Chapter 34 Protect
Protect
Josha
Sometime in the middle of the night, my dick softens and slips free. I startle awake at dawn to the sense of something out of place, instinctively reaching to check the bed beside me.
When did that start happening?
My hand bumps against a warm stomach, and I turn to find Zombie being little-spooned by Gem and staring at me through slitted yellow eyes. When I attempt to pet him, the ungrateful cat flattens his ears.
“Okay, okay,” I whisper. “I’m glad he’s home too.” Rolling onto my back, I cock my head, straining for whatever jolted me from sleep.
Then it comes—an insistent knock at the kitchen door. Cursing softly, I sidle out from between the sheets and snag a clean pair of basketball shorts from the shelf in the closet. The knocking comes again as I shuffle down the hallway, fumbling with the drawstring waist.
“I’m coming,” I hiss, mostly to myself, since whoever’s at the door is unlikely to hear me, even through the thin trailer walls. It better not be Cheyenne again. Gem has enough riding on today, and I’m not waking him up until he’s good and ready. Which, to be fair, might be never.
“What?” I demand, throwing open the door.
A tall woman with a messy topknot of silver-streaked curls blinks back at me. “Hi, Josha.”
Shilo.
I should be prepared for this. Hell, this is the reunion I’ve been pushing for since I showed up in Bakersfield. It’s supposed to be my redemption—I found him; I brought him back to you; I didn’t destroy your family with my selfish risk after all.
Beyond my own reasons, Gem needs this. Reconciling with his family is a necessary step in any recovery he can hope to have. I can’t protect him from it, and I shouldn’t want to.
So why do I feel like I’m not ready to share him?
Bracing an arm on the doorframe, I narrow my eyes. “You’re back.” Early.
“We got in about two o’clock this morning. Didn’t want to waste another night in a hotel.” She shifts her feet, peeking past me into the kitchen like Gem might somehow be awake at this hour, sitting at the table with a mug of his almost-coffee.
Be nice.
When I continue to block the door, she asks, “Are you going to let me in?”
“He’s sleeping.” I don’t move. She sighs but backs up to lean against the railing, hugging her arms around herself.
Do not think about bending her son over that exact spot.
“Cheyenne told us he’s been staying here instead of at the Airstream. How is he?”
Beautifully broken and beginning to heal.
“Better. Trying. He says he wants to get clean, and I think he means it this time.”
Her face breaks, eyes welling with tears, and her fear and hope and relief ring so close to my own that I feel like an asshole.
Not enough to let her inside, though.
“Why did you make him think he wasn’t good enough for me?” I ask, unable to hold the question back any longer.
“What? I never said that.”
“That’s what he remembers.”
“Shit.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, shoulders sagging. “‘Have kids,’ they said. ‘It will be fun,’ they said.”
I snort. “Who told you having kids would be fun?” None of the parents I know.
“Everyone? People love to spout a lot of stuff about parenthood. I guess that’s how they convince us to keep propagating the species when the whole world’s going to shit.
But no one talks about the part where you’ll make constant mistakes and watch your children suffer because of them.
They tell you how terrifying it is being unable to protect them from the horrors of the world but conveniently forget to mention that you’re one of those horrors. ”
“You’re not a bad mom, Shilo,” I say, relenting in the face of her helplessness.
“I’m not a very good one.”
“You did okay with me.”
“Oh, honey.” She offers me a tired smile. “You were grown when you got here.”
“Rocket?” Gem’s sleepy voice echoes from inside the trailer.
Crap. Here we go.
I whirl around, clumsy in the doorway. He stands at the end of the hallway, stupidly stunning in nothing but a white sheet held haphazardly in place by a loose fist at one hip.
“Are you coming back to bed…?” He trails to an awkward halt as Shilo pokes her head around my shoulder. “I’m gonna go put some pants on.”
Before I can respond, he disappears back into the bedroom. Shilo stares after him with a bemused expression on her face.
“The mama-bear act on the porch is starting to make a lot more sense now,” she says.
“Yeah” is all I manage, scrubbing a hand through my hair.
“How long—” She shakes her head. “Obviously, it’s new. And he’s really sober? Cheyenne said he went to an AA meeting?”
“I told you he’s trying. Give him a chance.”
“I’m his mother, Josha. I’ll always give him another chance. Even when it doesn’t help, and even when he hasn’t earned it, because that’s what mothers do.”
“Then let him earn it this time. But…be gentle. He might not admit it, but he’s fucking terrified.”
“He told you that?”
“It’s not me he’s scared of anymore.”
“Apparently not.” She reaches out to squeeze my hand. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you both to be happy. Please tell me you’re happy.”
“I think we could be.”
The bedroom door opens, and we both turn. Gem is back in his biker-boy armor, but his bare feet shuffle on the carpet while he chews on his lower lip. In spite of the muscles and the tattoos and the nervously defiant lift of his chin, he’s a boy expecting a scolding.
“He needs you to believe in him, Shilo,” I whisper as I move past her. “Don’t fuck it up.”