It’s going to be better than fine, but I’m still not ready to fill her in on the details. I need a few of my ducks in a row first, which is proving to be a challenge since I can’t just pick up the phone and call anyone, even Pop, without the area code giving away our location.
She sits bolt upright and glares at me. “Damn it, Rob, stop saying that! Nothing is fine!”
The boys burst through the front door, covered in sand. Grant’s got the start of a scruffy blond beard that he’s stopped shaving over the last few weeks. He won’t let Lee cut his lion’s mane of hair, so he looks wild—the total opposite of his groomed Chicago playboy persona. He’s not hurting anyone by it, though, and he doesn’t look too out of place here, so I’ve decided I need to choose my battles.
“Sherm is the baddest in the land!” Grant announces, raising his arm as if he’s the heavyweight champion of the world.
Sherm laughs and squirms out of his grasp.
Lee’s eyes narrow as they comb over Sherm. “What are you talking about?”
“He seriously knocked the wind out of me with a right hook,” Grant answers with one of the few smiles I’ve seen from him in the month since everything went down.
She stands, plants her fists on her hips. “Why was he punching you?”
Grant’s confused glance flicks to Sherm then me. “Because Rob told me to teach him to fight.”
“There is no maid, guys,” she says in a measured tone, her hand waving at the door. But her scorching glare is pinned to me. “Shake off outside.”
Grant rolls his eyes and tows Sherm back out by the scruff of the neck.
Another one of Mom’s favorites. I inhale deeply and realize, slowly but surely, Ulie is bringing us home, at least gastronomically.
“Why does Sherm need to know how to fight?” Lee asks, her myopic focus still on me.
“He doesn’t need to know how to fight,” I answer honestly. “He needs to know how to defend himself.”
“I don’t want him fighting,” she says, obviously not listening to a word I’m saying.
I shake my head at her. “Do you really think Sherm is going to start something? Have you met your little brother, Lee?”
Grant and Sherm pile back in and Ulie tries again. “Dinner’s on!”
The boys scramble to the table. Lee and I follow. I close my eyes with my first bite and let the taste of home melt on my tongue. “This is perfect, Ulie.”
She gives me a sad smile that tells me her culinary choices aren’t by accident.
After dinner, Lee and I clean while Ulie settles onto the sofa with Sherm. Grant heads up to the shower. We’re just finishing when the roar of engines I’d heard in the distance encompasses the house and rattles the dishes on the counter.
I pull my Glock from my waistband, move to the window.
In the driveway are at least a half a dozen Harleys, most with couples on them. One by one, they cut their engines and dismount.
“Take Sherm up to your room,” I tell Lee. When I look at him, he’s recoiling into the corner of the sofa, staring at the gun in my hand.
Everything in me tightens. He doesn’t need this reminder of what I’m capable of. Once he and Lee are past the door and on their way up, I reach for the handle.
“Jesus, Rob! Put the fucking piece away!” Grant says, pushing past Sherm and Lee on the stairs.
I spin on him. “Who are they?”
“My friends. We’re partying on the beach tonight.”
I drop my head into my hand and rub the headache behind my eyes. “No.”
He barks out a derisive laugh. “Says who?”
“Me.”
“You couldn’t even keep the guys on your payroll in line, so why the fuck should I listen to you?” he says, shouldering past me.
I grab his arm, spin him into the wall, pin him there with a forearm to the throat. “They wanted Delgado blood, I should have given them yours. I should have fucking fed you to them.”
I forget how fast Grant is until his right hand is cracking against my cheekbone. Underestimating your opponent is always deadly.
I drive my elbow into his stomach, shove him against the wall again, get up in his face. “You fuck this up for your little brother, I swear, Grant, I will kill you myself.”
I shove off him. He doubles over, struggling for air.