"I can help too," Jacob declared, and there was determination in his voice. He had never been overly enthusiastic about helping with my mom. I think a part of it was because he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. But the other part felt strange about caring for an adult, a part of him unable to grasp her cognitive decline, to accept the fact that she didn't recognize him, confused him for other people.
It was a big step that he was volunteering to help rather than being asked, or only doing so because there was an obvious need and he wasn't a complete jerk who would let his grandmother fall down the steps or struggle to open a jar of food.
"That would be great," Colson agreed. "Alright. Let me grab your mom, and then you will follow us up, okay?"
I didn't need to be carried. Whatever weird shock I was in was slowly wearing off, the fog in my brain starting to clear as Colson led me up my front path, my son following behind.
The guard at the door moved, allowing us in, and Jacob ran up the stairs as Colson brought me into the kitchen, making coffee, getting us each a cup, then sitting down across from me, putting his hands around my hands on my mug.
"Okay," he said, holding my gaze.
"That was Miguel," I said.
"Yes."
"He was dead."
"Yes," he agreed again.
"Someone beat him. And shot him."
"Yeah, babe."
"But who? Why?"
"I have no idea. But if anyone can find out, it's my brothers and Lo's team. They will figure it out."
"It wasn't you."
"No, babe, it wasn't us. We planned to take him out, but we didn't do that. Reign was just as shocked as we were."
"I don't understand," I admitted, shaking my head.
"I don't either. But I can't imagine we are the only enemies Third Street had."
"But why would they drop him in front of your clubhouse?"
"Yeah, that's the question, isn't it?" he asked, looking lost himself. "I don't know. But we will. Eventually. I'm sorry, babe."
"I knew it was unlikely he was going to make it through the night. I feel like a hypocrite for being upset about it now."
"You're not a hypocrite. You didn't expect to have to see any of it. Your shock is understandable. That was not something any of us wanted you to see."
"Are the police going to need to talk to me?"
"No. Reign wanted you guys out of there. He doesn't want you involved. But they might show up here. To inform you. You should be his next of kin, right?"
"I don't know. My mom probably is if he never bothered to change any of his information. But, I guess, technically, I am it. He never married or had kids."
"They are going to want you to handle the arrangements eventually, though."
"Okay. What about Jacob? He's been hanging around Third Street."
"I don't know if anyone will be around to say that he was," he told me carefully, not wanting to say the words, even though they hung heavy in the air between us.
He and his brothers had gone off to exact revenge. Which meant that all those men my brother used to rub shoulders with would be dead.
"I know, babe," Colson said, nodding. "I would understand if you rescind that old people date idea," he told me, gaze skittering away. "But you are going to have to be stuck with me just until we figure all this shit out."
"I did—"
"For what it's worth, I didn't kill anyone tonight," he told me. "But I would have," he added, giving me eye-contact again, direct, long, making me feel his certainty. "And I can't say that, in the future, I won't need to. That's not how this works."
"I, um," I said, wetting my lips, "I wasn't going to say that. About taking back my interest in an old-person date."
"What were you thinking about then?"
"How funny fate is," I told him.
"How so?"
"If we had never moved next door to you, and if you hadn't just so happened to be sitting out front that night Jacob snuck out, and you hadn't taken an interest in helping, this would be a very different night for me," I said, the truth making my stomach twist. "I would likely be getting word right about now that my son was dead."
"We don't kill kids, Eva."
"No, but in the heat of the moment, when things are crazy, when guns are being drawn, and adrenaline is running high, would you, for one hundred percent certain, be able to tell apart a kid from one of the other men? If he was pointing a gun at you? He could have died tonight. Because of my brother," I added. "That puts things into a little perspective, I guess. And he would be dead tonight if you hadn't decided to step in and help out. There's a part of me that doesn't like the biker lifestyle. I'm not going to lie about that."
"I get that, babe. Believe me."
"But I also have come to see that you are all good men. It's quite the internal struggle," I admitted. "I was wondering the other day why the more average women that your brothers are married to decided to get involved with it, to bring kids into it."
"Love." He said it simply, with certainty. "Those men love those women like the shit you see in books and movies. They would do anything for them. And, I think, when you have a love like that, you don't give it up. Because it only comes once in this life.
They would do anything for them.
I hadn't been able to make my high school sweetheart stay with me even though I'd borne him a child.
One guy hadn't called me for a second date because I'd needed to take two phone calls since Jacob was at home sick and my mother wanted to ask me a couple questions.
I couldn't comprehend someone doing things for me. That had never been the life I led.
Except, well, until recently, right?
There was no denying that Colson was doing things for me.
More than any previous man in my life.
This man had literally never seen me at my best. He saw me wrung out from work, stressed over my mom, crying over my son. He'd seen me first thing in the morning with flat hair and sleep in my eyes. He'd seen me lose my mind—and the contents of my stomach—and hadn't wanted to run away screaming.
He'd just scooped me up, taken me home, taken care of me.
"What?" he asked, eyes going quizzical.
I couldn't imagine the looks that must have been passing on my face. But I imagined they mirrored the mix of emotions passing through me in the course of a few short moments.
Confusion, uncertainty, wonder, realization, and whatever the hell that strange warm sensation was across my chest.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I just... this probably sounds crazy considering the circumstances. But it's been nice having you in my life."
"Babe," he said, reaching to put his massive hand over my wrist, squeezing, "it's been nice being in your life. And I think it will get better from here," he added, giving me a smirk.
"Oh, you mean it gets better than a defiant son, a gang member with bad intentions for a brother, kidnapping, torture, and murder? How could it ever be better than that?"
"It's been interesting, that's for sure."
"You know what would make this better?"
"What's that, babe?" he asked, his thumb starting to move across my skin, making goosebumps prickle up.
"If we hadn't left that drawer full of brownies back at the clubhouse," I said, my stomach grumbling.
"It was short of my promise of a lifetime supply anyway."
"It was a start. I am going to go check on my mom," I told him. "Meet this nurse that has been taking care of her. And maybe brush my teeth," I added, grimacing.
"I'm going to go talk to Lo's guy outside. He's going to need to watch from inside my place. The cops will be here eventually."
"Do you have to leave?" I asked, feeling my stomach flip-flop at the idea of talking—lying—to the police without him being there to help take some of the pressure off.
"Yes and no. I will slip out the back when they show up, then come around the front once you let them in. Act like the concerned neighbor I am. That k
ind of thing."
"Okay good."
"It's going to be alright, babe," he told me, words like a vow.
"I know," I agreed, giving him a small smile before moving upstairs, stopping to do the tooth-brushing thing before seeing my mom for obvious reasons, then going into her room, finding an alert brunette woman sitting in my familiar old armchair in the corner of my mother's room, casually flipping through a gun magazine.
"Oh! Hey! Eva," she said, beaming at me. "I'm Ashley. Or as Mama Dukes here calls me, Anjelica. I am, from what I can gather, a sugar baby whose old man refuses to die and leave me everything."
"Oh, God," I said, laughing. "Anjelica. I haven't thought about her for ages. She used to live in the apartment across the hall from us when I was a teenager. She never did get anyone's will signed over to her, but she got pregnant by some rich guy who also happened to be married, so he set her up in a nicer part of town. From what I heard, his child support made it so she never had to work again. So, hey, there are worse people to be confused for. How has she been?"
"She's been good. Complaining about my cooking. And, in her defense, I am not that great at it. She seems particularly confused in the early mornings, but from what I can gather, you work nights, so she is used to seeing you first thing. That schedule getting shaken up can be startling, even if she doesn't understand why she feels like something is off."
"Thank you so much for being here. I wouldn't have been able to sleep at night if I didn't know she was with someone who could take care of her."
"It's no problem at all. Honestly, it's been a bit like a vacation."
"I don't think anyone has ever called my life a vacation before," I said, smiling. "What? Do they make you do six a.m. drills up there or something?"
"Only some mornings," Ashley told me, wincing.
"Do you have to go back?"
"From what I am gathering from Lo's text, I am supposed to hang here until Gus relieves me. Depending on how things go for the next day or two, y'know? There aren't a lot of certainties right now. But I think everyone should be out of your hair within a week. Everyone is just being overly cautious right now. Why don't you try to take a nap? This is a marathon, not a sprint. Get your rest when and where you can. We are good here."
"Thank you again," I said, looking from Ashley to my peacefully sleeping mother.
"Anytime you need me," she said, smiling, seeming like she genuinely meant it.
When I made it back downstairs, Colson was coming in from talking to the guard, giving me a smile as he pulled the curtains closed so the police—when they showed up—couldn't see in, giving him a chance to sneak out the back.
"Want to sit on the couch and put on a show we will pretend we are going to watch, and catch a nap?" I asked, getting a smile from him.
"Sounds like a date," he agreed, moving over toward the couch, sprawling out on it, pulling me down on top of him, tucking me against the back cushions, but mostly draped like a blanket over his solid, reassuring body as he reached for the remote, flicking on the classics channel, keeping the volume low, then wrapping his arms around me.
"Are you alright?"
"I shouldn't be," I said honestly. "Under the circumstances. But I am."
"Good. But it's alright if you're not. Or if you are now, but aren't later."
"I'm mostly just worried about what to tell Jacob."
"There's nothing wrong with the truth here, babe. Miguel was involved in the lifestyle he was involved in. With that come certain risks. Jacob is a smart kid. He will understand that."
"He's going to throw it in my face that you're in a certain kind of lifestyle too."
"And he'd be right," Colson agreed.
"How the hell am I supposed to explain that there's a difference?"
"I guess you don't."
"But there is a difference," I insisted, pushing up. "You and your brothers are good men. My brother wasn't."
"True," he agreed, nodding. "But that doesn't change the fundamental fact that what I do is illegal, that we make that choice every day, that in doing so, we take chances with our lives, and do things others would think of as evil. Even if we are good men, we do some bad shit. That's the truth. And he's too old to lie to about that."
"Then how could I ever explain that you and I are starting something?"
Mr. Has-All-The-Answers looked stumped at that one for a moment before shrugging. "Fall back on my old favorite."
"What is that?"
"Do as I say, not as I do. You could sprinkle on some "When you are an adult, you will understand" for some extra flavor."
"I can just picture the sulk and door slam now," I said, smiling down at him.
"And the music he'll blare. Jelly likes some straight out of the nineties punk-pop angsty shit."
"My son gets his gangsta rap on, thinking he will piss me off. Meanwhile I'm in the kitchen jamming out. NWA and Pac practically raised me. And he thinks he is being all rebellious and shit," I said, rolling my eyes. "What?" I asked when he kept staring at me, something warm and gooey in his eyes.
"Nothing. Just looking forward to that old-person date of ours," he said, eyes going even warmer. And that warm-chest thing happened again.
"Me too," I agreed.
It was right about then, though, that there was a knock on the door.
"It's going to be alright. I will be over in just a minute," Colson assured me as I slid off of him, feeling my heartbeat trip into overdrive.
Colson slipped out the back, and I made my way to the door, making a show of looking out the window first, given that it was before sunrise and women who live alone didn't anticipate anyone at the door.
"Miss Alvear?" the man in a suit greeted me.
"I, ah, yeah. Can I help you?"
"I'm Detective Lloyd and—"
"Eva, is everything okay over there?" Colson's voice asked.
To his credit, he'd even stripped out of his pants and was standing there in a tee and boxers like he'd gotten out of bed.
Lloyd's eyes drifted toward Colson, then to me, something knowing in his gaze.
"I'm not sure," I said. "He says he's a detective."
"Oh, Colson knows me pretty well," Lloyd said, shaking his head.
"Are you here for me?" Colson asked, scrubbing a hand down his face, slow blinking at Lloyd.
"No. I'm here for Miss Alvear," Lloyd said, that strange, knowing look leaving his eyes, making me hope we were being convincing enough.
From there, it was the somber tone, the regretful news, the explanations about our strained relationship because of his gang relations, even some information about our mother's cognitive decline.
The tears, when they sprang up, were a culmination of the last several days of stress, uncertainty, and exhaustion.
It was all over more quickly than I anticipated, Lloyd turning to walk away, then looking over at Colson.
"I'm surprised you're here," he said.
"I live here."
"No, with the club... never mind," he started, shaking his head, lost. "Miss Alvear, again, I'm sorry for your loss," he said before getting back in his car and driving off.
"It's hard to stump Lloyd. He's not stupid. So I think we're in the clear. You should get some sleep," he said, leaning back against the wall.
"Do you have back problems?"
"I...what?" he asked, brows drawing together.
"Back problems. Do you have them?"
"No. Why?"
"Because my bed is about as old as I am," I told him, reaching out to take his hand, pulling him toward my door. "So if you had back problems, I figured maybe we should stay in your bed for the night.
He let me lead him inside, pausing to lock the door. It was such a stupid little thing, but as someone who always had to lock the door myself, who never had anyone to care about my safety, it was surprisingly endearing.
"What?" he asked when he caught me smiling at him as we made our way up the stairs and down the hall.
"You really h
ave that dad thing down-pat, huh?" I asked. "Are you about to say something about not owning stock in the electric company?" I went on. "You turned off every light on the way up here," I explained.
"Force of habit. Jelly turns lights on even in the daytime," he explained, reaching down to pull his shirt off.
I had been bone-deep tired before.
But there was just enough light on from the home screen on my TV to make out those delicious indents of his abs, and I forgot all about being exhausted.
"Babe..." he said, shaking his head at me, reading the change on my face. "You need some sleep," he added as I made my way around the foot of the bed toward him, my hands gliding over his hips, sliding upward over his ribs, across his chest.
"There's something else I need," I said, my hands moving over his strong shoulders, folding across the back of his neck as I pressed forward into his chest, angling my face up to him.
"There's no rush," he told me even as his hands went around my hips, sank down into my ass.
"No rush," I agreed, smiling. "So long as it's right now," I added, getting a chuckle out of him, the sound vibrating into my own chest.
"So, what I am hearing is," he said, squeezing my ass. "You want me to take my time... right now."
"That sounds perfect," I agreed, going up on my toes to press my lips to his. "So long as you promise not to judge me for having sex with you before our first date."
"It'll be our secret," he agreed before we stopped talking entirely, his lips crushing into mine, this time with very little restraint, bruising, demanding, teeth nipping, tongue moving in to claim.
It was a kiss I felt down to my toes, into my bones, turning them molten with the heat as Colson's hands started to roam, slipping up under my shirt, tracing my spine, then moving into the waistband of my pants and panties, palming my bare ass, fingertips digging in.
I broke away first, raising my hands over my head, watching as he removed my shirt, tossing it to the side.
I'd given up on wearing a bra after the first night at the clubhouse. I had been borrowing clothes left around, but no one had my same bra size, and I wasn't about to hand wash the damn thing all the time. So I just went without, usually layering up with one of Colson's sweatshirts if I was leaving the room.
Colson (The Henchmen MC Book 20) Page 16