Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

12. Clara

Chapter 12

Clara

T rish chatters the rest of the way into RJ’s room while I try not to laugh at what I’m looking at. He’s just so adorable and awkward right now, with half his head divided into perfect square braids and the other half his usual poof. If he were in a better mood, I might risk a giggle, but not tonight.

It’s obvious that he’s scared for me, and it’s making him angry. But Bryce isn’t RJ’s problem. He’s mine. I just have to figure out a way to get him behind bars and keep him there. For real this time.

RJ folds his long legs onto a pile of pillows and Trish motions for me to sit in the chair behind him. “Okay, you know how to braid, right?”

I take a tentative step forward. “Yeah. But I’ve only ever braided my own hair.”

“Sit down. I’ll teach you what’s different. ”

I take in her perfectly neat and even braids over one side of RJ’s head. “Um. Why don’t I watch first?”

She perches on the chair behind him, scoops up a comb with a lethal-looking point and a pot of something shiny, then divides the hair, pinning bits back with clips hooked to her sleeves before separating and covering a chunk in whatever’s in the pot and swiftly whipping out another even braid. I’m thoroughly impressed. And a bit intimidated.

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

RJ’s been watching me watching Trish, and he huffs out a laugh. “Sug-Clara, I’m sure you’ve got this.”

“I have a feeling this will be like cooking. And we both know I’m hopeless there.”

Trish leans back in the chair, challenge in her eyes. “You’re not even going to try?”

RJ’s warm hand wraps around my ankle as I step toward the taunt. “You don’t have to. It’ll keep for a while, and I can always pay someone to fix it for me.”

Looking down into the amber glow of his eyes, the urge to crawl into his lap and give him a real welcome home kiss floods me. He must see it, because his lips twist in the corners, and his thumb strokes the bit of skin he finds on the inside of my ankle. Clearing my throat, I turn back to his sister. “I’ll try, but I don’t think you’re going to be impressed. Sorry.”

“It’ll be my brother who’s sorry if you’re terrible.” She grins at me, and I can’t help laughing.

“You wouldn’t fix it?”

“Only if he knocks himself out of whatever mood he’s in. ”

“Trish can be vicious when she feels like it,” RJ says from the floor as Trish and I change positions.

“Only when you deserve it.”

Trish coaches me on box braiding while teasing RJ. I try to pay attention, only I keep getting distracted by this new side of him. He’s free with his sister, joking, buoyant. It’s easy to see how close they are, how so much of RJ’s social life ended up dictated by his little sister, and how much she values his insight into what’s going on in her life.

By the time I’ve finished my first braid—grossly uneven and twisting to the left—I’m weirdly grateful to Trish for forcing RJ out of his shell for the last half a decade.

“Well, you’re not a natural,” Trish says, looking over my work.

“Definitely not. Unless you’re hoping for avant-garde, I think you’re going to have to find someone else.”

“He was always freaked out by the barber. And it’s not like his broke ass could afford to have this done professionally.”

I must not cover my disbelief fast enough, because her eyes stretch wide as her mouth drops open. “I knew it. I knew it! RJ, I swear to God, if you are actually a secret millionaire, I will burn all this hair off your head. I should have guessed Pops wouldn’t have said what he did if it wasn’t true.”

For the second time in nearly as many hours, every muscle in RJ’s body tenses. “What did Pops say?”

“He was talking to Mama, and they stopped when they saw me there, but it was something like, ‘Don’t worry so much, Diane. RJ can cover us if we need it.’ I thought maybe it was asking you to stay with Jade or something if they went out of town, but then they clammed up, so it felt like they were talking about money. And now, I know that’s exactly what they were talking about. Spill.”

“When was this?”

Trish squints at RJ, picking up on the tension that’s vibrating under my fingers, and I lay my hand on his shoulder, trying to offer comfort. He slips away and rolls to his feet.

“When, Trish?”

“Right after you left. Why?”

“Was he still home when you came here?”

“No. What’s going on, RJ?”

“We’re going home. Now.”

“RJ, you’re scaring me.”

“I need a ride home. If you can’t bring me, I’ll get one of the guys.”

“Of course I can bring you home. But not right now. You need to tell me what’s going on, and I need to finish your hair. Mama’ll kill you if you go in there looking like this.”

RJ turns his back to us, one hand on the back of his neck, the other running through his half-finished hair. “How fast can you get this done?”

“Maybe an hour? Maybe less? RJ, talk to me.”

He marches back to the chair, slipping his hand into mine before collapsing onto the floor, tugging me down beside him. “Get it done, Trish.”

Trish and I share a concerned look, but she takes a seat and divides out the next section. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“You love Pops, right? You respect him?”

“Of course.”

“That’s why. ”

Trish chews on her lips as she works, but doesn’t say anything else. RJ’s hand rests loosely in mine, his thumb absently drawing across my skin, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t push.

RJ says what needs to be said when it needs to be said. But not before then.

The silence weighs on my shoulders, and I slide down, resting my head in his lap, our fingers unlinking. A moment later, his arm wraps around me.

“So Trish, how’s your freshman year going?” I ask, trying to get us all out of this room without RJ having to share whatever he so desperately wants to keep secret. There’s a reason these guys keep secrets, even if they don’t like it. And now I’m keeping secrets with them.

And one big three-letter acceptance from them.

“It’s not what I thought it would be,” she says.

I shift so I can see part of her face from where I’m curled up in RJ’s lap. “How so?”

“I hear so much about all the friends you’re supposed to make, that college friends are different from high school ones, but so far, mine have been a bust.”

Relief washes over me with the successful redirect. “It can take a while. I only kept one friend from freshman year,” I say, not adding that my ex-boyfriend was the reason for that.

“How’d you end up with these guys, anyway? They’re such a tight-knit group, I was surprised they added to the house.”

“They posted an ad. I needed a place to stay.”

RJ runs his palm from my shoulder down to my hand, our fingers tangling. “I’m glad you’re the one who responded,” he says quietly. “I hate to think who we could have been stuck with.”

“I’m glad too.”

“You guys are so cute! Ugh. I get to tell Jade, RJ. She’s going to scream so loud, the next county will hear her.”

“Wait until I’m gone, please.”

“Like hell. You’re going to have to field all that teenage excitement.”

“You’re a teenager. Your job, not mine.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, RJ.”

“That’s the way it should work, then.”

I giggle. “I shouldn’t enjoy listening to you two bicker this much.”

They both laugh, and somehow their laughs synchronize, different pitches, but the same rhythm.

Surprised, I snort, and then they do it again. After that we all devolve into sputtered laughter, and finally, I manage, “I didn’t know laughs were genetic.”

Trish wipes her eye with her sleeve and finishes up the second to last braid. “I wish they weren’t.”

“I think it’s a nice laugh,” I say, defensive of one of my favorite RJ sounds. Although, there’s a whole host of RJ sounds I haven’t had the pleasure of hearing yet, so it might yet be supplanted.

“It’s our dad’s,” Trish supplies, and just like that, the tension returns to RJ’s frame.

“Does Jade have it too?” I ask, hoping to move things to safer territory.

“Nah. She got his build, but Mama’s laugh, lucky squirt.” She ties off the last braid, then stands, stretching. “You’re done. I left in Clara’s braid. It adds some whimsy. And you, big brother, need some fucking whimsy.”

RJ rolls his eyes and squeezes my shoulder before sliding out from under my head and helping me to my feet. I look him over. I miss his fluff already, but I picked up enough to know that this is only for the worst of winter, so his hair doesn’t get brittle from the dry air. “It looks good, Trish. Different, but good.”

“It should be. I’ve been doing his hair for the last four years, since he went natural after he started here. And I’ve been doing Jade’s hair for almost as long.”

“Who does your hair?” I ask.

“My mom used to. Now I go to my aunt’s, our dad’s sister, but it’s a bit of a haul. Mama has opinions about how adults should look.”

RJ unplugs his laptop and shoves it into his backpack, followed by a bunch of other stuff. “I’ll be back tomorrow. No one has anything planned, right?” he asks me.

“I have work, but everyone else should be free.”

Trish puts away her tools. “You’re really that concerned about some dumb conversation I overheard between Mama and Pops? You just drove down here.”

“Yes, I’m that concerned, and no, I’m not telling you more.”

I cut in, trying to keep the two of them from escalating. “Should I tell the guys? Or do you want to message them? Go downstairs? I think they all should still be down there.”

“You can tell them.” Everything he needs shoved into his bag, he pulls me in for a hug, his citrus and sage smell calming me to my bones. His nose brushes my ear before his whisper registers. “I’ll tell you what’s going on when I get back. It’s just that Trish shouldn’t have to carry this. But I don’t want you to think I’m keeping secrets.”

I nod against his sternum, his t-shirt butter-soft against my face.

“I can wait in the hall if you two need some privacy,” Trish says, backing toward the door.

One breath later, RJ pulls back. “I’m coming.”

The two of them step out of the room, and I trail behind them until they’re outside, the bitter wind sweeping in and making me shiver as I close it behind them.

Jansen slinks up, wrapping me in his arms. “Where are they heading at this time of night?”

“Back to their house.”

He’s silent.

“I take it that’s a really bad sign?” I ask.

“Probably, yeah.”