy, don’t you think?
She comes back immediately with:
- My heart is broken, my soul lost. He was my one true love, I just know it! I’ll die now, never knowing what it’s like to connect body and soul with the man that God made just for me.
I start to tap out a response, considering her feelings and the fact that this was partially my fault for putting her in the situation, but when bit Brisa, the conversation cloud, and dots appear, I delete it.
- Don’t take this away from me. Don’t tell me there are more fish in the sea or something lame like that. I know my heart, and I know I unequivocally am in love with Wyatt Dalton and will be for the rest of my life.
Jesus, Brisa, you are not even sixteen, is what I want to reply, but another Snap comes in.
I open the picture and see a heavily filtered Brisa crying with rain pouring down the screen.