Jordan stood, but he did it slowly. He was being smart, though his words came out hurriedly. “Bren’s connections are to a motorcycle club and bounty hunters. Zellman—Zellman’s connections are to us. And my parents own a small construction company, emphasis on the small part. You, though. Your dad works—”

“But he doesn’t. He took a new position this year. He’s got no connections anymore.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Jordan,” Cross raised his voice. “None of us have the connections to handle a bad loan.”

“Eh…”

I was getting sick of the …

This one came from Zellman, and his eyes were pinned to me. “Do we really not have those connections? Bad loan, right? That’s something in Bren’s circles, if you ask me.”

A growl emanated from Cross’ throat and he stepped in front of me. “That’s bad business.”

“Bad loan. The one guy’s daughter felt like she needed to whore herself out—”

“I don’t like the whore word.” My two cents.

“—or heavily kiss the guy to appease the son, whom she was hoping could appease the dad to lay off trying to get his money back from the bad loan. I mean,” Zellman took all of us in before swallowing, “that doesn’t seem like it’s in the up-and-up business world, if you know what I mean.”

His gaze came to me.

Jordan’s gaze was on me, too.

Cross was rigid, standing in front of me. “No.”

Jordan noted, his tone softening, “She could call her brother, talk it out with him. He might have ideas.”

“I said no!”

Jordan sighed. He shifted forward, his foot sounding on the pavement, a rock scraping over it. “Bren was arrested last semester and you lost your shit. You had to be carried out of the police station.”

I sucked in my breath, and held a hand out, touching Cross’ back. It was so tense. He was solid, almost like pavement.

“Guys.” Jordan’s anguish was so deep, so raw.

I stepped around Cross, hearing him draw in a sharp breath, straightening as if my touch had kept him in place. His hand came to my arm, sliding to my wrist. He held me there, keeping me to his side.

Jordan choked out, “A phone call. One call.” He looked at Cross. “What could it hurt?”

As he spoke, Cross’ tension just doubled.

I moved forward, my hand lifting, and I laid my hand on his chest. With my palm against his shirt, I held it in place, speaking to Jordan. “One call to Channing. We’ll see what he thinks.”

Zellman spoke up, “Tabatha has to be there.”

“Z…” From Jordan, a whisper.