Break Me (Brayshaw High 5)

The car continues to sit there, leaving no doubt in my mind that the guy sitting in the driver’s seat has his eyes on me from a quarter of a mile down the road, waiting for me to close myself inside. Still, I stand there a few minutes longer.

I somehow know once I step into the house, he’ll be gone, and not just for the night, but from this town.

And I’m right.

It wasn’t so bad meeting you, Royce Brayshaw.

See you never.Chapter 7Royce

The solo drive home is a shitty, long one I never want to take again, but far too fucking necessary.

Straight-up, my little trip gave me zero satisfaction, but instead fucked with my head in ways I didn’t see coming.

I should be fuckin’ whistling along, but instead I’m cussing myself out, irritated over shit that maybe I shouldn’t be.

My mind’s playing games, my thoughts are a chaotic-ass mess, and every time I think I can drown them out, they give me the middle finger and float right back to the damn surface. Mocking me. Screaming for me to do something that I know is real damn dumb and bound to be a mistake. But I need a fucking minute.

I need to breathe with my brothers beside me because god damn.

What the fuck, man?

Thank fuck I’m home now, it’ll be easy to escape myself here.

On that thought, I turn onto Brayshaw property with a heavy sigh of relief.

I cruise right by the girls and boys group homes at the entrance, slowing when I reach the backside and spot Maybell pushing open the back patio door.

She’s the old wise-ass woman who’s been in the Brayshaw family since forever, long before we became a part of it. She started as a maid, but quickly earned the respect she’s worth, and has been loyal to our family name since the day she stepped into it.

I, for one, fully believe she’s some kind of psychic. The woman knows everything, senses even more, but leaves our minds to work where necessary. She speaks on issues or concerns only when she suspects a need for it.

She also was the one who raised my brothers and me, when my dad was here... and when he wasn’t. We love her like I imagine a son would love his mother—with as much of ourselves as we can.

I knew she’d be watching for my safe return.

She’s always watching.

I put the car in park and quickly run over to her before she reaches the steps.“Come on now, Miss Maybell,” I tease. “Don’t break a hip.”

She gives a small scoff, but grins through it. “And don’t go thinkin’ you’re too big for a whoopin’ now.”

I chuckle, pausing a step beneath her and she lifts her wrinkled hands to pat my cheeks.

“Boy,” she says softly, her deep, dark eyes searching my own.

Not a second later, a small sigh leaves her, and she steps back.

“You found what you went searching for,” she says.

I told no one where I was going or why, but like I said... psychic.

“I did. It was... short of my expectation.” I grin at my own joke, and damn if she doesn’t laugh as if she understands it full well.

She probably does.

“You be careful, boy,” she warns with a gentle ease. “Expectations are for fools, and you are far from one of those.”

I reach out, giving her hand a light squeeze, and she offers a knowing smile, worry working its way into her eyes.

“Your mind is heavy, boy.” She tips her head. “Will you listen to it?”

My lips pinch together, and she nods, squeezing me back. “Do what you must. Now, go on. Get home.”

I kiss her forehead, jogging back to the car, and I’m almost positive she doesn’t walk inside until the bumper of this busted ride is out of sight.

I continue down the dirt road, through the tall trees our father planted when we were infants as an added form of armor—you can’t touch what you can’t see—and right as I pass through the final row, the Brayshaw mansion comes into view.

My home since I was only months old.

My home until the day I die.

It’s big and beautiful and sacred to our name.

The wide and winding driveway allows for full view of the pool and pool house, a small glimpse at the right, back side, and leads you straight up to the porch.

My phone rings the second I’m stopped, Mac’s name lighting up the screen.

“What up, bro?” I answer.

“You’re home quicker than expected.”

“Checkin’ me out on camera, fucker?”

“What can I say, I missed my bedmate,” he teases. “Saw you roll by the school.”

“Speaking of, how’s your girl, she need an extra hand?” I fuck with him, but my boy only laughs.

“Any stories to share?”

A scoffed laugh leaves me. “Bro. Don’t get me fuckin’ started.”

He laughs into the line but makes quick work of catching me up to speed on the drama at the school.