#Selfie (Hashtag Series Book 4) (9 page)

Braeden

We landed in a small airport in Maryland. It was more expensive to fly into this airport because we had to take a hopper flight from Baltimore, but the smaller crowds and short wait times for luggage return made the cost worth it.

My truck was parked in the long-term lot, since, originally, I was gonna ride here with Trent, but then Rome called and asked me to come early. It’s a good thing I did. If things had gone even an inch worse, someone would have needed to be there to sweep Rimmel up off the floor.

Hearing the gunshots in the hotel room we knew Romeo was in had been one of the scariest moments of my life. And I’d had some shit-tastic ones. But Romeo was my brother—since the playground that day in first grade. Tommy Bromley was a bully and the biggest kid in class. He decided one afternoon he was gonna own me.

I wasn’t big like I was now.

I was skinny, hadn’t grown into my feet, and I was scared of my own shadow.

Still, when he pushed me down and told me to give him my lunch money, I forgot what a scaredy cat I was. I got angry—real angry. Sometimes I think that was the day my temper was born.

And then Romeo walked into my life at exactly the right moment. He’d always been the water to my fire. The extinguisher to my flame.

I pushed myself up off the rough mulch and shoved Tommy back. I saw the shock register on his face. He never in a million years thought little Braeden would fight back.

However, I was tired of being scared. Tired of being pushed around.

Still, my display of defiance didn’t deter him. It got me punched in the nose. There I was, not even seven years old, and I was standing there on the playground with a bleeding nose and a bully trying to take my lunch money.

I wanted to cry.

Yet even at that young age, I knew I couldn’t.

Never let them see you cry.
It was something my mother told me more times than I could count. But there was so much emotion bottled up inside me, so much hurt and fear, it had to go somewhere.

It channeled into rage.

With a battle cry I’d heard on morning cartoons, I lunged forward, sinking low and running. I rushed Tommy and plowed my slight form into his middle. I had the advantage of surprise on my side. I had the advantage of being really pissed off.

We went down in a heap, me on top of Tommy and a circle of kids closing in to watch the unfolding scene. They were all hollering and cheering, but I barely registered the sound.

I drew back my small fists and delivered a rain of hits. Tommy started screaming, telling me to stop, but I hit him again.

Tommy had size on his side, so he was able to roll and force me off. Then I was the one pinned to the ground. I saw the flash in his eyes. I knew what was coming. He drew back his meaty fist, and I prepared for a black eye to go with my bloody nose.

But it never came.

Romeo—back then still known as Roman—caught Tommy’s arm and pulled him off me.

“Hey!” Tommy yelled.

“You deserved it!” Romeo yelled back.

Just then a teacher broke through the crowd with a stern expression on her face. I was still lying on the ground bleeding, and Tommy was glaring at Romeo.

“Tommy Bromley, what have I told you about starting fights at school?” she yelled.

“It was him! He attacked me!” Tommy pointed at me.

I stared up at the teacher with wide eyes. I was going to get into so much trouble for fighting at school.

“He’s a liar,” Romeo stated, calm as could be. “Tommy’s been bullying everyone and taking our lunch money. When Braeden said no, Tommy gave him a bloody nose.”

The teacher glanced down at my nose and her eyes widened. “Is this true, Braeden?”

I glanced at Romeo.

And that’s when I knew.

I knew we’d be best friends forever.

I nodded at the teacher, and Tommy was taken to the office. He got in trouble, moved to another class, and a year later, moved to another town.

Romeo and I became inseparable.

And eventually, he became my brother.

So when I saw his body sprawled out on the hotel floor, unmoving, after hearing those shots, my world as I knew it threatened to crumble around me. And Rimmel… when she saw, the way she cried over his still body ripped out what was left of my heart.

I was forced in that moment to push away my own mind-numbing pain and focus on her, because if Romeo had died then, I was all Rimmel had left.

Thank fuck he hadn’t. Thank fuck for the bulletproof vest that saved his life.

I’m just glad all three of us walked away with our lives.

Romeo didn’t have his car in the lot. His dad drove them to the airport so he wouldn’t have to leave the Cat here. Ivy drove her and Missy here, and Trent got a ride from one of the guys at his frat house.

Since I wasn’t going straight to campus, Romeo and Rimmel rode with me, and Trent caught a ride with the girls. He didn’t seem to put off by that.

I needed to have a talk with that guy. He could do better.

After I dropped off Romeo and Rimmel at his place, I drove to my mom’s. Like Romeo’s parents, she still lived in the same house I grew up in. Except our house wasn’t as big or in a ritzy neighborhood.

My house was in a regular, middle-class neighborhood, not even ten minutes from Rome’s. It was a one-story brick, ranch-style house with a finished basement where I spent a lot of time as a kid playing video games.

It was on the corner of the street so it had a pretty decent-sized yard where Romeo and I used to play football when we were kids. In the front yard was a mature tree that was starting to show signs of life now that spring was coming along. It was maybe sixty-five degrees here, and the sun was shining bright, but it was a long way from the balmy breezes I’d just spent a week enjoying on the beach.

I pulled my truck into the newly sealed driveway and hopped out. Instead of going up the walk to the front door, I just keyed in the entry code on the side of the single garage and the door began to open. Mom’s Honda was parked inside, and it looked like it needed a wash. The blue paint was grayish from all the winter weather that was finally leaving us alone.

I made a mental note to take it down to the car wash and clean it out for her.

My mom hadn’t had the easiest life, but she always did right by me, and she always put me first. It seemed like washing the car for her, cutting the grass, and doing stuff around the house was the least I could do.

When I pushed through the door leading in the house, the rich smell of pot roast wafted toward me, and my stomach grumbled. Damn, I loved pot roast. Mashed potatoes, gravy, and some bread…

“Mom!” I called out.

“In here!” she answered.

After I kicked off my shoes, I stepped through the laundry room and into the kitchen. She was standing at the counter, stirring a pot on the stove. Steam rose from the inside and made a cloud over her head.

“Please tell me those are potatoes,” I groaned.

She laughed and turned. “Your favorite! I thought you might be hungry after the flight.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite lady ever.” I hugged her, lifting her so her feet dangled off the floor.

“Braeden James, put me down!” she demanded and slapped me on the shoulder.

“Ugh, Mom. Why do you have to call me that?” I set her down and snagged a roll off the basket on the counter beside her.

“Because it irritates you.”

I shoved the entire piece of bread in my mouth, and she gave me a look. When I was small, it would have been intimidating, but now I thought it was amusing.

“Did ya miss me?” I asked around chewing.

“Manners!” she reminded, and I grinned. By the look on her face, I knew I had bread stuck in my teeth. She sighed and then turned away, but not before I saw her smile. “You know I did.”

“What’ve you been up to?” I went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. There was surprisingly a lot of food in there. She usually didn’t have too much because she lived here by herself. Usually, it was just girl stuff like yogurt and bagels. She kept most the good stuff in the pantry and freezer for when I came over to raid the cabinets.

“You must have really thought I’d be hungry when I got here,” I said as I uncapped the bottle.

She smiled. “Oh, just the usual, working and book club.”

I grunted. I would never understand why anyone would voluntarily read anything and then go sit around and talk about it.

“Now that the weather is warming up, I’ll start planning the garden for this year.”

Mom was an avid gardener. Every year, she planted a garden in the backyard and tended it religiously. She said she liked being outside because she felt less cooped up.

“Just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll pick up everything you need with the truck.”

“So tell me about Florida. How is everything with Rimmel?” I’d given Mom a basic rundown of some of the stuff going on with Rim and Romeo. She didn’t know everything, but enough for her to understand why I had to take off early and miss some classes before spring break actually started.

I sat at the table in the kitchen—we didn’t have a fancy dining room—and told her a little about Rim’s dad and some of the stuff that happened. Mostly, I talked about spring break and the time we spent at the beach.

While we talked, she mashed the potatoes, then pulled a salad out of the fridge and set it on the counter. I watched her as she worked, and I ate some more rolls. It was nice to be here, to be at home. Spring break had been a blast, but I needed a break from everyone and everything for just a little while.

Even as I relaxed, I noticed something. Something seemed different about Mom. She seemed a little stiff. Like she was waiting for me to figure out something she didn’t want me to know. Like a ticking bomb that didn’t have a countdown meter and was just set to spontaneously explode.

I didn’t press, not when she announced dinner was ready and I piled my plate high with food. I didn’t ask when we were sitting at the table together, eating just like we’d done a thousand times before.

I was curious.

But I was also hungry.

And when a man was hungry, he ate. He didn’t ask questions that might interfere with his appetite or the good-ass food on his plate.

After I inhaled my second heaping serving, I dropped my fork and sat back, feeling pretty damn satisfied. “That was some good eats, Mom.”

Over the rim of her mug, she stared at me with an amused expression. Her eyes were blue, but not the same kind of blue as Ivy’s. Moms were a little grayer, a little more subdued, sort of like a sky promising a storm.

Considering all the storms Mom had weathered, I wondered if maybe her eyes used to be brighter but changed to reflect her life.

Her hair wasn’t nearly as dark as mine; while mine was nearly black, hers was true brown. More of a chestnut shade, without a hint of gray. Hell, she probably dyed it like most women. Who knew what her natural color actually was? But her eyebrows were brown too, and they drew attention to the lightness of her eyes.

“Did they have food in Florida?” she mused.

“Nothing like you make,” I complimented.

“Quite the charmer, my son.” Mom set her decaf (what was the point of decaf?) on the table and reached into the cabinet. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt. She wasn’t a big woman, but I wouldn’t really call her petite either. More average, I guess. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She rarely wore it outside of work. But really, she didn’t need to. She was an attractive woman. For a mom, anyway.

When she turned back, she was carrying a plate of brownies. I groaned when she set them in front of me. They were my favorite, fudgy and gooey with chocolate sprinkles on top.

I didn’t tell people how much I liked sprinkles.

Sprinkles were for kids, and I was a man.

But Mom knew, and she always had some around.

“Ohmigod,” I muttered as I shoved about three quarters of my first brownie in my mouth. “This is the best brownie I’ve ever had.”