Colt put his hand on his mother’s at his knee, her body jerked and she tried to pull her hand away but his fingers curled around hers holding it tight.
He caught her eyes and kept her gaze, speaking softly. “I don’t want to hurt you but you gotta know, I’m dancin’ the mother son dance with Jackie.” She closed her eyes and he squeezed her hand until she opened them again then he continued. “But, you stay sober, I want you there. Not him, just you. Yeah?”
She nodded and he squeezed her hand again.
“Will you…” her voice was choked, she cleared her throat and her hand jerked in his but he kept his hold firm. She pulled in breath through her nose and asked, “I don’t… well, we both know I don’t deserve that dance but will you dance another dance with me?”
“Yeah,” Colt replied without hesitation.
Her hand twitched in his and she repeated, “Yeah?”
“You stay sober, then, yeah.”
“I’ll stay sober, son,” she promised.
“I reckon you will,” he told her and again her hand twitched.
He’d never believed in her, never.
Then again she’d never stayed sober this long and she’d never saved Feb’s life so he figured he owed her that.
She pressed her lips together, sucked in breath through her nostrils, keeping control but just barely then she nodded and she squeezed his hand.
“You need money?” Colt asked.
“We’re good,” she said quickly.
Colt tugged gently on her hand. “Ma, you need money?”
She pulled in another breath through her nose, shook her head and said softly, “We’re good, honey.”
“Call me, you do.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe next time you can come over to the house, have dinner.”
He watched her swallow then nod. “I’d like that.”
He gave her one last squeeze and then let her hand go, pushing up, he jumped off the table and she stood up.
As he walked beside her to her car, she asked, “Feb a good cook?”
“Yeah, though she mostly cooks breakfast. Dinner we usually have Frank’s at the bar. Or Reggie’s.”
“Frank’s a better cook than most everyone I know.”
“That’s the truth.”
“And Reggie’s is the best pizza I’ve had in my life and I used to live in Chicago so you know what that means.”
“I do.”
She stopped at the driver’s side door and before she could do it Colt leaned in and opened it for her.
She didn’t get in. She tipped her head back and looked at him.
“You happy, Colt?”
He felt his body jerk and he blinked.
She’d never called him Colt.
He covered his surprise and the strangely welcome feeling he felt at her calling him by what he considered his true name by answering, “Yeah.”
She nodded. “All a mother can ask,” she put her hand on top of his, his was resting on top of the door, and she dipped her face, looking into the car and muttering under her breath, “love you, son.”
Then she quickly folded herself into the car and, without looking at him, grabbed the handle, slammed the door, started the car and pulled away. She was ten car lengths away before she got the courage to toot her horn.
When Colt heard it, he couldn’t bite back his smile.
*
Colt opened the front door, entered and shouted over the loud music, “Baby, I’m home.”
“Be right out,” he heard Feb’s words coming down the hall.
Wilson trotted into the room, stopped, looked at Colt and let out a loud meow.
“Quiet, cat,” he muttered and Wilson replied with a louder meow.
Colt shrugged off his blazer then his shoulder holster. He hooked the blazer around the back of a dining table chair, threw the holster on the table and then he unclipped his badge and threw that on it too. He hit the kitchen and saw the remote for the stereo sitting by Feb’s cell phone. He picked up the remote, pointed it into the den and turned down the music. Then he looked at her cell phone and was grateful for the music, seeing as she had twelve missed calls, all of them likely about them playing “Livin’ on a Prayer” at their wedding reception, a reception Feb didn’t know about yet. Then Colt went to the cupboard with the cat treats and Wilson let out another loud meow.
Colt shook the treats into his palm then he threw one into the living room. Wilson watched it go until he lost sight then he ran after it. Colt couldn’t see the cat but he heard another meow and he sent another treat sailing and heard Wilson’s cat feet chasing after it.
This happened twice more before Feb’s voice came from the hall again.
“You’re making him fat.”
She was right. This had come to be Colt and Wilson’s habit when Colt got home and Wilson was getting fat. Feb had put a limit on three treats a night. Colt and Wilson ignored that limit and jacked it up to six. This was mostly because, if Colt didn’t go to six, Wilson wouldn’t shut up.
“He’s fine,” Colt said, his hand up about to throw another treat before Feb hit the room and he saw her.
She was wearing a skintight, dark purple dress and a pair of high-heeled, sexy sandals. Her makeup was heavier than normal and nearly as sexy as her shoes. Her hair was partially sleeked but it had more wave and volume than usual and it was far sexier than her shoes. Colt felt the vision of her score a path from his lungs, through his gut, straight to his dick.
He’d been right. She had something planned tonight and he sure as fuck wasn’t letting her steal his goddamned thunder.
“That’s quite a dress,” he remarked when he could speak again then Wilson meowed, he threw the cat treat and Wilson’s paws could be heard scampering after it.
“That’s enough treats,” Feb replied, stopping opposite the dining table and putting her hands to her hips which meant the material at her tits stretched tight and he felt that in his dick too.
He shook out another treat and sent it sailing.
“Colt!” Feb snapped
“Come here,” Colt replied.
Her eyes went to the microwave and then back to his. “You’re late. It’s six forty-five. We’ve gotta go.”
Colt put the lid back on the treats and set it on the counter before he repeated, “Come here, Feb.”