By the time I make it to the Coleman's house after work, my anger hasn't subsided any. I haven't had any response from Bailey – no calls, no texts, nothing – and I can't exactly go home without her. After all, we're supposed to be on shift together.

There's no way I'm going home and dealing with the brunt of Stella's anger when she finds out that Bailey lied – which she will – because this is a lie I won't cover for. Bailey can come clean with Stella herself, and manage her own mess for a change.

I've given her so many chances. I've covered for her so many times. She promised she would stop this. She promised.

And now her chances are done. I'm done.

I thought I could handle this until Charlotte got here; I thought wrong.

I'm done.

And, if Bailey wants to retaliate, she can tattle on me all she likes. She can tell Stella and George whatever the hell she wants about my involvement with the Coleman's, like she threatened to do that morning I wouldn't let her go watch movies. Even if Stella and George will be disappointed in me, even if it messes up my job at Wilson's, even if Bailey never speaks to me again – I'm too burnt out to care anymore. And I'm too angry to play her stupid games.

I knock on the front door, venting out some of my frustration against the wood.

Lucas opens it only a minute later, dressed in some sweatpants and a loose hoodie that simply reads, 'No,' across the front in big, graphic writing. 

He looks surprised, an emotion which, over time, I've come to be able to detect in his expression. It's in the way he raises his eyebrows – a mere millimetre of movement that's almost impossible to discern – and the way his forehead crinkles when he frowns. It has nothing to do with his eyes, which remain as guarded as ever.

"Where is she?" I ask before he can say anything.

His frown deepens, his surprise turning to confusion. "What?"

He glances over his shoulder at something before returning his attention to me, his jaw clenched. His hand remains rooted against the edge of the door, a clear 'keep out' stance if ever there was one. The message is only intensified as he pulls the door closed against his side, blocking my view of the inside.

"Bailey," I reply. "She's here."

"No, she's not," he denies, his voice gruff. He glances over his shoulder again when a loud thud sounds from inside the house, shortly followed by a few choice curse words from what sounds like Finn. Lucas sighs. "You need to go, Jade."

"You're lying," I accuse, my anger running away with me a little. The words are enough to regain his full attention, even as another heavy bang sounds from behind him. "I know she's here."

I could guess a number of ways that Lucas Coleman would react to being called a liar but, if you asked me to name one, the word offended wouldn't naturally come to mind. Yet, here he stands, staring at me with an expression that can be described as just that: offended.

It's enough to knock the anger clean out of me, now replaced with a feeling of guilt as some of my sense returns.

Lucas may be many things but, as far as I can remember, he's never lied to me. Evaded the truth, maybe – but lied? I don't think so.

Accusing him of dishonesty is unfair and I quickly revise my tactics before 'offended' can turn into 'murderous rage,' or something similar.

"...Or, at least, I know she's with Alex. Is he here?"

It doesn't take long for the penny to drop.

"No," he says, his voice flat. "Alex is... out. Not doing what he's supposed to be, apparently." That last part is muttered under his breath, and the dark tone he takes is enough to send a flurry of shivers down my spine.

I would not want to be Alex right now, that's for sure.

I snort a short, unamused laugh. "Do they ever?"

Lucas sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stays like that for a few seconds, a thick tension radiating off of him like gamma. It makes me jittery, more words tumbling from my mouth in an attempt to break the ray.

"Bailey's not answering her phone."

"Wait here. I'll call him," Lucas eventually mutters, then proceeds to slam the door in my face before I can even say thank you.

The loud bang makes me jump.

"Okay..." I mumble, staring at the closed door. I wring my hands nervously before once again trying (and failing) to call my sister.

And thus ensues the longest five minutes of my entire life. I pace up and down the walkway a few times, check my phone, and then pace some more.

The sound of loud shouts catches my attention and I glance down the road, my mouth setting into a grim line when I see the group of rowdy teenagers.

There are five of them in total, ranging (at a guess) anywhere from the age of sixteen and below. The youngest, a blonde girl with a ratty-looking pixie cut in a pink hoodie, clutches a bottle of vodka in her hand. She can only be about twelve, if that.

One of her friends – this one a lad of about fifteen – uses a lighter to set fire to a tissue in his hand, throwing it into a nearby bin and howling when it sets alight.

That sets them all off, laughing and shoving each other into the road. One girl almost gets pushed straight in front of a passing car, the driver letting out an irritated pip of the horn as they swerve the narrow miss. The girl cackles and flips the car off, stumbling back onto the pavement.

They're all completely smashed.

I hate this town.

The Coleman's front door opens again to reveal Lucas, this time with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Whatever. Just get the fuck home. Now." He hangs up.

His face is back to the impassive mask that I'm used to, but the slight clench of his jaw gives away that he's mad.

Eyes meeting mine, he mutters out, "They're on their way."

I nod, not daring to speak.

From the look on his face, I fully expect him to slam the door in mine again and, if not for the loud smash that sounds down the street, I'm pretty sure he would've.

Instead, we both turn to watch the commotion unfolding with the group of morons. The flames from the bin roar up insanely high, the smashed glass from the vodka bottle now littering the floor. The shards dance in the light from the fire.

The group start to run as a door to a nearby house opens, revealing an elderly man with a fuzzy beard. He holds a bucket of sloshing water in his hand, emptying it out over the bin in an attempt to tame the flames.

"Yeah, go on," he yells after them, his voice hoarse and croaky. "Piss off before I knife the fuckin' lot of yer!"

It's a loaded threat, the blade in his other hand reflecting the orange flames as it catches the light.

Oh, fuck.

I avert my eyes – fast.

When I look back at Lucas, he's already watching me. After a short pause, he huffs out a heavy sigh – like I'm some huge inconvenience – and opens the door wider to let me inside.

I try not to let the relief show as I scuttle past him into the house.

"You'd better keep your mouth shut," he mutters as I enter the hallway and see... what looks to be the entire contents of an electrical store.

Laptops, TVs, phones, game consoles... you name it, it's here.

"Holy fuck."

The comment leaves my lips before I can stop it and Lucas closes the door behind us with a slam, making me jump again.

"You can wait in the kitchen. Watch your step," he says as he steps over a stack of iPhones. He shoves a boxed, fifty-five inch flat screen TV from in front of the kitchen door so I can get through.

"Hey, Luke, do you reckon she'll even notice if I take one of these?" Finn asks, emerging from the living room with an apple watch box in his hand. "We've got two dozen to shift and – oh."

He stops talking when he sees me in the hallway, standing amongst the mass of gadgets. I wouldn't say he looks too thrilled to see me, if I'm honest.

"...Hi, Jade."

"Hey," I reply, bouncing on the balls of my feet awkwardly, feeling extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden.

Because this - whatever this is - is quite clearly not legal. I am definitely not supposed to be here, right now.

But I don't want to be out there, either...

There's a deafening silence in the hallway before Finn speaks again.

"You let her in?" The question is directed at Lucas.

Lucas shrugs in response, his mouth set in a stern line as he makes his way into the kitchen.

"It's not her fault you decided to turn our house into a fucking PC World," Lucas calls over his shoulder. "Get this shit gone, Finn. And, if you keep that watch, I'll kill you myself."

Finn pulls a face before calling back, "This shit will make bank, Luke. You'll see!"

Lucas doesn't respond.

I don't comment on the obvious tension between the two brothers – mostly because I know better than to open my mouth, but also because it's none of my business. None of this is my business. Instead, I do as instructed and follow Lucas into the kitchen, trying my best not to trip over any boxes on the way.

Thankfully, the kitchen is gadget-free.

Lucas now stands at the kitchen counter, pouring himself what looks to be a large glass of whisky. He takes a swig whilst tipping the bottle towards me.

"Want one?" he asks, wincing as the alcohol burns his throat. He doesn't seem bothered by the burn, quick to raise the glass to his lips again.

I try not to let my gaze linger on his mouth for too long as he lowers the glass – because the softness of his lips is not something I'm supposed to notice. Ever.

"No, thank you," I reply, refocussing on the bottle as I wrinkle my nose. "I don't really drink."

Lucas rolls his eyes, his mouth flickering into a barely-there smirk that he's quick to quench. "Figures," he mumbles under his breath, before asking louder, "Why not?"

"Tastes like shit," I answer honestly, not letting his comment get under my skin.

He tilts his head, considering my answer for a second, before snorting out a short laugh. "Fair enough."

I watch as he tops up his half-empty glass, raising my eyebrow slightly as he all but downs it.

Is it me, or does he seem a little on edge? More so than usual.

"Are you okay?" The question slips out before I can stop it, festering in the silence that follows as Lucas stares at me.

"I'm fine."

Okay, cool.

We stand in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being Finn out in the hallway, lugging around the heavy boxes.

"Finn's an idiot," Lucas sighs eventually, resting his elbows on the countertop.

The outburst – if that's really what you can call it – surprises me.

For the first time since arriving, I really see Lucas. I see the dark circles around his eyes, and the slight stubble along his jaw – as if he hasn't bothered shaving in a few days. Overall, he looks... exhausted. Too exhausted to even try and hide it.

"Yeah, well," I say, moving to lean against the opposite side of the counter, facing him. "Brother's usually are."

That drags a small, unamused smile from him as he pours himself another drink. He raises it to me in silent agreement before taking a sip.

"Sister's aren't so smart, either," I tag on the end.

I don't expect him to reply but, again, he surprises me.

"Bailey's a good kid," he speaks up. My eyes meet his and he says, "You shouldn't worry about her so much."

"I'm her sister," I state. "It's part of the job description."

He makes a noncommittal sound, his thumb tapping against the rim of his glass. He stays quiet for a while, and I honestly can't tell if he's thinking or just bored of talking to me.

"Can I ask you something?" he eventually asks.

Would you listen, if I said no?

"Shoot," I respond, immediately regretting my poor choice of word.

My mind travels to the image of the gun in his car. Is it still there? How many does he have? Where did he get it from?

And, the most important question of all:

Has he ever used it?

It's a question I'm not sure I want to know the answer to, and one that shrivels up my intestines like old, dried fruit.

From the look on his face, it's clear that the double meaning isn't lost on Lucas, either. But I can't tell if the slight twist of his lips is born from amusement, or if it's closer to a grimace. Either way, he doesn't broach the subject.

"Does Alex seem okay to you?"

It's a question I wasn't expecting – and one I'm not sure how to answer.

"Why do you ask?" I try to deflect his question with another, the lino under my feet suddenly made of egg shells.

"He's been acting strange lately," Lucas sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "Not like himself."

Silently, I wonder if it's the alcohol suddenly making him so chatty, or if I've somehow missed the memo that we now openly discuss our family drama with each other. 

"How so?" I deflect with another question, biding my time as I consider my answer.

Whatever I say here, I have to be really careful. I promised Alex that I wouldn't out him, and I meant what I said. Alex's sexuality is not my secret to tell... but I also don't want Lucas jumping to any wrong conclusions about his brother, either.

Neither scenario would have a very good outcome for Alex.

"He's never been a problem for me before," Lucas sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if in pain before pouring himself another – albeit smaller – glass of whisky. "He's meant to be the smart one. But now he's lying to me about something – I just don't know what."

"You're worried," I say – a statement, not a question.

I know exactly what that's like, worrying about your younger siblings running off and doing something incredibly stupid.

"It's all part of the job description, right?" he asks humourlessly. Then, he sighs again. It's a frustrated sound. "I just want to know what mess he's gotten himself into so I can help him fix it."

I try not to find that endearing – really, I do – but the squishy part inside my chest can't help it. 

There was once a time when I believed that Lucas didn't actually care too much for his brothers – the way he reacted to Bradley being beaten up, the way he was with Andrew's shoulder... I have always found him to be strangely cold. The look on his face right now tells me I was wrong, though. He does care, and it's really kind of... sweet.

Behave, Jade. Don't forget who you're talking to.

"And you're telling me all of this because...?" I trail off, curious.

"Alex and Bailey are close – close enough to risk an awful lot of shit by just hanging out together. If Alex is in trouble, there's a good chance that Bailey knows why, and that means there's a chance you know, too."

"I think you're severely overestimating mine and Bailey's relationship," I tell him.

Because Bailey never tells me anything.

"I don't," he disagrees, shaking his head. "You're her older sister. You do whatever it takes to keep her safe – that's why you're here right now – right?"

He raises an eyebrow at me and I press my lips together, unsure of how to respond without offending his entire family. He takes my silence as agreement, continuing on.

"Exactly," he says. "Which means she'll trust you. She'd come to you if she ever needed help."

"And you don't think Alex would do the same with you?" I ask.

"I think Alex has gone rogue on me," he says, starting to get a little frustrated with my roundabout answers. "And I would like to know why. You understand what that's like, which is why I know you won't lie to me about this."

I wince a little at the emphasis he puts on the word. It feels like a definite dig at my accusations on his doorstep.

Unfortunately, that still doesn't mean I can tell him the truth.

"Want some advice, older sibling to older sibling?" I ask, instead.

He downs the rest of the golden liquid in his glass and sets it back down on the countertop. His only response is to raise an eyebrow at me slightly as he slowly rubs his temple with his fingers, his face a little pinched.

"First," I say, grabbing the glass and walking around to fill it with water from the tap. "Whisky isn't going to fix that stress headache you've got, there. Only rehydration, painkillers, and sleep can do that."

I place the water in front of him and move back to my place at the counter opposite. He stares at the glass, then at me, then back at the glass.

Then, he rolls his eyes and takes a sip. 

"Second," I say, "you should talk to Alex. You're stood here asking me questions, telling me things that you should be saying to him."

"So, you do know something," he says. It's not a question.

"I know that your brother's a good kid, too," I reply, before elaborating further. "Alex, I mean. My verdict's still out on the technophile, out there."

That drags a more genuine laugh from him, his lips curving into an amused smile.

"And, what about your verdict on me?" he asks, once again catching me off-guard. "How's that looking?"

It takes me a while to find the right response, which I'm sure screams an answer in itself.

His lips set into a thin line and he nods, looking down at the glass of water in front of him with an expression I can't quite work out. Acceptance? Defeat? ...Agreement?

I have no idea – and I don't know what it's supposed to mean.

"I'm sorry I called you a liar before," I apologise. It's the only thing I can think to say. "That was wrong of me."

"Don't be," he replies, looking back into my eyes. He snorts a bemused laugh. "I'm no Saint, Jade. I know that. You're right to stay away from us."

The admission surprises me but I don't have a chance to reply. Before I can utter so much as a sound, he places the glass of water down and walks away.

"Bailey shouldn't be long," he says before he's gone from sight, closing the door behind him.

I stand alone in the kitchen, my mind still reeling from our conversation. I stare at the abandoned glass of water, still sitting on the counter in front of me, as I hear his footsteps disappear down the hallway.

*********