CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Decision Time

TJ—

Brayden rides next to me but darts ahead, roaring through a yellow light that turns red before he hits the crosswalk. I curse him under my breath and twist my damn throttle, surging forward to keep up, running the red light with him. It’s only my thunderous pipes that alert the teenager who’s about to make a right turn, and has him slamming on his brakes, his car rocking.

I follow Brayden down the road a mile until he comes to the entrance for his trailer park and watch in horror when he turns left in front of an oncoming bus like he doesn’t even see it. Horn blaring, the driver slams on his brakes. My heart skips a beat, watching Brayden’s back fender barely clear the front of the ten-ton moving hunk of metal.

I wait for it to pass, watching Brayden speed down the lane toward his trailer. By the time I turn into his small driveway, he’s off his bike and walking toward his door.

Skidding to a stop, I fling my helmet off and jump from my bike. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He turns, like he doesn’t have a clue why I’m pissed.

“Are you so fucking oblivious that you don’t even know you just ran a damn red light, then cut in front of a bus, you moron?”

His brows pull together. Then without a word, he turns and strolls inside.

I stand there a minute, breathing hard and wanting to punch my fist through a wall. My hand actually flexes with the temptation, and I eye the side of his trailer. I slow my breathing until the feeling passes, then I follow him inside.

The scene that greets me freezes me in place. His kitchen is a mess with discarded fast-food cups and bags and empty beer bottles overflowing in the trash can. My brother is not a slob. Never has been.

I follow him into the living room to find him sitting in an overstuffed chair, his cheek resting on his fist, staring blankly at a ballgame on the flat screen. More food wrappers, empty longnecks, and a half-empty bottle of Jack clutter the coffee table.

“I thought you had a club girl cleaning your place.”

“I do. She came Wednesday.”

“You mean all this is just in the last three days?” My mouth drops open.

“Yeah. So?”

“When did you turn into a fucking slob?” I drop into a chair.

“You don’t like it, there’s the door,” he says, emotionless, still staring at the game.

My head swivels to it. “You don’t even like baseball. You always said it was slow and boring.”

“They changed the rules. It’s faster now.”

“That’s not all that’s changed,” I mutter.

He takes a slug off a longneck bottle, but other than that, it’s like I’m not even in the room.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Brayden?”

Radio silence is all I get in response. I’ve had about all I can take and stand, grab his cut, and haul him to his feet until I’m in his face. “You either talk to me or I’m gonna beat the fuck outta you.”

He chuckles. “You can try, brother.”

That just infuriates me more. I roar, shove him across the room, and pin his back to the wall, the trailer shaking with the impact. I’m right in his face now. “You’ve been like a goddamn zombie since we got back. It’s been the same thing every night. I’ve tried to stop over at least two or three times a week to check on you. I’ve tried to get you to talk, hell I’d even settle for one laugh, one smile, but you don’t seem to give a damn about anything anymore. You barely talk to me when I’m here, other than a grunted yes or no. You’ve lost all enthusiasm for everything, even riding.”

“So what?”

I shake my head at his stupid answer. “You barely do what’s required with the club, attending Church and going on whatever runs we need to make, but your passion for this club is like a flame that’s gone out. The only time I ever see any of the old fire in your eyes is when you get a text or a call from Rebel.”

Her name hits a nerve.

He gathers enough emotion to shove me off him and raise his voice. “TJ, you don’t understand. I don’t want to be here if I can’t be with her.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I can’t tell if his statement is suicidal or if he’s just wanting to leave town.

He pushes past me and rips his cut off, tossing it on a chair. “Maybe I don’t want to wear the damn patch if this is what it’s going to cost me.”

What the ever-loving fuck? The shock of his words runs through me. “Are you talking about quitting the club?”

“Maybe.” He goes back to his ballgame.

“You’re serious?” I whisper.

He does his best to ignore me, but I see a sheen in his eyes. I hate this situation is tearing him up like this, but I don’t think anything I say is going to make a damn bit of difference. For the past few weeks, I’ve watched my brother slip further and further into depression, and it’s killed me to see it and know the cause. I know if I ignore it, things will only get worse. This can’t go on.

I blow out a breath. “I’m gonna take off, then.”

“Suit yourself,” he mutters, not even looking up at me.

I stride out the door, letting the screen door slam, and cross to my bike. Throwing my leg over the seat, I sit there a moment, considering my next move. Things can’t go on this way. So, I make a decision and a phone call. There’s only one person who can make this right. I didn’t want to have to do it, but it looks like I have no choice.

Half an hour later, I pull into the Big Boy Restaurant across town. I spot my mother’s car parked next to Crash’s bike. When I stroll inside, I find them in a booth against the window sipping coffee.

Mom smiles when she greets me, but I see the worry lines around her eyes.

I slip into the booth next to her and across from Crash.

A waitress comes over with a carafe. “Would you like coffee, sir?”

I flip my cup over in its saucer. “Please.”

“Will you be ordering food?”

I wave her off. “Just coffee for me.”

Once she retreats, I take a sip.

“What’s going on, TJ?” Crash asks, cutting to the point.

My gaze shifts from him to my mother, and I set my cup down before I answer. “It’s about Brayden.”

“What about him?” my mother asks.

I drag in a breath, because I know this is going to be hard for her to hear. “Things are not good with him, Mom. He’s depressed, like serious depression. He’s been slipping further and further into this dark hole, and I’ve tried, but I can’t even reach him.”

“This over that girl?” Crash grunts.

I nod.

“What girl?” My mother frowns. “I haven’t heard about any girl.”

“Shades’ daughter. He met her when we were there for the funeral last month,” I reply.

“He wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with her,” Crash adds. “Shades found out. That’s the reason the boys were sent home, not because the job was done.”

“Why didn’t I know any of this?” my mother asks, her eyes narrowing on me.

I splay my hands. “I thought he’d get over her once he got home. I mean, they barely knew each other. Apparently, I was wrong. Things got pretty serious between them.”

“It’s a bad situation—things between Cole and Shades are fucked up and have been for years,” Crash says, dragging a palm down the back of his neck.

“There’s no way they can be together?” my mother asks him.

“Sweetheart, this goes back to the old days when Cole was Shades’ sponsor. The boy lied to him. That kind of shit doesn’t go over. That started the whole thing. There’s been bad blood and buried feelings ever since. Shades never really got over it. Then you add on the problems with the Devil Kings. That was handled badly. It put Shades in a spot. Cole needs to fix things, but when it comes to admitting when he’s wrong, he’s a stubborn son-of-a-bitch.”

“Maybe you could talk to him about that?” I ask Crash. “You know, see if he’ll fix things.”

Crash shakes his head. “I don’t know, kid. You father can be a willful ass at times.”

“I was just with Brayden. He’s not concentrating. Hell he, rode through a red light and then turned in front of an oncoming bus.”

“What?” my mother whispers, fear twisting her face.

“And that’s not all. Social withdrawal, loss of interest in anything other than sitting in his trailer—he’s showing all the classic signs of depression. His place is a mess. There are empty beer bottles everywhere, and he’s drinking whiskey right out of the bottle. He never did that much before.”

“I should go talk to him,” my mom says, trying to scoot me out of the booth.

“Hold on,” Crash lifts a hand. “Let me try. He’s more likely to open up to me than you.”

“But I’m his mother,” she argues.

“And I’m his VP. He’s not going to give me the brush off.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she says, biting her lip. “Maybe I should talk to Cole.”

“Before you do that, just give me a shot first,” Crash insists.

“All right. But if you don’t have any success, I’m going to urge Cole to make this right.”

We finish our coffee and Crash pays the bill, while I walk my mother to her car and kiss her goodbye. She promises she’ll let things lie for now.

After she drives off, I amble over to Crash, who walks out and dips his head to light a cigarette.

He eyes me through the smoke. “You okay, kid?”

“No. There’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t want to bring it up in front of my mother. It’s something I promised my brother a long time ago I wouldn’t reveal to our father.”

“What’s that?” His brows furrow.

I tell him about Brayden’s wrestling injury, how he hid it from my parents, and how it led to an opioid addiction. I explain how I covered for him and how he finally broke his addiction, knowing he had to if he wanted his patch.

“He was sure if my father found out, he’d kick him out of the club,” I say.

Crash stares. “Is he using again?”

“As far as I can tell, he’s still clean, but I’m not sure how long that will last in the state he’s in.”

Crash drops his cigarette under his boot. “Christ, what a fucking mess.”

“I know.”

“Look, your parents are leaving for Catalina tomorrow. They’ll be out of town for a few days. We’ll let it ride until they get back, but then you’re gonna have to come clean with your father.” He jabs his finger in my chest. “I’m your friend and your brother, but right now this is coming from your VP. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”