other."
"Mmhmm," he said, brushing me off as he turned out of the room.
"Where is she?" I asked, walking out into the common area, not seeing her anywhere.
"From what Huck says, sitting in her car having a breakdown. Where you going?" he asked as I went to brush past. "To go comfort her?" he asked, smirking at me as I opened the front door. "Yeah, no, she's not your woman, though, huh?" he said as the door closed behind me.
I got to the passenger side of the car, stooping down to find Eva's arms wrapped around her steering wheel, her head pressed forward into it, her body racked with her sobs.
No, she wasn't my woman.
But that tug inside at seeing her so upset, that was suggesting I wanted it to go in that direction, to at least give it a try. When all this shit was handled.
That was a possibility that was, at once, both exciting and terrifying.
But there seemed to be no use denying it anymore.
SEVEN
Eva
I held it together at work.
I had become a master at holding it together at work over the years.
I had gone directly to work after my mother's doctor's appointment that had spelled out her diagnosis—and all the possible ways that would impact all our lives. I had sorted the mail when I found out that because of all the moving expenses, our light bill was not going to get paid, and I had only forty dollars to feed all of us until the next paycheck.
I was a master at a stiff upper lip when I was on the clock.
But I was not, by nature, a stalwart kind of woman.
I felt things.
And I felt them deeply.
So when I finally got out of work and in the car, and across town, and into the Henchmen compound parking lot, I just... lost it.
It was all just too much lately.
I had been managing alright. Even with the new stress of home ownership, of having to make a dollar stretch further than I ever needed before. Even with my mother losing more and more of herself with each passing month.
I had managed.
Because my son was safe. He was in a good school. He was going to be able to secure a nice future for himself.
And then... fucking Miguel.
Luring my son away with ideas of easy money and nice clothes and fancy electronics.
All the things kids wanted. And I couldn't even fault Jacob for that. I wanted those things for him as well.
But if not for my brother, he would have continued to understand that nice things require hard work and perseverance. And, hopefully, choosing a great college major that would set him on a financially stable career path in his early adulthood.
But, no.
Miguel had to dangle fast and easy money in my son's gullible face.
There was no such thing as fast and easy money. Especially where a street gang was concerned. It wasn't like he would join up on a Sunday and be making thousands of dollars by the next Friday. And even if the money did start to come in, there were sacrifices to be made first.
I loved my son. He was strong in many ways. But there was no way that kid could make it through a beat-in.
This was the same kid who stubbed his toe in the morning and was down for forty-five minutes.
He wasn't a tough kid.
And that was a tough life.
It would chew him up and spit him out.
That was why I worked so damn hard to get him away from those influences.
And that text from Colson just proved that it was all for nothing.
I was tired for no reason. I was balancing my bills like they were loaded time-bombs for no reason. I was using my minimal spare time to research summer jobs and internships for him to increase his chances of getting into college... for no freaking reason.
My kid wanted to be on the street.
And my brother was helping him.
Through my over-abundant—and in no way quiet—sobs, I could hear the door to my car open, could feel the shift as a large body climbed into the passenger's seat, then hear the slam of the door again.
"Eva..."
God, how did he make my name sound so reassuring?
"He's okay," he added when I couldn't stop the tears or the pathetic sniffling.
"Only because you stepped in," I told him, hearing the awful whine in my voice. "You're always saving me. My life is such a fucking mess."
"It's not a mess," he assured me, a wide palm pressing