Chapter Four
One Way or Another
Blue
I wipe the sweat off the back of my brow and jog to my room to change. It’s Monday, and Jamie is stopping by for dinner. It’s a habit he’s picked up since I moved into Calla’s house. The spaghetti and homemade meatballs are resting over a small flame, and the garlic bread is crisping in the oven.
“Something smells good, Aunt Blue. Did you make my favorite?” Bolton asks, leaning out of his room. Braced in the doorframe with his dark hair falling over his right eye and his KOC T-shirt he’s a younger version of his father. There was never any doubt that Bolton belonged to Shadow. He’s always favored the attractive male.
“I did. Does that mean you’ll join us tonight?”
Bolt rolls his eyes. “Like I’d leave you alone with that guy.”
“Why don’t you like Jamie? He’s nice.”
“No, he pretends to be nice while you’re around. I know he doesn’t
like me or the club. Everyone can tell. Why do you think Gramps doesn’t like him?” Bolt asks.
“Because Pops doesn’t like anyone outside of KOC.”
Bolt shakes his head. “I think you’re wrong. There’s something more to Mr. Preppy.” Bolt nods to my hand. “I don’t like the thought of him taking you away either.”
“That could never happen,” I say.
“This is the most I’ve seen you in a long time, Aunt Blue. He kept you away a lot more than you realize.”
I pause, thinking about his words. I lean over and place my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been there enough for you, Bolt.”
“You’ve done more for me than my own mom.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why? It’s true!” His brow wrinkles and his dark eyes grow colder. “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I’m just looking out for you.”
“I appreciate it, but I think that’s my job, kiddo,” I reply, gently pushing his hair away from his face.
“I’m not a kid.”
“Hey, you’ll always be my kiddo. And I know you can take care of yourself just fine, Bolt. But in this family, we take care of each other.”
He meets my gaze.
For a moment, I can see the boy he once was. The shadows dissipate, and I hold my breath.
“Yeah, I can agree to that.”
“Love you, Bolty. Now, I need to go change. The food should be ready in about ten minutes, and Jamie should be here around then, too.”
“I’ll answer the door if you’re still getting ready,” he mumbles.
The gesture melts me a little bit. He’s trying. Given what he’s been through recently, it’s all I can do. I can’t imagine what it would be like seeing your mom hauled off from the courtroom headed to jail. Visiting my mom from behind a glass would kill something inside me. After a month, provided she earns good behavior, the one-on-one visitations could begin. Well, as close as he would get to one-on-one in the next three years.
I push the tangled web of craziness that is my life to the back of my head and continue my trek to the bedroom. I’d redone it. I ditched Calla’s threadbare sheets, painted it a soft blue, moved in my Tempurpedic king size monstrosity, and decorated the walls. Her place had always seemed too sterile. I’d changed that little by little over the past two months. Things were settling here. Truth be told, I didn’t miss the apartment the way I thought I would. I’d even taken up gardening the way I’d always wanted. I shed my work clothing, tossed them in the wicker hamper in the corner, and pulled on a comfortable pair of jeans with holes in the knee and a KOC T-shirt. After I run a brush through my hair and tuck it behind my ear, the doorbell rings.
“I got it,” Bolt calls.
I bet you do. He reminds me of Pop and Shadow when he narrows his gaze, and gives Jamie the ninth-degree. Thankfully, Jamie is a good sport.