That’s another thing about Bren. Trees. She liked ’em. Trees were her thing. That and spying on people. She and Cross didn’t think we knew, but we did. We knew about her ‘spot’ back in Roussou. Doesn’t take a fricking genius. It was overlooking her old house, and Bren was haunted by that. Like, literally. Ghost of her mom. Ghost of losing her brother, though, she got the righteous guy back, and then you know, the whole shit and caboodle thing with her dad. That’s a brain exploder if I ever heard of one, so I guess I wasn’t too surprised to find my crew member sitting in a ball, her knees pulled to her chest, her gaze staring out over some rich folks’ houses.

And they were rich.

Pools, shiite.

One day I was hoping to get a house like that. It’d be better than the trailer I grew up in, though I couldn’t gripe too much about it. My grandma and my older sister kept it cleaned. Outside the trailer might look like crap, but inside was nothing but class. Then again, that’s how my women folk rolled, Bren too.

“Yo.” I plopped down, settling in. The grass was lumpy, but I got comfy and glanced over.

Bren was watching me, the side of her head resting on her knees and she had a half-smile.

I looked in those eyes. Yeah. Haunted, but happy too. Happily haunted. It was a step up from the old Bren, and I nodded to myself, grunting. “I need to worry you’re going to break into one of those backyards and pick up all the pool toys?”

She froze a second, her eyes big, and then she started laughing. “You know about that?”

Another grunt. See. So much we knew that she didn’t think we knew. “I have my ways.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t sweat it. I love the inner criminal saint you have inside of you.”

Her cheeks were getting red.

I made Bren blush. I felt like a fucking superhero for that feat.

Then, I asked, “What am I doing here, Bren?”

Her shoulders lifted, held, and lowered. Didn’t know why she needed to settle herself, but she did that often. She always seemed worried about someone or something. That would’ve exhausted me, but I wasn’t Bren. I cared about my grandma, my sister, Jordan, Cross, Bren, and Sunday. I didn’t give a fuck about anyone else. Not Bren. She cared about the world while she was denying to herself that she did.

“I wanted to ask about Sunday.”

Left curve.

I didn’t see that one coming.

“I dunno. She’s okay, I guess. Haven’t heard about the baby.” And because I knew Bren, I added, “But that’s not really why you asked me out here.” I nudged her with my arm. Lightly. “Come on. Spill. What’s going on in our head?”