Page 99 of Five Brothers
“I think she’d pay me,” Trace pipes up.
I follow his gaze, seeing Elaine Bertrand and her perfect timing as she walks to her pool that we just cleaned, behind hedges we just trimmed, in her white bikini. She casts us a glance that lingers just long enough that there’s no mistake what she wants. Daniel Bertrand’s young wife wouldn’t be a chore.
I tighten the strap, securing the equipment. “I’d get more.”
“Is that a bet?”
He stares down at me from where he stands in the bed of the truck, his eyebrows raised.
“Oh, shut the fuck up.” I shake my head. “If you do anything like that for money, we’re both dead.”
Macon will kill me, too.
Dallas throws trash bags filled with clippings into the truck as Trace jumps down, sweat matting his hair to his temples. “But you have already, haven’t you?”
I stop, gaping at him. “How many rumors are flying around about Macon and me exactly?”
“No, that one’s just about you.”
I grumble, “Great.”
I grab the cooler off the driveway and slide it onto the floor in the back seat.
Trace follows me. “You know, I wouldn’t care,” he tells me. “You were my age when you and Macon had a houseful of kids to take care of. And that doesn’t even count the people you guys took care of in the Bay. If you did what you had to, then …”
I don’t look at him, every muscle inside of me tensing. “Then what?”
“Then I’m glad,” he says. “I mean, notgladglad. I would wish you didn’t have to do it, but I’m grateful. I never would’ve been able to do whatever it took to take care of us.”
I didn’t do whatever it took. I never had to.
I draw in a breath. “When you’re tested, you find out exactly what you’re capable of.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “And what you’re not.”
“So, then you did—”
“I didn’t fuck for money,” I blurt out. “Dipshit.”
He smiles, and I roll my eyes. Trace never asks questions. Usually.
I know they all know the rumors about what Macon and I did to pay bills. Some of it’s true, some of it’s not, but none of it I care to relive. Iron’s old enough to remember some things, so he knows better than to ask. Dallas doesn’t get personal, and Liv doesn’t want to know, because it would hurt her to learn how much we put ourselves through for them. What’s done is done.
Who knew Trace would be the brave one?
“Well, I know what I’m capable of,” Dallas chimes in, walking up. “I might be able to put up with getting paid to get laid.”
I throw him a look. “Macon is looking for a reason to kill you.”
But he just scoffs, cupping his hand under the spout of the cooler and filling it with water. Throwing his head back, he splashes the water over his hair, smoothing it back. “He can barely haul his ass off that stool in the garage. You seen him? He looks like shit lately.”
He’s looked like shit before; they’re just too young to remember. I close the tailgate, ignoring Elaine’s eyes, which I know are still on us.
Macon wouldn’t kill Dallas if he screwed for money that we no longer need. He would just realize it was all for nothing.
Trace looks at me. “Is something going on with him?” he asks.
“No.”
“Would you tell us if there were?”