"Oh, and I have a special playlist!" she declared, so enthusiastic about it that I really should have been suspicious.
As it was, I didn't think twice.
So we got in the new - well, new to me - truck I had bought off Repo because the bike wasn't always an option... and neither was her hearse, and she plugged in the AUX cord.
Then I understood her excitement.
What was on that playlist, you might be wondering?
Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard
Sugar by Maroon 5.
Sugar on the Side by Blondie.
Sugar, We're Going Down by Fall Out Boy.
Sugar, Honey, Honey by The Archies.
The list went on and on and fucking on.
There were at least fifteen songs on the playlist.
And Peyton belted out every last one of them.
It was ridiculous, sure. But it was also kinda sweet if you thought about it. She actually sat down at her computer and fucking searched for songs with my name in the title. Even if she did it with the intent to fuck with me, it meant I was on her mind that much.
It was nice knowing that, knowing she thought about me like I thought about her even when we weren't around each other.
Her playlist started over again just as I was driving down the main road that led to my mother's house, and Peyton, never one to be quiet for too long, half-turned to me, biting into a Twizzler. "How is Reign holding up?" she asked, tone serious. She didn't do serious often, but after the shit blew up with V, and she was around to witness some of it, she knew this situation called for it.
"He's dealing. They're all... dealing," I said, shaking my head, not sure what they were going through. Shit got rough there, crazy. The blowback hit everyone hard, but Reign and his family the most.
I'd always viewed taking a life as an unfortunate part of our lifestyle, something to be done without emotion. Certainly not joy.
But knowing that vicious bitch was finally fucking dead?
Yeah, I was never so happy to learn about someone catching a bullet.
Even if I didn't see it.
I hadn't been there.
It wasn't my story.
Someone else would have to tell it.
"That was..." she trailed off, shaking her head, at a loss for words. And, yeah, Peyton was never at a loss for words.
"Some fucked up shit," I supplied for her, reaching over to give her thigh a squeeze.
"Yeah," she agreed, exhaling hard, then wiggling her shoulders, trying to shake it off. "Okay. So. Your mom. Is she going to be excited to see me?" she asked, but there was no worry there. Everything about her said she would make her happy to see her.
"You're about to see for yourself," I told her, pulling the car up to park outside a small white house.
They're all like five inches apart, Peyton had observed as we got into Staten Island. When you have even halfway decent sex, all the neighbors will know how many times you came.
That was true, too. There wasn't a lot of breathing room here. Street after street of house on top of house. But, for all intents and purposes, that was how the people there liked it. It fostered connections, made a community. At least that was what my ma claimed. I hadn't lived there enough as I got older to see that for myself.
I had barely gotten around the truck to put my hand at Peyton's lower back when the door burst open.
And out walked my mother.
Considering the rough life she had lived, Candy had aged well. She was still tall and thin with long, dark hair that she left down around her shoulders. There were some small smoker wrinkles around her lips, but other than that, she was holding up well.
Her eyes went to me first as she moved down the stairs that led up to the front door. "Seany baby!" she declared, arms spread somewhat dramatically. "And who is this?" she asked, eyes going to Peyton as she got to the last step.
"Peyton," Peyton supplied for herself.
"Peyton, you look like a smart girl," she started. "What are you doing with some outlaw biker?" she finished, giving a chin jerk over toward me.
"Getting him into all sorts of trouble," Peyton supplied, making my ma laugh, liking that.
"And you," she said, tone suddenly going all mom on me. "You don't tell me you're bringing your girl to dinner? What if I didn't make enough food?" she asked, whacking me upside the back of my neck.
"Ma, please, you made enough food for the entire fuckin' neighborhood."
"Is that any language to be using in front of your mother, you little shit?" she asked, beaming at me as she - hand to god - squeezed my goddamn face like I was still five-years-old. "Alright, let's get you two inside. Your brother needs a talking to," she added, turning and going up the steps.