"Very funny," I say, giving Ian the dirtiest look I can manage, which, admittedly, isn't very dirty right now. I'm laughing too hard to be actually annoyed with the situation. My entire front is covered in cold-ass water that smells like a bad mix of detergent and mold.
"I told you to turn off the water first," he says. My boy's a month shy of turning eighteen, and somehow we managed to get him to graduation. His brother dropped out last year, but that's okay, too. Ryan's not an academic, and once he stopped going to school, I stopped having to drop everything to deal with the Fort Bragg PD for whatever violation my kid got himself slapped with that time. When he turned eighteen back in March, he started prospecting for the club anyway. That's his future. We've known it for years, and that's okay. But Ian, my high school graduate, is book savvy, and he should be the one fixing the washing machine right now.
"I told Ryan to do it," I say. It's a shit defense, and we both know it.
"Ry!" Ian shouts. To my surprise, Ryan actually appears from his bedroom after only being called once. This is a rarity. His jet-black hair is messed up, and he's got sleep in his eyes. It's two in the afternoon, but I choose to keep any comments about his life to myself. He's an adult, I remind myself, and as long as he takes care of what he's supposed to, I'm not going to interfere.
Well, I'm going to try not to interfere.
"Did you forget to do something?" I ask, trying to be kind about my tone. He's a pain in the ass fully awake and even worse when he's half-asleep. Ian's not buying it, though. He turns his light brown head of hair toward me, narrows his brown eyes, and gives me a look that speaks of a boy who's been putting up with his mom's excuses for his brother for far too long.
"Really?" he says in a monotone voice. I just shrug my shoulders and ignore him. I baby my boys, and if their dad were here, I'd baby him, too. I won't apologize for doting on the three of them. Ian's jaw ticks as he turns his attention back to his brother. "You forgot to turn off the water like Ma asked you to, you fucktard!"
"Hey! Not that you'd fucking understand, but I was out late on a run."
"Low blow, asshole," Ian snaps back. This has been a point of contention between my boys. Ryan is four months older, and since he dropped out of school, he was able to start prospecting right away. Ian doesn't turn eighteen for another month, so he's had to wait.
"Okay, stop it." A chill runs down my spine from the wet clothes sticking to my skin. "We have three more days before your dad comes home. It'd be a damn shame if one of you were missing when he gets released."
Jim's been serving the state at San Quentin for the last ten months. I can't wait for him to come home. I miss his touch and the sound of his voice when he first wakes up. I miss the sounds he makes when he's moving inside me and even the way he screams when he's mad. The boys miss him, too, even if they won't say it aloud. Ian especially. He refused to have any kind of graduation party until Jim could be here to celebrate with us. I actually cried tears of joys over that, knowing how much his dad's presence means to him. While Ian's been sullen, Ryan's been acting out. He's nearly ruined his friendship with Josh over his stupid antics.
The doorbell buzzes, surprising me. We don't often get people coming out here who think to ring a bell. I direct Ryan to get the door since it's his fucking fault that I'm half-drenched. He moves slowly and yawns upon opening the damn thing. What I see on the other side makes me freeze in place. A man, a little over six feet tall and with grayish-blond hair, stands in the doorway. He's got tattoos up and down his bare arms and up his neck. He even has a vine tattoo going up the side of his face to his temple. Over a black wife beater is a leather cut that declares him the vice president of the Mississippi Forsaken. I didn't need the cut to know who he is, though. I'd never be able to forget that vine tattoo or those piercing blue eyes that remind me so much of a young man I think of as my own.
"Can I help you?" Ryan asks in a tone that suggests he'd rather do anything but.
"No, but she can," he says, pointing an unsteady finger at me.
"You need to leave, Ghost. Now." I can't do this. Shit. Three fucking days until Jim's released, and Ghost shows up now. I knew he'd been released, but this situation is entirely too fucked for words. Not only do my boys not know anything about Ghost, but the fucking man shows up at my house half out of his mind. His eyes are bloodshot and unfocused. He snarls as he speaks and isn't entirely steady on his feet.
"Not without what I came for," he says and steps into the house.