Colson (The Henchmen MC #20) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,63

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?