Sissy sighed, knowing Ronnie was right. “Times like this, I wish he could be more like my family.”

Leaning back against the alley wall—he’d never seen such clean alleys—Mitch answered simply, “No.”

“But—”

“I mean no, Bren.”

“I’m sure Dad would—”

“I don’t care what Dad would do or what Jesus would do. The answer is still no.”

“Yeah, but…if we handle this…somehow, then—”

“Bruh, you can’t even say the words. And doing it is no easier than saying the words.”

Bren’s shoulders dropped a bit. “I don’t want to lose you.”

It had been so much easier when he hated his brother and sister, believing they’d gotten all of their father’s love and he’d gotten nothing but the occasional birthday card. It had been so much easier when he believed they sat around laughing about the poor cub from West Philly or simply pretending he didn’t exist at all. But he knew different now. He knew he’d lucked out being able to stay with his mom and her Pride. He realized that Brendon and Marissa hadn’t had anything easier growing up than he’d had. They all loved their father, but he was aloof and moody, like most of the Old School males. While his father was building an empire, the twins never had Sunday barbeques with loud, bossy women who cursed like sailors nor had nearly twenty-five relatives show up to every football game and cheer like it was the Super Bowl.

Bottom line was, Mitch didn’t want to lose Bren either…or Marissa…or anyone. But he had to do what was right—he had to testify. If he didn’t bring O’Farrell down now, he got the feeling no one would. And if that had happened, how many more fifteen-year-old prostitutes would get their throats slit before the old bastard died.

“Maybe something could be worked out,” he lied while praying it would turn out to be true. “Maybe some kind of visitation.” Mitch grinned. “But you’ll have to meet me in East Booney fuck Ohio or wherever they put me.”

“You? In the Midwest? I shudder at the thought.”

“I’m doing pretty good in the South. They love me here.”

“Only ’cause you play ball.”

“And I play it well.”

“Speaking of which”—Bren glanced at his watch—“we’ve got practice in a couple of hours, and I need a nap.”

Together, the brothers walked out of the alley and found Sissy and Ronnie Lee standing outside the restaurant. Mitch frowned when he saw Sissy’s face. She looked upset, and when she saw him, she immediately tried to hide it. He didn’t want her hiding anything from him.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Ronnie Lee walked around Brendon and pulled out his wallet.“We’re going shopping.” She took out his credit card and put the wallet back in his pocket.

“We’ll see you guys at practice.” Sissy turned to walk away.

“Wait.” He waited until Sissy looked at him. “Come here.”

She walked over to him.

“Closer.”

She smiled—a real one—and stepped closer.

“Now kiss me.”

“Out here? In front of everybody?”

“Yeah. Out here. In front of everybody.”

“Well, when you get all demanding and cranky, how can I resist?” She went up on her toes, her arms sliding around his neck. She kissed him slow and easy. Mitch got lost in that kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her tight against his body. He had no idea how long they were standing there, but suddenly, Ronnie had Sissy’s arm and was pulling her away.

“Lord, y’all. Get a room, why don’t you?”

“Can’t very well do that with you dragging me away!” Sissy looked over her shoulder at Mitch and winked.

As the two strutted down the street, laughing and pushing each other around like pups—Ronnie in tiny running shorts and a cutoff T-shirt and Sissy in her denim cutoffs and tight tank top—Mitch and Bren watched them.

And both brothers growled.

Chapter 23

With his brother off taking a nap and Sissy shopping, Mitch had two hours before practice, and that was simply too much time to sit around and think. So he went in search of food.

When he walked into the pie shop, he was surprised at how welcoming the aunts were. They kind of treated him like he was family, and he enjoyed it.

“Sit here, baby-boy.” Francine pulled out a chair and patted it with her hand. He smiled and sat down at the table.

“My mom calls me that sometimes.”

“I met her at the wedding, right?” When Mitch nodded, Francine smiled. “I liked her. My kind of woman. Not snooty like some of your kind can be. Now what kind of pie you want today, darlin’?”

“The lemon meringue was so good.”

“Lemon meringue it is.”

It was Janette who brought the pie. And not a slice either. The entire enormous thing, putting it in front of him with a pie cutter, fork, and plate. She cut the first slice for him, and Darla poured him a glass of milk from the gallon jug she’d placed on the table.

When he started eating, the three sisters sat down and watched him. It was mid-afternoon, and the place was deserted. But that wouldn’t last. They got their busiest at the end of the day when people were getting desserts to go with their meals.

“So what’s wrong, darlin’?” Francine asked, her elbow propped on the table, her chin resting in her palm. She watched him with warm, friendly eyes.