My woman is in crazy momma bear mode right now—laying down the law while appealing to his heart. Her chest is heaving and her movements are jerky, but her voice is clear as day. Too bad Zander’s skull is too fucking thick for him to hear a damn thing she’s saying. He’s cocky, throwing his size around like he’s the biggest motherfucker in the room. He’s not.
The kid is at least half a foot taller than her, and though he’s lacking muscle, he’s hearty. Shit. If he were a brother and she were some random bitch, she’d have her ass handed to her right now for giving him shit. Not that Mugs couldn’t handle herself in that situation, but it’s crazy to see the difference in size. She’s small compared to me—most people are—but seeing how our son towers her is just one more reminder of how much of his life I’ve missed. I’ll never see him shorter than her. I’ll never see any of that. All I have left is the smart-mouth teenager who’s smirking at his mother like he ain’t got a thing to lose.
He ignores her and walks right past his mom, meeting my eye for the briefest moment before the smirk falls from his face. My expression remains impassive as I watch him totally ignore her when he says, “Going out.”
“You are not leaving this house,” she turns and yells. Her exhausted eyes fall on mine. She mouths, “Help,” before turning and picking up Piper and holding her to her chest.
Well then. It looks like I have to figure out how to parent right now after all. So, I follow him out the front door and onto the lawn. He stops about ten feet from the house and looks around at the mass of grass and trees that surround us. He can stalk off, but there’s nowhere to go. He turns his head toward me just slightly before continuing on his path.
“Z!” I don’t follow, hoping that my voice will carry enough to bring him home. It doesn’t. “Stop.” I make sure my tone is as no-nonsense and hard-as-nails as I can get it. It’s the tone I reserve for Church when the boys can’t shut up but they need to, or when something goes wrong and somebody is about to die for their mistakes. I obviously can’t deal with Zander the way I want to when he’s like this. The boy doesn’t want a father right now, so instead he’s getting the club president.
“I have to come to you, your punishment is going to be far worse than if you come back to me.”
He stands fifteen feet away, torn between doing what he wants and what I’ve told him to do.
“That’s one,” I say, taking a step toward him. “Every step I have to take toward you is a week of shit you do not want to have to deal with. And believe me, boy, the closer I have to move to get to you, the angrier I’m going to be when I get there.”
It’s a long moment before he turns around, but he fucking does. His face is red, his shoulder hunched, and his jaw is set. He takes one step toward me and stops. “How many steps will it take for you to leave again?”
I swear to fucking Christ, I will not beat this little fucker’s ass.
“That ain’t happening,” I say. My temper still flares, but I recognize what he’s doing. It’s the same thing I did to my mom when I first met her about thirty years ago. Still, it’s taking everything in me not to totally snap on the boy. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
“Bullshit.”
Nope.
Going to beat his ass.
“Boy, I do not have the patience or the practice to put up with your shit. Get your ass over here before I show you how I’d deal with this kind of disrespect from a fucking prospect.”
He watches me carefully as he takes a single step forward, then folds his arms over his chest and stops.
I take another step forward, saying, “And that’s two.”
“Please,” he says with a hard jerk of his chin, “A two-week stretch is nothing.”
Another step. “Three.”
He steps toward me again, and now we’re just a few feet away. I swing my right arm out and hook it behind his neck. He pulls back quickly to dodge me, but it doesn’t work. Pulling him into me, I hug the little fucker so hard that I’m not sure he can breathe. This is the only thing I know how to do. It’s what my mom did when I thought she’d leave me and I acted out so bad to make sure I didn’t love another person who didn’t want me.
“What are you doing?” He manages to speak despite his face being shoved into my cut. His lanky body squirms to get away, but he’s no match for the twenty-two years and hundred pounds I’ve got on him.
“Showing you that I’m not going to leave you,” I say and hold him tighter. My muscles ache for a reprieve after a few minutes. My back starts to ache not long after that. I feel the need to yawn as the sun sets around us, but still, I don’t let go. I just hold on and wait. Because eventually he’ll relax into me. And when he does, I let out a deep breath but don’t loosen my grip on him. His chin wobbles against my chest and his body shakes, though ever so slightly. I can feel it. I know what he’s doing, and I won’t shame him or worry him by letting go and acknowledging it.
Eventually, long after the sun has set, he whispers into my chest, “You’re really not leaving?”
And my heart breaks, because no, I’m not.
I’m not ever leaving.
CHAPTER 13