"You didn't have to follow me," Jacob insisted, sinking into his seat, sulking because he did feel guilty, because he hadn't thought things through. "And Uncle Miguel never would have let them hurt you."
"Uncle Miguel would have hurt me himself," I shot back.
"No, he wouldn't have."
"Oh, kid," I sighed, shaking my head. "I don't know what to do with you anymore," I admitted. "I'm trying to give you a good life. And you keep going back to that old shit."
"I have a right to see my family. Uncle Miguel says I need a man in my life."
"You have a father," I reminded him, getting a snort in response.
Jacob's dad—my high school boyfriend—was a touchy subject, had been for years. And I knew better than to double-down on the subject if I wanted to make any progress with Jacob.
"Look, we're going home. You are going to go do your homework and get some sleep. You look like crap. We can talk about this later," I told him as I pulled down our street. "Wait. Not so fast," I said, grabbing his arm when he tried to rush out of the car. "Phone," I demanded. "Phone," I repeated when he hesitated.
I got a growling noise, but he handed it over before slamming the door and rushing inside.
I followed behind, trying to calm my skittering nerves.
"Get out!" Jacob's voice was hollering as I made it to the front door, making me rush inside to find Colson standing in the foyer, and my son trying to puff up to look bigger.
Colson, to his credit, was trying not to smile at the sight of my gangly kid trying to intimidate his massive self.
"Jacob, it's fine. I asked him to keep an ear for Grams. Go on up to your room."
After a hard look, he rushed off to do just that. "Is she okay? Did something happen?"
"Everything's fine. Your mom seemed to wake up and got a little confused, came outside looking for someone named Laurie."
"My aunt. I'm so sorry."
"I said it's not a problem, Eva," he said, moving to the side to let me into my home.
Where I found my mother in the living room, a little girl on the floor in front of her, my mother's hands in her hair.
"I, ah, did your daughter want her hair braided?" I asked as my mother's fingers—usually so clumsy these days—deftly twisted the girl's hair into a braid.
"If she doesn't, she can take them out later," Colson said, shrugging it off.
"No, really, that's not fair to her..."
"It's fine. Jelly likes older people. She has a, ah, aunt who works with the elderly. Sometimes Jelly goes and volunteers on game nights and such. If you ever need a hand, I can give you Gus's number. She's a bit of a wild card, but she is good with her patients."
"I doubt I can afford her," I admitted, shrugging. "But I will definitely keep that in mind. Can I get you some coffee? I'm having mine with a shot of Kahlua, and you are not going to judge me for it," I told him, brushing past him to move into the kitchen, getting a breath of his spicy cologne as I went.
Damnit.
He had no right to look and smell so good.
Meanwhile, I was still wearing my oversized hoodie and leggings with a hole in the knee and I couldn't have smelled that great since I hadn't seen the inside of my shower since the morning before.
"That bad, huh?" he asked, following me into the kitchen, leaning back against the wall as I made a fresh pot of coffee.
"Well, it is never a good day when you have to go into the bad part of town and threaten gang members with a bat to get your underage son back," I told him, turning as the coffee started to brew, leaning back against the counter.
"Definitely not going to judge you for the shot," he said, shaking his head. "Everything go alright?"
"This time, yeah. I don't want to think about the next time." Not with the disdainful way my own brother looked at me. "I have to find a way to make sure there is no next time," I added, turning to grab two mugs as the machine beeped. "How do you take yours?"
"Milk is fine, if you have it."
Putting milk in both mugs, I held his out toward him.
"Where's your shot?"
"I have to work tonight. The Kahlua might make me momentarily feel better, but will sap what little is left of my energy."
"What's the appeal of Third Street for him? His friends join up?"
"One of them, yeah. But not a close friend. I honestly don't know. I can't fathom what would make someone want to deal drugs or pimp sex workers. I guess the money. Money is always a good motivator."
"And, at his age, thinking he's a little badass," Colson added, shaking his head.