Born To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Is that right?” Jeremy had been pumping gas at Corky’s Gas and Go for nearly nine months, while he “decided” if he wanted to go to school. “Jer?” she said when he didn’t immediately answer. “Just tell me you didn’t lose your job.”

“Okay. I won’t.” He was defensive. Short.

Damn it all to hell. If only Joe were still alive. Jeremy’s father, another cop, had been great in a crisis. That is, until he was killed in the line of duty when his son was too young to really remember his father. So Pescoli had become mother and father to her boy, until she’d made the mistake of marrying Luke, who had tried to step in and had only made a worse mess of things.

“Wait for me. I’ll be home soon. And before I get there, would you please make sure Cisco’s had his dinner?”

“We’re outta dog food.”

“Then get some.”

“I, uh, don’t have any money.”

“Fabulous.”

“I gotta go. Heidi’s texting me.”

“Jeremy! Wait—” But the phone was suddenly dead in her hand. She hadn’t even had a chance to warn him off Heidi Brewster again. God, she’d hoped that teen romance had died a quick death last year.

Looked like her prayers hadn’t been answered.

But then, that wasn’t a big surprise.

Maybe she’d made a mistake by not moving in with her boyfriend, but she hadn’t thought it would be wise. Just because a man could turn her inside out in the bedroom was no reason to bring him home and slap the name tag STEPFATHER on him. As much as she thought she was in love with him, she’d decided not to go to that next level. Yet.

There was a good chance she was a commitment-o-phobe, or whatever you wanted to call it, but she’d been married twice and that might just be enough.

For a while.

Until her kids were raised.

Or until she was more comfortable with the situation.

You might lose him, that nagging inner voice warned, and she scoffed. Then it wasn’t meant to be.

She stopped at a small convenience store at the next crossroads, bought a small bag of dog food, a gallon of milk, and two Snickers candy bars to stuff into her glove box, along with the pack of Marlboros.

Just in case.

Then she hit the road again.

Twenty minutes later she was walking through the door from the garage of her little cottage. Cisco, her terrier of undeterminable lineage, shot off the couch, sped across the living room floor, and yapping excitedly, began doing pirouettes at her feet.

“Hey, I’m glad to see you, too.” After placing her groceries on the counter, she leaned over, patted Cisco’s scruffy head, scratched his ears, then straightened and walked through the dining area to the living room, where all six feet two inches of her son were sprawled, his feet hanging over the end of her couch. “I’m not so sure I can say the same about you.”

“Nice, Mom,” he said, not bothering to glance up as he stared at the television, where some reality show was playing out.

“Tell me about work.”

“Nothin’ much to tell.”

God, he looked like his father. Dark hair, intense eyes, sharp cheekbones, and two days’ worth of beard stubble darkening a hard, masculine jaw, a darker spot on his chin, where he’d managed to grow a soul patch. “Did you get fired?”

He finally looked up, glaring at her as if she were an idiot. “Just got my hours cut back, that’s all.”

“That’ll make it tough paying the rent or the gas bill.”

He lifted a shoulder. She wanted to spell it all out to him, about the consequences of his slacker lifestyle, but Jeremy had always been a kid who learned by experience rather than example. The cutting off of the gas and the cost of reconnecting would be a good object lesson.