Rae

You make your way toward the small crowd and grab a half-empty bottle of Jack as you pass by a table. You're looking for Nikki's big mob of black hair among the people. The fact that you're terribly wasted doesn't exactly help, and neither does the extra gulp of whiskey. Oops. 

But eventually, you spot him on a corner bench with some guys—some you know, some you don’t. One of them is Vince. 

Even in your drunken state—or maybe especially because of it—you realize how fucking handsome he looks. 

"Hey handsome", you say as you place your hand on his shoulder and your heart stops for a second when he looks up at you through his green eyes and a soft smile appears on his lips.  

"What's up, baby?"  

"Nothin," you shrug and sit down on his lap. The others barely pay attention to you joining the group. They just keep on drinking and talking. 

You and Nikki start sharing the bottle of whiskey and listen to Vince, who is currently showing off his newest tattoo. 

Then he goes on mumbling about what tattoos he’s going to get next and what plans he has, so you whisper to Nikki: "Pretty boy's getting really into his monolog." 

He smirks and asks: "What about you?"  

"What about me?"  

"Ya haven't gotten one in years." 

Yeah, because they’ve never really been your thing. 

"Oh, I got a tattoo machine if ya wanna change that", suddenly some guy suggests—apparently the one who owns this place and overheard your conversation. 

"What?", you ask, confused.  

"We got a tattoo machine right here, wait, I'll get it!" Excitedly, he gets up. 

"Perfect", Nikki laughs and looks at you challengingly. In fact, everybody is looking at you. 

"No fucking way, Sixx!", you tell him.  

"Oh c'mon! Let me do it!"  

"You?! You've never done that before! What do you even wanna do?!" You’re alarmed but still laughing. This is such a bullshit idea. 

"Well, what do ya want?" 

"You gotta be kiddin’", you shake your head with a smile. 

"If ya don't want the Sixxter to do it, I cou—"  

"No fuckin’ way, Vince! I'm not doing that! I'm fuckin’ drunk. We're all wasted!" 

"Fine, you get to do one on me as well, deal?" 

"Ugly couple tattoo?", someone laughs, but you don’t pay attention to him. Nikki is looking at you intently, and although it seems like a bullshit idea, part of you gets so fucking excited over it! And the idea of giving him a tattoo thrills you—that he'd even let you do it! 

"Okay...", you finally give in the second the other guy arrives with the machine. 

"You go first."  

"Uh-uh", Nikki shakes his head, smirking: "I'll do it anyway! But we don't want you to back down, do we?" 

God, your heart is beating way too fast, but you know you can't back down again. You laugh nervously and ask: "Whatcha wanna do?"  

"No fucking idea", he laughs and takes the machine, excitement glistening in his eyes: "Where do ya want it?" 

"Uh...", you think. 

"Arm?"  

"Fine," you say: "Do it over my elbow." 

You turn your arm in his direction, which is risky because this way you can’t even see what he’s doing.  

"Good girl", he smirks. 

"I swear to god, don’t fuck it up, Nik!", you threaten him with a smirk on your lips and down a big gulp of whiskey. 

You feel the sharp pain of the needle, although you had hoped the alcohol would lessen it—that didn’t work. 

"Don’t you dare make this a big thing, doesn’t have to be a fuckin’ work of art. Hurry up!" 

Nikki just laughs and continues his work, ignoring your words.  

"Vince, what's he doing?" you ask.  

"Ooh, you'll looove it for sure."  

His words sound panicked, but you just laugh it away. 

"Done!" Nikki finally announces and is visibly pleased with his work. 

Finally! 

"What does it say?" you ask, trying to read the words upside down on your arm.  

"Don't fuck it up."  

"What?"  

"Don't fuck it up", Nikki smirks: "You always tell me to not fuck it up, so I thought it’s fitting."  

"For real? I tell you that! And now it’s on my fuckin’ arm!", you laugh and grab the machine from him.  

"You are so getting that as well, asshole!" 

"Okay", he just nods, grinning.  

"So you don’t forget..."  

"What?"  

"That you shouldn’t fuck things up..." 

He knows what you mean when you look at him intensely. You mean you and him. You don’t want him to fuck you up... 

THEN: PERPETRATORS, 2008

“Congratulations to the class of 2008!”

Everyone cheered. The graduates on the football field, and the crowd of family and friends in the bleachers, erupted with applause and shouts. Your class stood up in celebration, caps launching into the warm evening sky like a flock of birds taking flight. Laughter and screams of joy echoed all around you, mingling with the smell of freshly cut grass and the faint tang of sunscreen.

Everyone moved around, hugging loved ones, snapping pictures, or searching for friends, while you just stood in place, letting the moment sink in.

“We did it!”

Arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you off the ground in a sudden spin. You laughed in surprise, the thrill making your stomach flip, before realizing it was Deran.

“Hey, Congrats!” you laughed

“Congrats to you too!” He set you down and pulled you into a hug, the warmth of his presence grounding you amid the chaos.

“Is your family here?” you asked once he let go, scanning the bleachers.

“No”

“What? Where are they?”

“We don’t really do this kind of stuff,” he said with a shrug, kicking at the grass beneath his feet.

“Really? You’re not hurt?” you asked, noticing he seemed perfectly fine despite the commotion.

“Pfff, no,” he said, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “It’s just high school.”

“I know,” you said, a small frown tugging at your lips. “But it’s a huge milestone. It’s the start of the rest of our lives.”

He smiled faintly, as if understanding the weight behind your words. Around you, the evening air shimmered with excitement and possibility, and for a moment, everything felt open and endless.

“Hey, I’m here sharing this moment with my best friend. That’s all I need.”

Before you could respond, Craig barreled in, tackling his younger brother with a grin. “Congrats, knucklehead!” he said, giving him a playful noogie. Deran laughed, squirming, and shoved him off, both of them collapsing onto the grass in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Then Baz and Andrew appeared, weaving their way through the crowd of cheering graduates and proud parents. The sight of them, casual, unbothered as always was so out of place among the caps and gowns that you almost laughed.

“Will you two ever grow up?” Baz muttered, rolling his eyes, though there was the faintest curl of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Craig was the first to stand, brushing grass from his jeans as he reached down to pull Deran up beside him.

“What are you guys doing here?” Deran asked, but his grin gave him away. He didn’t wait for an answer, just dragged them both in with Craig, arms locking tight until the four of them were a single, messy knot of shoulders and laughter.

“Smurf made us come, since you’re the—”

“Baby!” Smurf interrupted, catching Deran’s face in her hands and planting a kiss on his cheek. “My baby graduated high school! I’m so proud!”

Every brother knew better. She was proud, sure, but mostly she was here to show face, take some credit, and remind everyone that Deran’s success reflected on her. Her theatrical grin and the way she wiped at her imaginary tear told the real story.

While she held onto Deran, Craig and Baz drifted your way. Craig slung an arm loosely over your shoulder, pulling you into a friendly side hug before Baz followed, brief but warm.

“Congratulations, Angel,” Andrew said as he stepped forward, his voice softer than theirs. A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips as he held out a bouquet of flowers.

You blinked in surprise, glancing from the bouquet to his face. The sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten. “Thank you,” you said quietly, taking the flowers from him.

“Hope these are okay,” he murmured, shifting a little as if he wasn’t sure he should have brought them at all.

“They’re perfect. Really. Thank you,” you replied, hugging the bouquet closer, their fresh scent grounding you in the swirl of celebration.

From behind Andrew’s shoulder, you caught Smurf’s eyes on you. Her smile hadn’t faltered, but the tilt of her head and the calculating glint beneath her lashes made your stomach twist. She was watching. Not just you, but the way Andrew looked at you, the softness he rarely showed anyone.

You hear your name being called above the crowd. Turning, you spot your family waving wildly, their faces lit with pride.

“I gotta go,” you say to Andrew and the rest of the Codys, your smile lingering even as your pulse quickens with anticipation.

Deran steps forward first, pulling you into a quick but tight hug. “Hey, I’ll call you later, alright? We’re hanging out this summer before you leave. No excuses!”

“Yes! I’ll see you later,” you reply, grinning as you pull away. “Bye!”

You wave to the Codys one last time, flowers clutched to your chest, before hurrying toward your family. Relief and excitement swell in you all at once, the weight of the day dissolving as their arms open wide. Finally, you slip back into their embrace, surrounded by the familiar warmth that feels like home.

—-

The summer of 2008 was a blur of sun and salt. You spent your days with Deran and his brothers sprawled out on the beach, letting the tide chase your ankles, or stretched by the pool at their house while laughter carried into the warm evenings. Oceanside became a rhythm you memorized—the crash of waves, the heat of the sand, the smell of salt in the air. You tried to soak up every second, every corner of California, knowing all too well that soon you’d be leaving it behind for a while.

By the time summer began to wind down, the days with Deran and his brothers grew fewer. They always had something pulling them away, calls they couldn’t ignore, errands that never seemed to end. You didn’t ask questions. Still, you held onto the moments you did get with them, tucking them away like snapshots before it was time to leave Oceanside behind.

Then one night with Craig and Deran changed everything you thought you knew.

The three of you were driving back from the movies, the night air rushing through the open jeep, the smell of popcorn and soda still clinging to your clothes. The roads were nearly empty, streetlights flickering past in a steady rhythm, when Craig’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Without hesitation, he slipped it out and pressed it to his ear, one hand steady on the wheel.

“Hello? What?! Now? Can’t this wait? But—”

You watched the color drain from his face, his easy grin collapsing in an instant.

“FUCK! FINE!” Craig’s voice exploded in the confined space, raw and jagged. He slammed the phone shut and hurled it across the dash. It struck the windshield with a sharp thunk, rattling the glass and making you flinch back in your seat.

The silence afterward was thick, suffocating.

“What is it?” Deran asks, voice tight, eyes flicking between Craig and the road ahead.

“Change of plans, we can’t go home… Something came up. We gotta go,” Craig mutters, voice low and clipped, jaw tight as his hands choke the wheel.

“What? Now?” Deran whispers back, eyes darting toward you, uncertainty flashing across his face.

“Yes. Now.”

“But we can’t—”

“We don’t have a choice, Deran,” Craig grits out, teeth clenched as he jerks the jeep hard around a corner. The engine growls, the whole car lurching with the movement.

Deran leans closer, voice sharp but hushed, like he’s trying not to let you hear. “We should drop her off.” His glance flickers to you, almost pleading.

“Drop her where?” Craig hisses, throwing a quick look at him. “There’s no time. Unless you want to dump her on the side of the road—”

“No, no we’re not doing that” Deran shakes his head, tension etched in every line of his face. “So what, we’re just gonna keep her in the car?”

“That’s about our only option right now,” Craig mutters, eyes locked on the road. “She’ll be safe, out of the way.”

A beat of silence, only the rumble of the engine between them. Then Craig adds, clipped, almost biting: “This is your friend, Deran. You make the call.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask quietly, voice small against the hum of the engine.

Craig grips the steering wheel tighter and exhales slowly, a sharp, controlled sigh.

“We gotta take care of something,” Deran says, his tone low, clipped, carrying an edge of tension he doesn’t bother explaining. His eyes flick to Craig, holding just long enough to make the message clear.

Craig’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking as he glances at you in the rearview before locking eyes with his brother again. He doesn’t argue—he doesn’t have to. The silence says it all. Deran made the call. You were staying in the car.

“Okay…” you murmur, unsure if you should press further.

Craig drives on without another word. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, pressing in from all sides. Every corner of the jeep feels tighter, every shadow outside darker.

The farther you go, the streets change. The glow of streetlights thins, replaced by deep pools of shadow. Pavement cracks rise like scars, weeds sprouting through jagged lines of concrete. Old buildings loom on either side, leaning awkwardly, their windows shattered or boarded up, like forgotten teeth in a decaying jaw.

The world outside seems abandoned, dangerous, and your stomach twists. Every jolt of the jeep over the broken asphalt makes your pulse spike, and your mind races with questions you don’t dare voice. You feel small, trapped in the vehicle, at the mercy of the brothers and whatever “thing” they’re racing toward.

Finally, the car slows in front of a large, rusted warehouse.

“You’re joking right? You have to take care of something here?” Your voice wavers as you peer out the window. 

“We’ll be back soon.” Craig unbuckles and swings the door open, slamming it shut behind him.

A wave of déjà vu hits you—memories of that day Craig got hurt flashing sharply in your mind. Your chest tightens. You don’t like this. Not one bit.

Halfway out the door, Deran stops and glances back at you. His eyes are hard, unwavering. “I need you to stay in the car,” he says, voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument.

You nod, hesitant. “Okay…”

“No. Not just okay.” His voice snaps sharper now, insistent, each word carrying weight that brooks no argument. “You stay in the car. No matter what. Stay put until you see us come back.”

“Deran—”

“Promise me, Angel”

There’s a desperation in his tone that shakes you. “…I promise.”

“Lock the doors,” he instructs before shutting his own and disappearing down the narrow path between two buildings.

And so you sit. You wait. Minutes drag, heavy and oppressive. Then more. Half an hour passes, and the air inside the car feels stifling, thick with unease.

What could they possibly be doing out there? Are they okay? Are they hurt? Every scenario your mind conjures twists your stomach into knots.

Despite your promise, concern wins. Your hands shake slightly as you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out. The air is colder. Quiet, except for the distant hum of the city.

You walk slowly, nerves on edge, down the narrow path between the two rundown warehouses. Gravel crunches under your shoes.

Up ahead, you spot a faint glow, light spilling out through a crack in one of the massive sliding doors. It’s just open enough for a sharp sliver of light to cut through the suffocating darkness.

Then you hear it.

The smack of a fist. A grunt. A choked groan of pain that reverberates hollowly through the metal walls, bouncing off the corrugated steel and scraping against your nerves.

Your heart lurches violently, skipping a beat. Blood rushes in your ears.

What was happening? Were they getting hurt? Was this… was this worse than you feared?

You have no clear plan, no safe way in, but you do the only thing you can think of. Your hands tremble as you fumble for your phone, your fingers slick with sweat. You press it tightly against your ear, as if the thin barrier could shield you from the sounds, the dread, the helplessness.

“Hello?” Andrew’s voice comes through, calm, casual, unaware. The contrast twists the knot in your stomach tighter. Panic and urgency mix into a cold, sharp edge that makes it hard to think.

Your eyes dart toward the crack in the sliding door, the faint glow spilling from it. Your grip on the phone tightens, knuckles whitening, and you try to steady your breathing, though your chest heaves and your pulse races like a drum in your ears.

“Andrew…I need help,” you stammer, voice shaking, barely more than a whisper.

“Woah, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His tone sharpens instantly, concerned cutting through the casual edge it had before.

“Something’s wrong… I don’t know where I am…”

“You don’t know where you are?” His voice grows urgent, edge tight with worry.

“Andrew, please, I… I think Craig and Deran are in trouble,” you whisper, trembling, gripping the phone like it’s your only lifeline.

“What do you mean they’re in trouble?”

You inch closer, each step heavier than the last. You peer through the crack.

“I was with them. They drove to a warehouse and told me to wait in the car—”

“Wha-”

“I promised Deran I would stay put in the car but they’ve been gone a while and so I’m looking for them and I think…” The words die in your throat.

Because through the crack in the warehouse door, you see him.

Deran.

Not tied to the chair. Not bleeding. Not the one you thought you were here to save.

He’s standing there, shoulders squared, blood glinting on his knuckles. The sound you heard, the brutal smack of flesh, it was him. He steps back, shaking out his hand as the man slumped in the chair groans, his face ruined, barely recognizable.

Craig slowly circles around the guy in the chair as he watches Deran ruin him. Baz is nearby crouched down with a duffle bag counting wads of cash, a gun on the floor beside him. And then Andrew.

The phone is still pressed to his ear, gun in hand. His eyes lock directly on the crack in the door…on you.

“Oh my god—” The cry rips from you as you stumble back, breath snagging in your throat. Your gaze locks on the sight before you, not just a scene, but a crime unfolding in brutal clarity.

“Fuck,” you hear Andrew mutter, both through the phone and in person, sharp and alarmed.

Too late.

Three heads snap up in unison. Baz. Craig. Deran.

All of them lock eyes on the cracked warehouse door

You slap your hand over your mouth. Your heart stops. You try to back up, to melt into the darkness. 

You pull the phone away from your ear, your hands shaking as your arm drops to your side. 

“Angel!” Deran’s voice is sharp. Alarmed.

You take one shaky step back. Then another. 

Your heart’s hammering so hard it hurts. You want to run, you need to, but your mind is blank, frozen, scrambling to process what you’re seeing. Every detail of the scene presses in, sharp and unbearable, leaving you paralyzed with shock.

You drop your phone. Your limbs move before your brain catches up. Panic takes over.

You bolt.

“Shit—SOMEBODY GRAB HER!” Baz’s voice roars behind you.

You freeze, whipping your gaze left, then right, panic clawing at your chest. Each breath comes sharp and uneven as your mind scrambles for an answer. Do you run back to the car? Make a break for the street? Every option feels like a trap.

But what if they’re faster? What if they catch you before you even take a step? The possibilities slam into you, sharp and terrifying, and your legs feel like lead, your body caught between instinct and fear.

You make a split-second choice and take off down the narrow path between the warehouses running towards the streets opposite from the car. The gravel slips under your shoes. 

You don’t know where you’re going, you just run.

Run like your life depends on it.

Because maybe… it does.

You know you shouldn't have seen that. You weren’t supposed to know. You stepped into their world, and now you know too much.

Then—

A hand clamps down hard on your arm, yanking you back with enough force to nearly knock you off your feet.

You let out a startled yelp, twisting around and slam right into someone’s chest. Solid. Unforgiving.

Your breath catches.

And then you look up.

It’s Andrew.

His face is inches from yours. Cold eyes blazing, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Andrew’s voice cuts sharp, laced with raw anger.

The Andrew you’d spoken to on the phone just moments ago…soft, measured, careful, was gone. In his place stood someone darker, unrestrained, unpredictable.

Tears spring to your eyes before you can stop them, hot, fast, and helpless. Your body trembles beneath the weight of adrenaline and fear. You try to speak, but no words come out. Just a broken breath.

Andrew’s eyes flicker with a mix of anger and something deeper, frustration, maybe even fear. 

Before you can answer, you shove him and go stumbling back against the cold, rough metal surface of the warehouse wall. The impact jars you, breath hitching in your throat.

You’re a wreck, sobs tearing out of you as tears stream unchecked down your cheeks. Your chest heaves, voice breaking as you fight to force out words that won’t come.

You’d never been afraid of Andrew. Not really. His reputation for intimidation belonged to other people, never to you. But this… this was different. For the first time, terror gripped you in a way you couldn’t shake. 

Andrew knew eventually you were going to see who they truly were. What they did. What they were capable of.

He just didn’t think it would be now.

Not like this. Not tonight.

His jaw tightens as his eyes lock on you. You tremble, pressed against the warehouse wall like prey cornered by a monster. Seeing you shrink from him guts him in a way nothing else ever could. And that, watching you like this, snaps something inside him. His fury isn’t directed at you. It’s at the situation, at the chaos closing in around you both.

He slams his fist against the wall beside your head, not at you but still, you flinch, and the sound rips through the night like a gunshot. 

“Goddammit!” Andrew snaps, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. His eyes are wild, panic and fury battling for control.

You slid down against the metal wall, legs giving out beneath you. Curling into yourself, you wrapped your arms around your knees and buried your face against them.

You made yourself small, tight like a ball as if folding inward could protect you from everything that had just happened.

But it couldn’t. Not from the way your hands were still shaking. Not from the way your chest aches like something inside you had cracked open.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it all out, the fear, the image of the boys, the beaten man.

Andrew forces himself to take a slow breath, forcing the storm inside him to settle. He knows he needs to stay calm, steady, together for you.

“Hey,” he says softly, crouching beside you, his hand reaching out as if to steady you. He can’t bear to see you like this, trembling, overwhelmed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay,” he whispers, his hand hovering helplessly in the space between you, unsure if reaching out would only make it worse.

“You expect me to believe that?!” The words tear out of you, raw and trembling as you press yourself tighter against the wall, as if distance could save you.

And he can see it, written plain in your eyes. You don’t believe him. You’re scared. Scared of him. Scared of all of them.

Footsteps pound against the dirt and gravel as Baz, Craig, and Deran come walking over from the far end of the warehouse, their faces pale, adrenaline already high.

The boys crowd around you, their presence closing in as you remain pressed against the wall. Andrew stands in front of you, his body shifting slightly to the side near the slide—but he stays close.

“Angel—what the hell…I told you to stay in the car!” Deran shouts the second he sees you, his voice tight with panic. He rushes toward you, eyes wide, breathing hard. His hands are clenched at his sides like he’s trying not to fall apart—or hit something. Maybe both.

“Why the fuck did you get out of the car?!” he snaps, voice cracking. “I told you to stay put! You promised me!”

You’re still sobbing, chest hitching with every breath, shoulders trembling violently. Tears streak your face, hot and unrelenting, as you struggle to force the words out through the panic lodged in your throat.

“I—I got worried! You and Craig were taking so long! I thought… I thought something happened! That you two were hurt!” Your voice cracks, shaking under the weight of fear and desperation.

Baz’s shout cuts through the charged air, raw and furious. “You two thought it was the best idea to bring her and leave her in the fucking car?! Are you two fucking stupid?!” His face is twisted in anger, veins prominent on his forehead, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“You didn’t give us much of a choice—or any other options! You told us to be here, and we showed up! We did what we had to do!” Deran’s voice is fierce, trembling with a mix of frustration and fear, echoing off the metal walls of the warehouse.

“I warned you!” Andrew snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the room as he steps into Deran’s space, chest rising and falling hard. “I told you this would happen if you kept her around! You didn’t listen—and now look!” He jerks a hand toward you, his glare burning into Deran. “Look at her!”

“What do we do?” Craig says, quieter than the others but it hits harder.

Because that’s the question no one wants to answer.

The guys had never dealt with anything like this before. Normally, it didn’t matter who they had to throw under the bus, who they cut loose to keep themselves safe. But you weren’t just anyone. To them and especially to Deran, you mattered. And that changed everything.

Baz is the first to snap.

“She saw too much,” Baz growls, pacing like a predator. “We can’t just let her walk away like nothing happened. What if she talks?!”

“She’s not gonna talk!” Deran yells, his voice cracking with desperation.

Baz spins on him, fury flashing. “Look, I get it—she’s your friend. Fine. But this is business. And she’s a liability. A huge fucking liability, Deran! She saw what we did. She knows now. That puts all of us at risk!”

“I won’t tell—I didn’t mean to see it—please, I didn’t mean to—I promise I won’t say anything!” Your words spill out in frantic, trembling bursts.

“When Smurf finds out—” Baz says.

“No! We can’t tell her! She doesn't need to know! She can’t find out about this, ever!” Deran panics, picturing the consequences if Smurf discovers what happened and what might happen to you.

Baz’s eyes lock on you, unreadable and hard. “At the end of the day, it’s her or us. We do what we have to do to survive.” He glances at Deran, then back at you, his voice steady, sharp. “When it comes down to it… we’ll always choose our own. If that means she gets hurt… if that means she’s gone… so be it. Nothing matters more than family. Nothing.”

The words hit you like ice. Baz doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch. He would discard you, treat you like you were nothing without a second thought. All in the name of keeping themselves safe. You feel your chest tighten, panic clawing at your throat. Your mind races, scrambling for a way out, for any sign that someone, anyone, might protect you. But in that moment, the truth is clear: to them, you are a liability. A risk. Something expendable.

But Deran… Deran is the only one standing between you and their ruthless logic. He looks torn, haunted, the pull of family pulling at him, but he knows where he stands. His stance is with you.

“Do you hear yourself right now?!” Deran snaps at Baz, voice shaking with both anger and desperation. He knows exactly what Baz means, but this isn’t right. You’re innocent, caught in this mess because of him, and it’s his fault. He won’t let you suffer for it. Not for a second. He’d fight his own brothers if he had to.

“Could you live with yourself if you actually did that… to Angel?” His words cut through the room, a challenge and a plea all at once.

Baz stops pacing, his eyes cold and sharp as knives. “Deran,” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “Do you think putting her first changes anything? It doesn’t. You know the rules, liabilities get dealt with. Always. Family comes first, no exceptions.”

“This is on me, alright? Not her!” He jabs a finger at his own chest, eyes blazing. “She didn’t ask for this. Don’t drag her ever more!” 

He takes a step closer, the air between them heavy. “If you really want to risk all of that for her… make sure you’re ready for what that choice costs.”

Before anyone can say anything else, Andrew’s voice cuts through the tension.  He steps forward, positioning himself in front of you like a shield.

“Enough.” His voice cuts through the chaos, low and deadly calm, but it carries the weight of authority no one dares ignore.

Baz freezes, eyes narrowing, while Deran takes a small, shaky step back, relief and fear mingling across his face. Andrew’s gaze locks on Baz first, then sweeps to you, assessing, protective, unyielding.

“No one’s touching her,” Andrew says, each word deliberate, measured. “Not tonight. Not ever.” His voice cuts like steel, final, absolute. It’s not a question. It’s a command, an unshakable law in the room. Every eye shifts to him, even Baz’s, sensing the weight behind it.

“She’s not a threat, Baz. She’s scared. She’s just a kid.” His gaze sweeps over you, protective and unyielding, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

“Pope—” Baz starts, his tone sharp, bristling with defiance. “We can’t just—”

Andrew knows. He knows exactly what liabilities are, exactly how they’re handled and usually, he takes care of them without hesitation. But you… no, you’re the exception. Someone worth protecting, no matter what it takes.

Andrew turns on him, slow and precise, eyes locking with his in a way that makes the air itself seem to harden. “I said no.” His voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t have to be. 

Baz glares, teeth clenched. “You think just because you say so, that changes anything? Rules are rules, Pope. You’re blind if you think this—”

Andrew’s jaw tightens, his voice low and steady, each word laced with menace.

“You’re not touching her.” He leans forward just slightly, eyes locked on Baz like a predator ready to strike.

“You try anything, anything at all, I’ll fuck you up. You know I will.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. Baz doesn’t back down, not really but even he doesn’t push it further. Not when the Pope's in this state.

“And what about you?” He turned to Craig, already knowing where Deran and Pope stood. Deep down, he hoped Craig would be the one to back him.

Craig owed you, after he got injured, you’d helped him. You didn’t understand the world they moved in or the things they did to make a living, and you certainly didn’t deserve to be caught up in it. None of this had anything to do with you. You were innocent.

 “Come on, Baz, none of that is necessary. Just… step off, alright? Let’s not make this messier than it already is.” Craig says

Baz’s eyes snapped to his brothers. His jaw tightened, and after a long, tense sigh, he shook his head. Without another word, he turned and walked back in the direction they had come from.

Despite everything, they had defended you, protected you, but it didn’t change the fact of what you had witnessed. Your crying slowly subsided as they argued over you, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

Andrew held out his hand. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

You hesitantly took his hand and stood up, hugging yourself as the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin. Without a word, Andrew shrugged off his jacket and gently draped it over your shoulders, the warmth of the fabric a small comfort against the chill.

He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze steady and filled with concern, as if silently asking if you were really alright.

“Take her home. We’ll take care of things here,” Andrew said firmly to his younger brothers, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then, without another word, he turned and followed the path Baz had taken, leaving you the three of you. 

—

When Craig pulled up to your house, you didn’t wait for the car to fully stop. You yanked open the door and stepped out, your heart still racing. You fumbled with the gate, pushing it open and rushing toward your front door.

Behind you, you could hear Craig moving quickly, the car door slamming shut as he hurried after you.

Your hands trembled as you dug for your keys, fumbling to find the right one.

“Angel, wait please” Deran called, grabbing your arm gently but firmly.

You spun around, backing toward your front steps. “Don’t touch me!”

He froze mid-step, palms up like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. “Just let me explain!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Deran!” Your voice cracked, your hands trembling at your sides. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

His expression shifted, like he’d been punched. “You know me—”

“Know you?!” you laughed, sharp and bitter, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I don’t know you at all!” 

You took another step back, your back practically up against the front door. 

Deran looked at you, his jaw clenched like he was holding back a thousand words.

“You do know me,” he said, quieter now. “You do.”

But you just shook your head, biting back the sting in your voice. “No. I thought I did. And that’s the part that hurts the most.”

“I knew I should’ve kept my distance and stayed away from you when I found out what was in that damn duffle bag—” you said, your voice shaking, the words heavy with guilt and fear.

“What?” Deran’s voice cracked, disbelief and anger tangling as he stepped closer, eyes narrowing on you like he was trying to read the truth from your face.

“I saw it,” you admitted, hands trembling as you clenched them at your sides. “The money… the jewelry… the gun. The duffle bag you hid under your bed.”

Deran froze, as if your words had landed a blow he never saw coming. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, jaw tightening as fear and frustration warred behind his eyes. “You… you saw that?” His voice dropped, hoarse, almost wounded. “Why didn’t you say anything? You should’ve told me.”

“And what would that have done?” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

His mouth opened, then closed again, as if he didn't even have an answer. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.

“I didn’t know what to think,” you whispered, voice raw. “I told myself I was imagining things. That it couldn’t be real. That you couldn’t possibly…” The word lodged in your throat, sharp and cruel. You couldn’t bring yourself to call him a criminal, not when a part of you still wanted to believe in him.

Your chest rose and fell unevenly as you shook your head. “I didn’t want to see it. I kept telling myself there was another explanation. Because the second I admitted the truth…” Your voice cracked, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. “The second I admitted the truth, it meant the person I thought I knew—the person I—” You choked, stopping the word before it could escape.

Deran’s jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. For a heartbeat, his expression flickered—anger, regret, fear—before settling into something guarded.

“Angel,” he murmured, voice rough, like gravel. “It’s not that simple.”

You let out a sharp, brittle laugh. “Of course it’s not. Nothing with you ever is.” You swiped at your eyes, throat aching. “But you could’ve trusted me. You could’ve told me the truth instead of letting me figure it out in the worst possible way.”

“Would you have still been friends with me if I had told you… what my family and I do? What we’re capable of?”

You froze. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway. His jaw clenched, voice breaking low. “Would you?”

Your chest heaved as you shook your head slowly, tears spilling. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I want to say yes, but… God, Deran, how could I? Knowing everything? Watching you throw your life away and pretend it’s normal?”

Deran’s eyes flared, frustration and desperation breaking through his usual restraint. “This is normal! This is my normal! It’s all my brothers and I have ever known!” His fists clenched, knuckles white, as he stepped closer. “You think I want it to be like this? You think I chose this life? I didn’t!”

“You’ll never understand,” he snapped, voice tight with pain.

Your chest tightened, stomach twisting with fear and anger. “Then why drag me into it?” you asked, voice trembling.

Deran’s jaw worked, eyes flickering between guilt and defiance. “You’re the only person I’ve got that’s real. Not caught up in all the bullshit. I didn’t want to lose you… even if it meant lying, even if it meant keeping things from you. You’re the one person in my life that makes me feel like I can be… someone better.”

You took a step back, shaking your head, hands trembling. “Better? You’ve already ruined everything I thought I knew about you. And now I find out… you and your family… you’re criminals?”

He flinched at the word, but his voice stayed low, almost desperate. “I was always real with you about me… everything I told you is true. I just left out my family. I didn’t want you to see that side—the messy part that could drag you down. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” you spat, disbelief and hurt twisting your voice. “By lying? By letting me trust you while hiding that you and your whole family are involved in… in that? You’ve destroyed my trust in you!”

Deran’s shoulders sagged, the fight fading into guilt. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I wanted you in my life. Losing you—it’s the last thing I could bear.”

You shook your head again, stepping back, shaking off the tremor in your hands. “ I don’t even know if I can trust you again—or be your friend at all.”

Deran’s jaw tightened, a flicker of panic crossing his features. “Angel…” 

“I never want to see you again. You and your family—just stay the hell away from me!” you snapped. With that, you quickly unlocked the door and slammed it shut, the sound echoing like a verdict.

—

You had just gotten out of the shower, only in kick-around shorts and an oversized t-shirt, your hair still damp. Your eyes were swollen and puffy from crying so much, the events replaying endlessly in your head. It felt like a nightmare you couldn’t escape, even as you tried to get ready for bed.

Suddenly, a hand clamped over your mouth, an arm snaking around your waist and yanking you back against a solid chest. You gasped, screaming into the palm covering your mouth, your heart lurching as panic surged through you.

“Shh—it’s me. It’s me” a voice whispered urgently in your ear.

Andrew.

Your hands flew to the arm around your waist and the one covering your mouth. Your chest heaved, rising and falling in a panicked rhythm.

“I’m gonna let you go,” he said slowly, “but you can’t scream.”

Slowly, his hand lifted from your mouth.

You stumbled away from him the second he let go, pressing yourself into the farthest corner of the room. Your eyes were wide and streaked with tears, your chest heaving. Every nerve screamed, but you kept your voice low—your parents were asleep, and you didn’t want to wake them.

“You need to leave,” you whispered sharply, trembling. “You can’t be here. You need to go!”

“No.”

“Andrew—”

“My jacket.”

“What?”

“My jacket.”

A surge of fury cut through your fear, sharp and heated even as you lowered your voice. “You broke into my house to get your jacket back?!” you hissed, your words barely above a whisper.

You pushed off the wall, moving toward your bed. Snatching the jacket up, you hurled it at him. “Take your jacket and get out!”

Did he really want the jacket back? No. He could have cared less. But it gave him an excuse to come see you, after everything that had happened at the warehouse.

You wanted him gone, now, the sense of safety in your own home shattered completely.

“Just… leave me alone, please,” you whispered.

Andrew’s eyes flickering with something between guilt and frustration. He held the jacket awkwardly in front of him, as if it were a shield. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, voice low, careful not to raise it.

You didn’t move, “Then why are you here, Andrew? After everything at the warehouse, after what I’ve seen… why?”

He swallowed hard, jaw tight, and glanced toward the door before meeting your gaze again. “I just… I needed to make sure you were okay. I couldn’t just leave things like that. Not after everything.”

Your voice cracked. “You thought it was a good idea to break into my house! Just to… what? Check on me?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair, his usual confidence gone, replaced by tension. “I know it’s stupid—”

You shook your head, backing slightly, body trembling. “Stupid? Andrew, this is terrifying! And such an invasion of my space, of my trust!”

“Okay… okay. I get it. I’m leaving.” He took a careful step back toward the door, the weight of the unspoken words heavy in the air.

“Don’t come back,” you said, your chest heaving, anger and fear twisting in your gut. “I never want to see you again.”

You didn’t speak, didn’t even watch him leave at first. You made your way to your bed, you turned off your lamp and sank onto it, tears spilling freely as you curled up under the covers. 

He stopped in your doorway when he heard the soft sobs, unable to bear leaving you like this.

You knew he was still there. Even without looking, you could feel it—the weight of his stare pressing into your back, the faint scrape of his shoes shifting against the wooden floorboards. The silence stretched heavy, broken only by your uneven breathing.

You didn’t trust yourself to look at him, didn’t trust yourself to speak. But you could sense him drawing closer, each step quiet but certain, until his presence loomed at the foot of your bed.

“Angel.”

The sound of your name from his lips made your chest tighten. You buried your face deeper into the pillow. “Just go away, Andrew.”

“No.” His reply was immediate, steady, almost stubborn.

Your throat burned, eyes raw from crying. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you whispered, though your voice barely carried in the dark.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, the mattress dipped under his weight as he sat carefully on the edge, careful to stay on top of the covers. The faint smell of cigarettes and saltwater clung to him, grounding and suffocating all at once.

You hugged the blanket tighter around yourself, torn between recoiling and leaning closer. Every part of you screamed he wasn’t safe, not really, not after what you’d learned about him. And yet, the quiet certainty in his voice, the unshakable way he anchored himself there, chipped at the edges of your fear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said finally, softer this time, “not until you fall asleep.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing him away, but the dip in the mattress and the steady weight of him sitting there refused to let you forget he was still beside you. Every nerve in your body buzzed, torn between panic and something dangerously close to relief.

Minutes dragged. Your sobs quieted, though your chest still hitched with every breath. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, only stayed, a shadow anchored to the edge of your bed. The silence between you wasn’t empty; it pulsed, heavy with everything unsaid.

Against your better judgment, your voice slipped out, small and cracked. “Why are you doing this?”

He let out a slow breath, one hand rubbing over his jaw. “Because I can’t stand to see you like this. I don’t care if you hate me, I’m not walking out. Not yet.”

Your throat tightened. The anger, the fear, the aching confusion twisted all at once, and you wanted to scream at him, shove him out into the night. But your body betrayed you, your shoulders sagging, exhaustion pulling harder now that you weren’t alone in the dark.

You shifted slightly under the covers, still not daring to look at him. “I don’t want you here,” you whispered, though the words lacked bite.

“I know.” His voice was quiet, almost resigned. “But I’m staying anyway.”

Your eyelids grow heavy, each blink longer than the last. You fought it, but the weight of sleep pressed harder, dragging you down. And through it all, you could feel him there, unmoving, watchful, steady.

When you woke the next morning, you wished it had only been a dream. But the heaviness in your chest told you otherwise. The Codys were criminals. No amount of denial could soften that truth anymore.

Andrew was gone. The space on the mattress where he’d sat was empty, but a folded note lay on the blanket beside you. Your stomach tightened as you reached for it.

For simple words were written 

I’m sorry for everything 

And that was the last time you heard or saw Andrew Cody. 

LYA Tag: @obfuscateyummy @princesssunderworld @jumpingjackalope @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @alexandrathegreat3 @cozyfanficnook @livingavilaloca @oldmanbunnylover @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @child-of-the-amis @cheekeym8s @aj3684 @sunfairyy @ravenouswild @feverxxdream @naxxsstuff @baileythepenguin @britt217 @wittyogredemon @lumpypoll @harmonetta @gigidacoolest @the-jess-life

THEN: ACCEPTANCE LETTER 2008

You biked as fast as you could to the Cody house, the midday sun beating down on your back. You gripped the letter in your hand as you grip the handle bars of your bike. 

You didn’t want to wait.

Not until dinner. Not even another hour.

You just wanted to tell someone—wanted to see Deran’s face when you said it out loud.

You roll into the driveway, pressing the handle bar breaks to slow down your speed and hop off your bike. You roll your bike towards the open garage, noticing Andrew working out on the workout equipment.

Andrew was shirtless, wearing jeans that hung low on his hips, his back sweaty. He was focused, jaw tight, arms flexing as he pulled down on the cable machine with steady rhythm.

“Hey,” you called, still a little breathless as you leaned your bike against the garage wall. 

Andrew glanced over his shoulder. His eyes landed on you briefly before he turned back to the machine.

You’d been around more since the day at the beach—seen Andrew a handful of times since then—but things between you hadn’t changed. He kept his distance. Every interaction was brief or clipped. You only spoke to each other when you had to; otherwise, you stayed out of each other’s way.

Baz and Deran, on the other hand, had been more welcoming. They talked to you, included you in whatever they were doing when you came around to hang out with Deran. But Andrew still held back, like there was an invisible line you weren’t supposed to cross—and he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

 “He’s not here,” he said, voice low but clear—already knowing who you were here for.

“Oh…” You pushed your hair back, trying to catch your breath. “Do you know where he went or when he’ll be back?”

He didn’t pause. Just pulled again, the weights clanking softly. “Nope.”

You stood there, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. The excitement that had propelled you here was starting to fade, caught in the silence between his reps.

“Okay… is anybody else home that could tell me where he is?”

Nothing.

“I’ll take that as a no, then…”

You glanced down at the envelope in your hand. Its edges were crumpled from how tightly you’d been holding it.

“I got my letter back. From one of the colleges I applied to.”

Andrew's rhythm of his reps slowed.  A subtle adjustment, like he’d finally stopped pretending not to listen. He remembers you mentioning how you applied for different colleges.

You looked up at him again, searching for some reaction. Still nothing. Just the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he continued to pull the handles down. 

The envelope suddenly feels heavier in your hands.

“I don’t know why I came here,” you said with a quiet laugh, mostly to yourself. “I guess I just wanted to share it with someone… with Deran.”

Andrew didn’t say anything, but the pause between his reps stretched a little longer this time.

You thumb the edge of the envelope. “He’s the one who kept telling me to go for it. Said I’d get in, no problem.”

Your voice wavered just a little. Not enough to crack—just enough to reveal the truth beneath it.

You had been nervous about applying. Nervous about even wanting something that far away. A school that meant starting over, leaving behind everything familiar.

But Deran hadn’t laughed, hadn’t shrugged it off like you half-expected him to. He’d just looked at you and said, “Why not you?” Like it was obvious.

That stuck.

So you’d done it. And now the letter was here, trembling just slightly in your grip, and the one person who told you to take the leap… wasn’t.

“It’s the college I really want to go to,” you added, trying to fill the silence.

Andrew huffed, not quite a scoff but close, still not facing you. “You don’t want to open this at home? With your family?”

“My parents are busy with work,” you muttered, voice low. “I didn’t even tell them I applied… to a university outside of California.” Your eyes are still on the letter.

“I was gonna tell Deran in person,” you added after a beat. “But since he’s not here…”

You stepped forward, lifting the envelope slightly. “I guess you’ll do.”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure if this was something you should be sharing with Andrew. Deran was the one who encouraged you, who believed in you when you were too afraid to believe in yourself. Maybe you should’ve waited—waited to open it with him.

But the anticipation was gnawing at you, tightening your chest. You couldn’t wait any longer.

Your fingers tore the seal open before you could second-guess yourself. You pulled out the paper, unfolding it with shaky hands, eyes scanning for one word. Just one.

Then you saw it.

Congratulation

You gasped. A laugh broke from your chest.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your hand flying to your mouth. “I got in—I got in!”

You shrieked, joy bursting out of you like a firecracker. You jumped up and down, spinning in place as you waved the letter in the air, barely able to hold onto it.

Andrew paused, his hands still gripping the handlebars of the exercise machine. His shoulders rose and fell with quiet, controlled breaths as he turned to look over his shoulder at you. He let go slowly—arms dropping to his sides

You hadn’t realized he was watching.

He watched your reaction—your spinning, your laughter—and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A quiet chuckle slipped out before he could stop it.

“Good for you,” he said.

You heard that much. By the time you calmed yourself, his smile was gone. You didn’t catch how his smile lingered, genuine and quiet, drawn out by your happiness and the excitement you couldn’t contain.

You pressed the letter to your chest, breathing hard, cheeks flushed. 

Andrew stepped away from the machine, grabbing a water bottle from their outside refrigerator. His expression had already settled into something more neutral, but there was still a softness in his eyes if you looked closely enough.

“Where to?” he asked, taking a sip.

You tell him the name of the school. “It’s on the east coast” 

He lowered the bottle, recapping it slowly. “Far.”

Good, he thought. You’ll be away from all their bullshit.

“I know,” you said, practically bouncing with a mix of nerves and excitement. “But it’s exciting!”

Your heart raced at the thought of taking the leap — scared, but ready.

He went back to the machine grabbing his towel that was draped over the bars on the workout machine. 

“You can stay… wait for Deran, I mean,” he said, wiping his face, then tossing the towel over his shoulder.

He didn’t know why he said that. It came out before he could stop it—quieter than usual, not gruff or sharp. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said it, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor, like offering that kind of invitation cost him something.

You were surprised. Of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

You nodded quickly, hopeful but trying not to seem like it. “Yeah. I’ll wait. If that’s okay.”

Andrew gave a short jerk of his head toward the house—a wordless cue: go on in.

You hesitated just long enough, thinking he might say more. When he didn’t, you took the side door and headed toward their house.

He stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching you disappear, towel still resting on his shoulder. Then he tossed the towel aside, turned back toward the machine, and started working out again.

—

You moved into the living room and sat on the couch, the envelope still in your hands. You sank into the couch, left alone with the silence. For a moment, you thought Andrew might follow you inside—but he didn’t.

After a few minutes, you pull out your flip phone. The screen was smudged, the battery half-dead. You flipped it open and hit Deran’s number.

It rang a couple of times before going to voicemail.

“Hey! I’m at your place—sorry, I should’ve called first to check if you were home. Andrew said you were out, but I got my acceptance letter in the mail! I wanted to tell you in person. Sorry… I opened it. It couldn’t wait, but I got in! I’m going to the East Coast! Call me when you get this”

You hung up, leaving the voicemail, then snapped the phone shut with a soft click.

Now you wait. 

Time dragged. Twenty minutes. Then thirty.

Andrew came back out, freshly showered and dressed. He was in a clean T-shirt and jeans, towel still in hand as he ran it through his damp curls. He stopped in the space of the living room

 “No word?” he asked.

You toyed with a loose string on the throw pillow clutched to your chest. You shook your head, “He’s probably busy.” 

You stood from the couch, smoothing your hands down your legs just to give them something to do. “I should get going.”

Then added you, “If you see him… can you tell him to call me?”

Andrew didn’t say anything. Neither did you. There was no goodbye.

You stepped past him and made your way back outside the house. You grabbed your bike from where you’d left it against the garage wall and started rolling it up the driveway toward the street.

Andrew came out a moment later, keys in hand, heading toward his truck parked just a few feet away. He didn’t say anything, just walked in silence, unlocking the doors with the fob.

You were halfway up the drive when he said,

“C’mon.”

You stopped in your tracks, caught off guard.

“What?” you asked, turning to look at him.

“Let’s go.”

“But—”

“Leave your bike and get in the car,” he said, climbing into his truck. You knew with Andrew, he never asks—he tells.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why he wanted you in his truck, or where you two were going, but you did what he said. You rolled your bike and left it leaning against the outside of the garage, then climbed into the passenger seat of his truck. The engine was already running, the car humming softly.

“Seat belt,” he said.

“Right” You mumbled as you reached for it, pulling it across your chest and clicking it into place just as he shifted the truck into reverse.

He backed out of the driveway in one clean motion, then turned onto the street. The gate closed behind you with a mechanical hum, triggered by the clicker in his hand.

You glanced at him once, but he didn’t say anything. Just kept his eyes on the road. 

You stared out the window as the truck moved down the street, houses blurring past. Every few seconds, you felt the urge to say something—ask where you were going, 

The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either.

“So…” you said finally, the word slipping out quieter than you meant it to.

Andrew didn’t look at you, but you saw his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

You waited, but when he didn’t follow up, you added, “Where are we going or better yet… where are you taking me?” 

You shifted in your seat, not sure if you were annoyed or just anxious. Maybe both.

Nothing. 

“Andrew,” you said, a little firmer this time, trying to keep your voice steady despite the frustration bubbling under the surface.

He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Relax.”

“Relax?” You blinked, incredulous. “How am I supposed to relax when you’re basically kidnapping me?”

He furrows his eyebrows, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face, but he doesn’t look over. “Kidnapping? You got in the car willingly.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the seat. “Only because you practically ordered me to. You didn’t exactly give me much of a choice.”

He finally glanced your way, expression unreadable. “I didn’t force you. You have free will. You could’ve just said no.”

You let out a breath, part exasperated, part amused. “Yeah, well, when someone’s voice sounds like a command, saying no doesn’t exactly feel like an option.”

“You don’t have anything better to do,” he said flatly.

You raised a brow. “How do you know? Maybe I had plans.”

He gave you a look, dry and pointed. “Did you?”

You hesitated, then muttered, “That’s not the point.”

“It kind of is.”

You rolled your eyes and looked out the window. “God, you’re infuriating.”

He drummed his fingers once against the steering wheel. “And yet you got in the car.”

You turned your head, shooting him a glare. “Because you made it sound like it wasn’t up for discussion.”

You turned to look out the window, watching the blur of palm trees and strip malls pass by.

Then, quietly, “Would it help if I said I didn’t want you sitting around by yourself?”

Andrew didn’t want you to be alone. Your parents weren’t home, and neither was Deran. There was no one around to celebrate with you. Sure, you could celebrate later—but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing compared to sharing the moment while it was still alive, still buzzing in your chest.

That caught you off guard. Your head turned slowly back toward him.

He wasn’t looking at you—his jaw tight, eyes ahead—but the tension in his shoulders had softened, just barely.

You blinked. “So this is… what? You playing chauffeur out of pity?”

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Not pity.”

You waited, but he said nothing else. Just kept driving, hands steady on the wheel.

“I’m hungry.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

“I thought you might be too.”

You stared at him for a second, trying to make sense of it. Was… was he taking you out to eat? That couldn’t be right. Not Andrew. Your best friend’s older brother. The one who always kept his distance, who made it painfully clear he didn’t want anything to do with you—or have you hanging around. That Andrew was now driving you somewhere for food?

It didn’t make sense.

“You’re taking me to get food?” you asked slowly, raising your eyebrows in disbelief, trying to figure out if there was some sort of ulterior motive.

His jaw tightened just slightly, like he was already regretting saying anything. Then he muttered, “Seemed like a decent way to mark the occasion.”

You paused.

That’s when it clicked.

This wasn’t just about food. Andrew was taking you out—it wasn’t random. It was intentional. A quiet, awkward way of showing he cared, even if he couldn’t put it into words. He wasn’t going to say “congratulations,” No grand gestures, no speeches—just this simple act that said more than he ever would aloud. This was his version of showing up.

And even if he couldn’t say it out loud, you could feel it.

You didn’t know what to say. It was… sweet. Simple. Thoughtful, even—that he’d go out of his way to do this for you.

His truck pulled into a small parking lot, easing into a stall right out front. High Tide Diner was painted across the large front window in a faded retro font, the kind that hadn’t been updated in decades but somehow still felt timeless.

You climbed out of the truck, the door creaking slightly as it shut behind you. Andrew didn’t say anything, just nodded toward the entrance, and the two of you headed inside.

A bell above the door jingled as you stepped in. The place smelled like coffee, salt, and something fried. Vinyl booths lined the walls, cracked in places, and the floor tiles were uneven from years of foot traffic. It wasn’t fancy, but it was warm. Familiar.

It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of people and families scattered here and there throughout the diner, low conversations humming beneath the clatter of dishes.

Andrew stepped past you and slid into an empty booth tucked away near the back, far from everyone else. Typical. Always picking the quietest corner like he needed distance to breathe.

You followed and slid into the seat across from him, the vinyl sticking slightly to your legs as you settled in.

“This place is good. We don’t have to eat here. We could go somewhere else—”

“No, no, this is fine. Really,” you said quickly, cutting him off before he could protest. “I like it”

You reached for the menu and scanned the beat-up plastic laminate in front of you. The corners were worn, peeling a little from years of use. The food options were exactly what you expected—greasy, oily, unapologetically comforting. Burgers stacked high, loaded fries, grilled cheese, milkshakes thick enough to bend a straw. No frills, no health section. Just pure, deep-fried Americana.

“This place has personality,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Across the table, Andrew shrugged, like that was the point. “The food's good. That’s all that matters.”

You looked up at him, watching the way he leaned back against the booth like he’d been here a hundred times. Like he fit.

“Do you come here a lot?”

He shrugged again, eyes still on the menu he hadn’t even picked up. “Used a lot when I was a teenager. With… Julia sometimes. But I come around every so often”

“Julia…” you repeated softly, the name unfamiliar on your tongue.

He glanced up, just briefly. “My twin sister.”

You blinked, surprised. “You have a twin?”

Deran hadn’t mentioned he had an older sister. In fact, no one in the family had ever mentioned her—not once. 

“Been a while since we’ve seen her,” he said, almost too casually—but there was a tightness in his voice that said more than the words did. He didn’t elaborate.

You hesitated, unsure if you should say something else, asking what happened. But the way he was staring past you now, like he was seeing a memory and not the diner, made you pause.

Instead, you just nodded. Quiet. Respectful.

“There’s so much on this menu,” you said, your voice lighter, pulling things gently back to the present. “I might need, like… a solid twenty minutes.”

Andrew didn’t smile, exactly, but his mouth twitched like he almost could have. “Pick something greasy. It’s what they do best.”

An older woman came over with two glasses of water balanced in one hand and a notepad in the other. Her name tag said Deb, and she gave you both a polite nod.

“Hi there! Are you two ready, or need a few minutes?”

“Double Cheeseburger. Everything on it. Extra pickles. Fries. Chocolate shake.”

Deb jotted it down and turned to you. 

You hesitated for a second, then said, “I’ll have the same thing he’s having… but strawberry shake.”

Andrew looked over at you, one brow lifting.

Deb gave a smile. She took the menus. “Alright, I’ll get that in.” She turned and headed toward the kitchen, the order slip already in her hand.

You glanced back at Andrew as he stared at you. “What? Your order sounded good…” 

​​Andrew’s brow twitched slightly, amusement flickering behind his eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the copy-my-order type.”

You shook your head. “It’s not copying—my order is different from yours”

He scoffed. “Just swapping the shake doesn’t make it different.”

You glanced at him with a smirk. “Didn’t peg you for someone so territorial about food. Are you always this dramatic over an order?”

Andrew shook his head and rolled his eyes, then muttered, “Should’ve stuck with chocolate.”

“Strawberry’s better.”

Andrew gave you a sideways glance. “Better, huh? That’s… questionable.”

Silence falls between the two of you. 

Andrew rested his arms on the table, fingers tapping against the table top as he stared out the window. 

You noticed his knuckles were almost healed. The scrapes had faded into thin, reddish scabs—the kind that stuck around after the worst was over. You remembered how bad they’d looked at the beach, when he came back to Baz’s truck. Bloody, raw.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you said quietly, the words spilling out. 

Andrew glanced at you, his brows knitting together. “Do what?”

“The surfer. At the beach.”

His eyes narrowed, like he might deny it, might brush it off with some half-answer—but you cut him off before he could.

“I’m not stupid, Andrew.” You sighed “I know what you did.”

His tapping stopped as he caught you staring at his hands. He didn’t say anything—just slowly moved his hand from the table to his lap.

For a long second, he didn’t say anything. Just stared past you, jaw tight, like he was weighing the cost of answering.

Then finally, he said, “He was out of line.”

“That’s it?” you asked, not bothering to hide your frustration. “He was out of line, so you beat the shit out of him?”

His eyes met yours. Steady. Unapologetic. “Yeah.”

There were a dozen things you wanted to say—about how messed up it was, about how you weren’t his problem, about how that’s not how normal people handled things.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Because part of you wanted to yell at him.

But the other part—annoyingly louder—just felt that same strange twist in your chest. That not-quite-fear, not-quite-comfort thing.

So instead, all that came out was, “You didn’t have to.”

“He dropped in on you, didn’t he? When you were surfing?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And he hit you.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” you said. “It was an accident.”

“That guy could’ve seriously hurt you, out in the water and Then he ran off like a coward after he hit you”

You swallowed. “And you took it personally?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You got hurt. I don’t care who started it or what excuses anyone gives. That shouldn’t have happened.”

You blinked.

“And that justifies everything?”

“Maybe not,” he said finally. “I wasn’t thinking about right or wrong. But I’d do it again.”

It knocked the breath out of you—not because it was shocking, but because of how easily he said it. Like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t even a question in his mind.

That shut you up.

Because he meant it. Completely and without regret.

You stared at him, trying to make sense of it. Of him.

And maybe that should’ve scared you.

But somehow… it didn’t.

“Well…Thanks,” you said—quiet, measured. Nothing more, nothing less.

You left it there, even if you didn’t agree with how he handled it.

You didn’t say it was okay. You didn’t pretend it made sense.

But you also didn’t take it back.

He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just studied you for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether to say what he was thinking or keep it buried like usual.

“Here we are—two cheeseburgers with everything on ’em, extra pickles, fries, one chocolate shake, and one strawberry,” Deb announced as she approached, balancing the tray like it was second nature.

She set it down in the center of the table with practiced ease.

You both murmured a “Thanks,” nearly in unison.

Deb gave a nod and a quick smile. “Holler if you need anything else,” she said before turning and disappearing back toward the kitchen.

You dug in, taking a big bite of the burger and let out a muffled groan. Your eyes flutter shut for a second. “This is so good,” you mumbled around a mouthful, barely pausing between bites.

Across the table, Andrew watched you with a mix of amusement and disbelief. A quiet chuckle slipped out as he took in the way you were devouring your burger like you hadn’t eaten in days.

“You gonna breathe at some point?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “You know—maybe in between bites?”

You held up a finger, chewing furiously, and pointed at the burger. “Too good,” you said, barely intelligible. “Not my fault.”

Andrew took a big bite of his burger, enjoying the juicy flavors. As he chewed, a bit of ketchup slid from the bun and landed right on his nose. He didn’t notice.

You caught it instantly and snorted, covering your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing mid-chew.

“What?” he asked, mouth half-full, tone flat.

“You’ve got—” You broke into another giggle, motioning vaguely toward your own face. “Ketchup. On your nose.”

He frowned and tried to see it, his eyes crossing slightly, which only made it worse. You practically wheezed only made you laugh harder.

“I got it, I got it,” you said, still laughing as you reached for a stack of napkins from the dispenser.

You leaned across the table. “Hold still.”

He didn’t move. Just sat there watching you with that calm, unreadable expression.

You were suddenly aware of how close you were—close enough to catch the faintest trace of his aftershave and the subtle heat of his gaze on you. You dabbed at the smear of ketchup on his nose, biting back a smile as he let you do it, silent and still, his expression flat but clearly unamused. 

Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to before you finally pulled back.

“There,” you said softly.

“For that,” you added, reaching over without hesitation, “I deserve a fries.”

You snatched a couple off his plate and popped one into your mouth before he could protest.

“Hey,” he said, half-amused, half-indignant. “You’ve got your own.”

“I saved your nose,” you shot back. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be looking like Rudolph.”

He shakes his head. “One smear of ketchup and suddenly you're a hero.”

You grinned, already reaching for your milkshake “Damn right I am.”

—

After finishing up at the diner, the two of you ended up driving aimlessly with no real destination in mind.

There was no rush. No plan. Just the road stretching out ahead and the quiet comfort of his presence beside you.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. You leaned your head against the window, watching the world blur past—quiet neighborhoods, aging gas stations, wide-open lots bathed in the soft gold of the setting sun.

At a red light, he glanced over at you. “You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. This is nice.”

He gave a small smile—one of those rare ones that didn’t quite reach his eyes but meant something all the same. “Yeah. It is.”

As he drove, the two of you did nothing but talk. And it was different—unexpectedly so. Easy in a way that caught you off guard. You’d been talking—really talking—and somewhere along the way, Andrew’s walls, usually built so high, had lowered without ceremony. Without either of you even noticing when it happened.

For the first time, it felt like you were beginning to truly know him—not just the version everyone else saw. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to know you too. There were still parts of him kept carefully out of reach, tucked away behind familiar silences, but that didn’t bother you.

And, strangely, he didn’t seem to mind you seeing him like this. Not tonight.

Eventually, you found yourselves at the beach near the pier, the truck rumbling to a stop just as the sun began to dip low on the horizon. The sky was brushed in soft shades of orange, pink, and fading lavender, the last light of the day stretching long across the sand. The breeze off the ocean carried the scent of salt and something faintly sweet—maybe kettle corn from the boardwalk nearby.

Shoes in hand, you wandered the shoreline together, the sand cool beneath your feet. The tide rolled in gentle and steady, lapping at your ankles. Andrew kept to the drier sand away from the water, watching you with that same quiet expression—as if he was memorizing the moment, even if he didn’t know why.

“You think you’re gonna get homesick when you’re on the East Coast?”

“Maybe,” you admitted with a shrug. “But I guess that’s part of the point—learning how to deal with it.”

“I can’t wait to get out of here—away from my parents, on my own. All I’ve ever known is California, Oceanside. I’m just excited to experience something new, though it is daunting.”

He stood standing, eyes fixed on the shoreline where you walked splashing in the water.

He was envious—of your freedom, your clean break. The way you had the opportunity to leave and actually go. He could do his own thing in theory, but in practice… he couldn’t. Not really.

Even as an adult, hardened by everything he’d been through, Andrew was still tethered to Smurf. No matter how far he tried to pull away, that invisible thread always snapped him back. She had a way of pulling him in, of making sure he never drifted too far. He was loyal to a fault. 

Watching you—so full of hope and momentum—was a stark contrast to his world. You, who grew up in a stable, middle-class home. Two loving parents. Consistency. Safety. Unconditional Love.  Things he never had. Things he didn’t even know how to trust.

In his world, nothing was handed over willingly. Everything had to be taken—stolen, hustled, fought for. They didn’t work to earn in the traditional sense. They planned, schemed, and survived. And when they got what they wanted, they didn’t celebrate—they braced for whatever came next.

You were everything he wasn’t. Everything he’d never be in this lifetime.

It was better that you were leaving—going off to college, to the East Coast, to anything that wasn’t this. Better you got out before you had the chance to really see what he and his brothers were. What they did.

He glanced over at you then, eyes catching yours for just a second before flicking away again.

“You’ll be good out there,” he said quietly. “You’ll figure it out.”

You moved slowly along the shoreline, letting the waves chase your toes. Every now and then, you’d glance back at him, and he’d give you that faint, unreadable smile of his.

“You gonna get your feet wet or what?” you called over your shoulder, teasing.

He smirked, but didn’t budge. “I’m good right here.”

You turned back to the ocean, the breeze tugging gently at your clothes. A particularly strong wave rolled in and soaked your calves, making you gasp and laugh as you jumped back. You heard him chuckle behind you,

“Come on” You kick some water at him

“Hey stop that!”

You giggle as you continue splashing through the water, coming to flick some back at him just to get a rise out of it.

“Angel, quit it—” he says, voice low but amused.

You freeze for a second, the nickname catching you off guard.

They all called you that—Angel. Baz had started it that day at the beach, half a joke, half a dig. After that, they hardly used your real name at all. But Andrew?

He never used it. Not once.

Until now.

And it felt different coming from him. Not careless or mocking. Not something he said just because the others did. His version was quieter. Almost gentle.

You didn’t know why it made your chest feel tight, or why you wanted to hear it again—just not with the usual teasing behind it.

“Boo, you’re boring!” 

“Oh, yeah?” he said, an eyebrow lifting, just before he stepped forward and scooped you up like it was nothing.

“Andrew—wait! No, no, no—”

But it was already too late. He was already walking straight into the ocean, steady and unbothered, even as you squirmed in his arms.

“Andrew—!” you kicked your feet in protest, laughter bubbling up despite yourself.

He didn’t slow down. Just kept moving forward, water lapping higher—first at his knees, then his thighs. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck tighter, clinging to him as tightly as you could.

“Andrew, don’t you dare—”

He smirked. And then he leaned.

“Oh, don’t you dar—!”

Too late.

With one swift movement, he dunked you both under.

You shrieked as the cold water swallowed you whole, salt stinging your nose, your laughter muffled in the splash. You surfaced with a gasp, hair plastered to your face, eyes wide, and already laughing so hard it made your chest ache.

Andrew came up behind you, shaking the water from his curls, completely soaked. His clothes clung to him, heavy and dark with seawater, and he ran a hand through his hair, flicking droplets everywhere.

Andrew just grinned, smug and unapologetic. “Totally worth it.”

You swiped your soaked hair out of your face, still laughing. “Says the one who wanted to stay dry!”

“And then you started kicking water at me like it was gonna do anything.”

You scoffed. “I barely got you wet!”

He gave you a look, eyes narrowing like he couldn’t believe you were still pretending. “My jeans were damp. That was a violation.”

You grinned. “Oh, poor you.”

“I had to restore balance,” he said solemnly. “Full submersion was the only way.”

You splashed him again. “You’re such an asshole. Where’s the logic in that, by the way? You didn’t want to get wet, so you decided to throw yourself into the ocean—with me?”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “I didn’t say it was good logic.”

—

Andrew’s truck pulled into the driveway. He stepped out, door slamming shut behind him as he headed over into the garage.

The brothers were mid-count—money spread out across the workbench in uneven stacks, jewelry glinting under the garage lights. A gun sat openly beside a half-zipped duffel. They were too hyped to care.

Craig glanced up first.

“Dude, where the hell have you been?! We’ve been calling you—” Craig’s voice was loud, half-laughing, charged with adrenaline and whatever trouble they’d stirred up all day.

“You guys did a job?” Andrew’s voice cut through the room, sharp and disbelieving. They’d gone out and done something—without him. Without even telling him.

If he’d known, he never would’ve brought you back to the house—not with the heat still fresh, with evidence still laid out in plain sight. At the very least, he would’ve warned them, told them to clean up, to stash the bags and play it cool. But now? It was too late for any of that.

Andrew’s stomach dropped. He was pissed, sure. They’d cut him out, made a move without him. That stung, and he’d deal with it later. But right now? None of that mattered. All he could think about was you.

“Dude, why are you all wet?” Baz asked, staring at Andrew with a raised brow as he stepped up from the beach.

Andrew didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked over his shoulder—to the car, to the door he knew was about to swing open.

“Get rid of it,” he said sharply.

“What?” Baz blinked, thrown.

“Get rid of it. Now.” he tells his brother 

And then you stepped out of Andrews truck. 

Still damp from the ocean, sand clinging to your legs, hair a tangled, wind-blown mess. You were brushing sand off, not even aware of the storm you’d just walked into.

Four sets of eyes locked on you, and just like that, the air in the garage turned sharp, still, and heavy.

Craig’s grin evaporated as he stared, blinking like he wasn’t sure if he was seeing you or some kind of mirage.

Deran froze halfway through shoving bills into a bag. “Wait—Angel?”

Even Baz, usually the smoothest at holding his expression, faltered for a beat. His gaze landed on you, then flicked to Andrew. His jaw clenched, subtle but visible.

Then they moved.

Fast.

They quickly managed to stuff everything away. The jewelry was swept off the table in hurried, careless motions. Bundles of cash were stuffed back into the duffels with practiced, frantic efficiency. Craig cursed under his breath as he knocked something over—a watch clattered to the concrete floor, its face cracking sharply. Without missing a beat, he kicked it out of sight.

By the time you came into the garage, there was no evidence left—no sign of what had just been there. 

“Hey guys!” You beam. Your voice was cheerful, easy—completely unaware of what they just did. The room looked almost normal, but the tension hanging in the air told you otherwise.

Craig froze mid-zip, then straightened with a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Angel! What’s up?”

Baz was already standing in front of the table like he’d just happened to be leaning there all along. “Didn’t expect to see you around,” he said, tone smooth but eyes still calculating.

Deran tilted his head, eyeing you with a mix of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Uh… what are you doing here?”

His voice had that weird edge to it—trying to sound casual, but it didn’t quite land.

You smiled, trying to keep it light. “Nice to see you too. I stopped by earlier—you didn’t get my voicemail?”

He shook his head. “No, I didn't see anything.”

“Well, I came to open my acceptance letter.”

Deran’s eyes widened. “Wait—the one from the college on the East Coast?”

You nodded, grinning now. “Yeah. I got in.”

“Angel, that’s awesome!” His whole face lit up. He stepped forward and pulled you into a hug, lifting you slightly off the ground even though your clothes were still soaked. 

“Congratulations!” Deran says as he sets you back down.

Baz brows raised. “No shit? That’s big. Congrats, Angel.” His voice was casual, but there was a flicker of genuine pride behind it, the kind he didn’t hand out often.

Craig grinned from where he was crouched by a bag, wiping his hands on his jeans before getting up. “Hell yeah! That’s huge! You better throw a party before you leave. Better yet, we’ll throw you one” He pulled you into a one-armed hug, not caring about the wet clothes. 

“Thanks, guys,” you said, a little overwhelmed by their rare, unfiltered support.

You glanced toward Andrew. “Yeah, Andrew and I hung out today—”

Craig cut in before you could finish. “Wait, you and Andrew hung out?”

That stopped everything.

Baz’s gaze flicked from you to Andrew, then back again. Deran raised an eyebrow.

The three of them stood there, silent now, their attention sharper—focused in a way it hadn’t been before.

Craig’s smirk had faded into something more curious. Baz didn’t bother hiding the suspicion in his eyes.

You gave a nervous laugh, trying to brush it off. “I came by to hang out with you,” you said, nudging Deran lightly in the chest. “But you weren’t home.”

You shrugged. “Andrew was around. So we hung out. No big deal.”

But it felt like a big deal now—with the way they were all looking at you.

“Why are you guys wet?” Baz asked, eyebrows raised, voice careful now.

“Beach,” you and Andrew answered at the same time.

Your voices overlapped, perfectly matched—flat, casual, a little too in sync.

Craig snorted, more amused than anything. “Cute.”

Baz leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Didn’t know you two were going on beach dates now.”

“It wasn’t a date,” you and Andrew said in unison.

You knew they were teasing, but seriously—you and Andrew? No way. That wasn’t what this was. He was Deran’s older brother. It would’ve been weird. Messy. Off-limits for so many reasons.

You scrunched your nose and made a dramatic face like you were physically repulsed by the idea. “Ew. No. Gross.” You waved your hands as if to push the thought far, far away. “He’s like…ancient”

Andrew glanced at you clearly unimpressed. “Wow. Thanks.”

“I’m just saying,” you said, mock-defensive. “You’re basically halfway to forty.”

Craig burst out laughing. Baz smirked. Deran didn’t laugh at all.

It wasn’t a date—at least not by any definition either of you would use.

But it was something.

You weren’t sure what Andrew had expected when he told you to get in the truck. But today felt... different. Not romantic, not even close to it—but it was rare. Easy. The kind of connection that didn’t need to be explained.

Craig, sensing the shift but not knowing what to do with it, let out a breath and offered a weak grin. “Well, sounds like you two had fun,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s... cool.”

You are taking in the scene. The guys look worn—sweaty, out of breath, exchanging looks that say more than words. Your gaze shifts toward the workbench. One of the duffel bags is sitting there, the zipper slightly open. 

You tilted your head. “So… what’s with the duffels?”

The question hung in the air.

Craig’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide for a beat. Baz didn’t move, but his jaw tightened. Deran’s fingers twitched like he was seconds away from grabbing the bags and chucking it out of sight.

Deran says “Nothing important.”

You arched a brow. “Looks important. That one’s practically bursting at the seams.”

You took a step forward, curious.

Baz moved fast—subtle but firm—as he casually shifted into your path, blocking your view with that practiced, easygoing grin. “It’s not,” he said smoothly. “Just moving some stuff out of storage.”

“Yeah,” Craig added, nodding way too hard. “Cleaning house. You know how it is.”

Baz says “Just old crap we’ve been meaning to toss. You know how Smurf is—keeps everything.”

Your eyes narrowed a little, suspicion stirring—but not enough to press.

Behind you, Andrew shot them a look. Cold. Sharp. A silent warning not to screw this up.

You lingered for a second, gaze drifting toward the duffles again. Something didn’t sit right—your gut told you there was more to it than “old crap,” but you couldn’t put your finger on why. The way they all moved. The way they watched you. It was too… controlled.

Still, you let it go. For now.

“Right.” You dragged the word out, still not convinced. “Well, Andrew said I could use the shower, so…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Craig said quickly, waving you off like everything was totally normal. “You do that.”

“You can borrow my clothes—help yourself,” Deran said as you passed him.

“Thanks,” barefoot and still damp as you padded around them towards the side door of the garage.

You glanced back at Andrew. “Oh… and thanks for today.”

His eyes lingered on you, unreadable.

You gave him a quiet smile before turning away and heading inside, leaving the boys where they stood.

None of them said another word until you were out of earshot.

Deran scoffed, disbelief flashing across his face. “Are you serious right now? What the hell are you doing with Angel? So what now—you’re just hanging around my best friend?”

He shot back, voice sharp. “Don’t act like this is all out of the kindness of your heart. You’ve been weird about her for months—saying to keep her away. And now? You’re all buddy-buddy with her?”

Andrew didn’t flinch. “This isn’t about being buddy-buddy. I’m here because someone has to look out for her. And if that means being around her, so be it.”

Andrew stepped forward, voice colder now. “You’re the one pulling her into it without even thinking. You bring her around like this shit isn’t dangerous—like she’s immune to it, but she’s not, Deran. None of us are.”

Deran scoffed. “You’re such a goddamn hypocrite.”

Andrew turned, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You’re always telling me to keep her out of this,” Deran says. “To keep her safe. You act like you’re above it—but look! She almost saw us going through our shit!”

Andrew’s voice cut back, defensive. “How was I supposed to know you guys did a job? None of you told me.”

Craig threw up his hands. “We tried calling!”

“I didn’t answer one time and you all went off without me?”

Deran’s voice dropped, cold. “Don’t turn this around like we’re the problem. You’re the one who brought my best friend home—with duffels wide open and a gun sitting out.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. “You wanna talk about me bringing her around? Fine. Let’s talk about how many times you almost dragged her into shit then”

Deran’s expression twisted. “Don’t put this on me—”

Andrew snapped “But you let her crash here with stolen merchandise in the guest room and a duffel full of guns in the hall closet. She almost found both—just looking for a blanket. You think about that?”

Baz’s jaw tightened. He remembered.

Andrew kept going. “She borrowed your truck—the glovebox wasn’t cleared. She was two seconds away from opening it. Loaded piece inside, cash under the seat.”

Deran opened his mouth to speak, but Andrew cut him off and didn’t stop.

“You leave your burner lying around. She almost answered it once—could’ve ended up on the phone with someone who wouldn’t blink before pulling the trigger.”

Craig shifted but stayed silent. 

“You’ve had her this close to shit she never signed up for,” Andrew shouts “And you’ve got the nerve to look at me sideways?”

Deran’s jaw clenched.

Andrew didn’t back down and got in Dearn’s face “You don’t get to lecture me. You’ve had more close calls with her than I ever have. I’m not the one leaving doors open.”

Craig hovered nearby, watching the two of them like they might come to blows. “Alright, can we not do this right now?” he muttered, half to himself, half to keep the peace.

​​“She’s not just some girl, Pope,” Deran said, voice rough. “She’s mine. My best friend.”

He shook his head, the anger in his eyes cracking into something raw. “She’s the only person who doesn’t see me as a screwup. She thinks I’m smart—like I could actually be more. More than what everyone expects me to be. She believes in me. And that means something.”

Andrew’s voice cut in, low and sharp. “And if she saw you now—how we really are—what then? Do you honestly believe she’s gonna think that when she finally catches on—when it’s not just some close call, but the real fallout? Then what? You think she’ll still believe the good guy story you’ve been telling yourself? Because right now, all I see is someone who’s setting her up to get hurt.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy.

Baz finally stepped in, arms crossed. “Okay. Everyone shut up. She’s inside. She hears this, it’s over.”

No one said anything.

Andrew just turned, jaw tight, and walked off toward the house.

Deran didn’t follow. He stayed where he was, chest rising and falling, the line between protectiveness and guilt blurring fast.

—

You were in Deran’s room, fresh out of the shower and already changed, towel still in hand when you saw it—and froze.

The duffel bag.

The same kind the guys had in the garage earlier. Scuffed black canvas, worn straps, the zipper just slightly askew. Now it was here, half-hidden under the bed, the corner barely tucked in.

It hadn’t been there when you came in earlier to grab clothes. You were sure of it.

A slow chill crept down your spine as you stepped closer, towel slipping from your fingers and landing on the bed in a damp heap.

They’d said they were cleaning. Getting rid of old stuff.

So why move one of the bags into this room?

You knew you probably shouldn’t look. But your gut twisted. Your fingers moved before your brain could stop them.

You dropped to your knees and pulled the zipper back.

The first thing you saw was the gun—matte black and heavy-looking, nestled against rolls of cash, thick and uneven, banded in rubber and duct tape.

Then something else caught the light.

Jewelry.

Not just one piece—several. Tangled chains, a gold bracelet, a small velvet pouch half-open with what looked like diamond earrings spilling out.

Your breath caught.

You stared down into the bag, heart thudding so hard it almost drowned out the quiet hum of the house around you. The room felt colder now, heavier.

You zipped it shut fast—too fast—but carefully, like if you messed up even one detail, someone would know you’d seen it.

Your hands were shaking.

You stood slowly, knees stiff, mind spinning. You didn’t know what this meant—not exactly—but you knew it wasn’t nothing.

You’d seen it.

The gun. The cash. The jewelry.

And you couldn’t unsee any of it.

The sound of the door clicking shut made you jump. You picked up your towel and moved like you were drying your hair.

Deran looked at you “You good?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just got out.”

Your voice didn’t sound right. You knew it. He probably did too.

Deran lingered in the doorway a moment longer than necessary, his gaze drifting—briefly—to the spot under the bed.

For a split second, his eyes flicked to the duffel bag, half-hidden and poorly tucked away. He realized he hadn’t done a good job hiding it, but said nothing. Figured you probably didn’t notice.

You held your breath.

Instead, he walked in slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey… sorry I wasn’t here earlier when you came by with your acceptance letter.” He trailed off, not quite meeting your eyes. “Sorry I didn’t answer your call. If I had checked my voicemail, I would’ve called you back.”

You nodded, unsure what to say.

“But I’m proud of you,” he added after a beat, softer now. “College on the East Coast? That’s huge. You deserve it. We should celebrate—I’ll take you out sometime this week.”

Your throat tightened. “Thanks.”

He offered a small smile—genuine, but tired. “Your bike’s in my car, by the way. I figured I’d drop you off. Whenever you’re ready.”

You swallowed hard, that bag still sitting beneath the bed like a ticking clock.

“Okay,” you said, managing a small smile. “Yeah. That’s cool.”

Deran looked at you a second longer, like he wanted to say more. Like he was trying to read something on your face.

Then he nodded, grabbed a clean shirt from the dresser, and headed for the hallway.

“You sure you’re good?” he asked again, pausing in the doorway.

You hesitated, just for a breath. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing a fraction like he didn’t quite believe you—but he let it go.

Then he disappeared down the hall.

As soon as he was gone, you let out a shaky breath. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts racing.

You didn’t know what scared you more—the weight of the secrets hidden in that duffel bag, or the sinking feeling that maybe you didn’t really know your best friend and his family at all.

You tried to gaslight yourself, telling yourself it was nothing. Just stuff. Nothing to worry about.

But your instincts screamed otherwise—there was more here than met the eye. Something buried deep and dangerous, just waiting to surface.

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