Besides, that little morsel of information would no doubt create a scene here at Millie’s Hair & Nails. She’d never told her family that Eight had a record. They assumed he did, because they knew he was a Bull, but they didn’t know exactly what kind of record.
Marcella knew, not because he‘d been so eager to talk about his years in the state penitentiary, but because he had prison ink, which she’d recognized as such and asked about.
Eight wasn’t the only guy she’d been with who’d done time. Her internal magnet pulled her to muscles, ink, and scars, so … yeah. She’d hooked up with some dicey dudes. But he held the trophy for worst crime, as far as she knew. He’d killed somebody.
When he’d told her, she hadn’t freaked out. She hadn’t even been all that surprised. He was a Bull, after all; their reputation preceded them. Probably, he’d killed more than one somebody.
She’d had a thought back then that sheprobably shouldbe freaked, andprobably shoulddrop him like a hot rock, but they’d been naked at the time, and he was so fucking great in bed. While her angel and demon had been fighting on her shoulders over the point, he’d gone down on her. Around the time he was rimming her, she’d decided that lots of good people did bad things, and who was she to judge.
Now, though, with a child in the mix, it was a point that needed consideration.
As much as she valued her family’s input when she had hard decisions to make, that was a piece of information Mom and Yvonne did not need to know. Not at Millie’s or anywhere else.
Once a week, Marcella and her mom and sister had a day out. Rarely anything fancy, just lunch and shopping, maybe a mani-pedi. Mom had started the tradition shortly after Dad moved out, as a way to mark out time they could talk about what was going in with the family and in their lives. Though they talked always, even now Marcella spoke with her mom and sister almost every single day, this one day a week had been, since those early days, a time when they got the serious stuff out and dealt with.
Currently, Marcella had the serious stuff. Specifically, Eight Ball’s sudden reemergence in her life. She’d talked to him and set terms by which he might meet their son, but now, with a lag of a week or two before he got back from California, she had lots of opportunity for second thoughts.
Sitting between them, Yvonne said, “I don’t know why he’s showing up out of the blue, after all these years.”
“He said his best friend died not long ago. I think he’s feeling his mortality.” Or something. It wasn’t easy to imagine that man thinking deep thinky thoughts. Probably that was why he mostly grunted and said he didn’t know what he wanted or why he wanted it.
“And he’s gonna lean on a ten-year-old boy to make him feel better about that? Fuck that.” Yvonne shifted restlessly in her chair, and the nail tech paused and looked up at her with a long-suffering sigh.
“Sorry,” Yvonne said with a sheepish grin. “I’ll sit still.”
“Fat chance,” their mom muttered. Yvonne was a lifelong fidget who couldn’t sit still under penalty of death. While Marcella laughed, Mom asked, “Ajax wants to meet him?”
“You know him. He’s philosophical about the whole thing. He wants to meet him if Eight will stick around. If not, he says no. Eight says he’ll call when he gets back in town. I guess we’ll see what’s what then.”
Her mother sighed. “I wish you’d find a decent man, honey. You’re so beautiful and smart and talented. You deserve a man who’ll treat you like a queen. The rogue’s gallery you’ve been bringing home since you were fifteen years old is why I wear a wig.”
Marcella didn’t respond. It hurt, but her mom wasn’t wrong, at least not about the kind of men she liked. The bit about the wig was for effect. She was sure her dating life hadn’t caused her mother’s alopecia. Pretty sure.
“It’s so typical of that guy to drop a bomb like this and then bail for California.” Yvonne grumbled.
That, Marcella couldn’t let go. She gave her sister a look. “You’ve got no idea what’s typical of him. You don’t know him at all.”
“Yeah, and I know him almost as well as you know him. And what we know is he’s bad news. I think you’re crazy to even consider letting him get within a mile of that perfect boy.”
And here they were at the crux of the matter again.
“It’s up to Ajax,” Marcella insisted, deciding to let her sister’s dig pass rather than get into a shouting match at the nail salon. “Eight is his father. He has a right to know his father if he wants to.”
“But why?” Yvonne pushed. “What’s he missing in his life? He’s got friends, and sports, and a million things he loves. He loves school. He’s got you, and me and Chase, and Mom, and Dad. What’s Eight Ball gonna add?”
“The man is his father, Yvonne,” their mother said. “It doesn’t matter how full a child’s life is, if there’s a parent missing, there’s a hole. Think how you felt when your dad moved out—and he was just across town.”
Marcella was rocked by that insight, but Yvonne pushed back. “That’s not the same at all. Daddy had been there, and we were afraid oflosinghim. This Eight Ball guy hasn’t ever been around. You can’t miss what you’ve never had.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” Mom insisted. She leaned forward to look around Yvonne and meet Marcella’s eyes. “It’s right, honey. Be careful, set good boundaries and guard them, but if Ajax is curious, it’s because he’s missing something. If you can fill that hole for him, you should.”
Again, Marcella was rocked. It was hardly the first time she’d considered that Eight’s absence from Ajax’s life was a hole, but for all these years, that was entirely Eight’s fault. She’d been comfortable in the righteous anger she’d felt.
Now, though, it was all much more complicated. If Eight wanted in, and Ajax wanted to let him in, the hole washerfault if she got in the way.
But it would also be her fault if she let him in and it went wrong.
~oOo~