Chapter 7 - Butcher
Her trust sits heavy in my chest, too precious and too dangerous. Images of last night's raid flash through my mind—blood, gunfire, violence. That's my world. I can't drag her and Tommy into it.
"I should go," I say, finally releasing her hand. "Promised Mom I'd have dinner with her."
It's a lie, and from the way Ruby's face falls slightly, she knows it. But she doesn't call me out on it.
"Of course," she says, standing up. "Thank you for staying, for the cookies, for everything…"
"Lock up behind me," I tell her, falling back on practicality. "I'll send someone tomorrow to install those cameras, and we’ll fix the door."
She walks me to the door, Tommy's abandoned cookie drawings still scattered on the table behind us. At the threshold, she looks up at me with those eyes that see too much.
"Will you really come back? For more cookies?"
"I promised Tommy, didn't I?"
Another half-truth. I'll keep them safe, but distance is better. Safer.
She nods, but I can see the disappointment she's trying to hide. I force myself to turn away, to walk down her porch steps without looking back. But I can feel her watching me, standing in her doorway as I cross the small space between our houses.
Mom opens her door before I can knock, like she's been waiting. Maybe she has been—she always did have a sixth sense about these things.
"Wasn't expecting you for dinner," she says, but she's already stepping aside to let me in. "Not that I'm complaining."
"Got time for your only son?"
She snorts, heading for the kitchen. "I've always got time for you, Joey. Especially when you're trying to hide from something."
I follow her, watching as she pulls leftovers from the fridge with her good hand. "Not hiding."
"No?" She gives me a knowing look. "So you weren't just at Ruby's for the past two hours?"
Damn nosy mothers and their window views. "Derek came back."
Mom's face darkens. "That lowlife. Is she okay? The little one?"
"They're fine. Derek won't be back." I help her reheat the pot roast, falling into familiar patterns. "Had Wrath and Crow made sure he got in his car."
"Good." She sets plates on the table. "Now tell me what you're really running from."
I sink into a kitchen chair, suddenly feeling every one of my forty-five years.
"She trusts me, Mom."
"And that's bad because...?"
"You know what I am. What I do."
She sits across from me, her good hand reaching for mine just like I'd held Ruby's earlier.
"I know you're my son. I know you protect what's yours. I know you have a good heart, even if you try to hide it."
"I'm not good," I insist. "I kill people. I hurt people. I'm—"
"If you say you're like your father, I swear I'll smack you with my cast."
I look up, startled by the steel in her voice.
"Your father," she continues, "was a coward who hurt people because he enjoyed it. You hurt people to protect others. There's a difference."
"Is there? Violence is violence."
"Joey." She squeezes my hand. "Why are you really afraid?"
The truth claws its way up my throat. "What if I can't protect them? The Outlaws... things are getting bad, Mom. A war is brewing. And if they found out about her, about Tommy..."
"So you'd rather push them away than risk them getting hurt?"
"Better hurt feelings than dead."
Mom is quiet for a moment, studying me. "You know what I remember most about when your father left?"
I shake my head.
"How lonely it was. Not because I missed him—God knows I didn't—but because I was so focused on protecting you that I pushed everyone else away. Didn't let anyone get close. Thought it was safer that way." She smiles sadly. "Took me years to realize that being safe isn't the same as being happy."
"This is different."
"Is it? That woman next door has already been through hell. So has her boy. They're stronger than you think."
"That's what worries me," I admit. "She's not afraid of me. She should be."
"Maybe she sees what I see—a good man trying so hard to be bad because he thinks that's all he deserves."
"Mom..."
"No, you listen to me," She leans forward. "That woman looks at you like I used to look at your father before he showed his true colors. But you know what the difference is? When she looks at you, you look back the same way."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I don't—"
"Don't lie to your mother." She smirks. "I saw you through the window, holding hands over cookies like teenagers."
"Jesus, Mom."
"What? I'm old, not blind." Her expression softens. "You deserve happiness, Joey. Even if it's complicated. Even if it's dangerous."
I push my food around my plate. "The club—"
"Will understand. Hellfire's been trying to get you to settle down for years."
"It's not that simple."
"Nothing worth having ever is." She takes a bite of pot roast. "But pushing away something good because you're afraid of what might happen? That's exactly what your father would do."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. "Low blow, Mom."
"Sometimes you need a low blow to see straight." She points her fork at me. "Now, are you going to finish your dinner, or are you going to go back over there and tell that woman the truth?"
"Which is?"
"That you're scared. That it's complicated. That you want to try anyway."
I stare at my plate, feeling like that lost kid again, looking to my mom for answers. "What if I mess it up?"
"Oh, baby." Her voice goes soft. "You probably will. We all do. But that's not a reason not to try."
The food sits cold between us as I wrestle with everything she's said. Finally, I stand up.
"Where are you going?" she asks, though she's already smiling.
"To make things right." I lean down to kiss her forehead. "Thanks, Mom."
"Anytime, baby." She waves me off. "Go get your girl. And Joey?"
I pause at the door.
"Bring them for Sunday lunch next week. I want to meet them properly."
"Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?"
Her knowing smile follows me out the door. "A mother knows these things."
As I cross back toward Ruby's house, I see her silhouette still at the window. Waiting. Maybe Mom's right. Maybe some things are worth the risk.
Only one way to find out.