Jax describes his backpack and the clothes he wants. I shoot off a text to Savage and ask the prospects to give me updates on the cleanup.
“Phantom?” When I look up from my phone, Jax is standing a few feet away. He looks like he wants to go back outside, but his feet are stuck in place.
“What’s up?” I ask.
Jax doesn’t say anything at first, but then he crosses the living room. “Are you my mom’s boyfriend now?”
The question takes me by surprise. I don’t know what to say. “Does she have another one?”
Jax shakes his head. “She’s never had one. Not that I ever knew about.” He’s quiet again, but he’s biting his lip and picking at his fingernails.
“Hey.” I lower a brow at him. “You got something on your mind, I’m all ears.”
Jax shrugs. “Mom is just… I don’t know. She’s always so tired. She doesn’t seem tired around you. She seems happy.”
I nod. “She’s had a hard run. It’s not easy raising kids, working a job. I get that. Sometimes being an adult is shit, plain and simple. But she loves you, and I think she loves what she does. A little rest here will do her good. Yeah?”
Jax nods, but then he comes up close to me. He’s a skinny kid. Tall, with lightly tanned skin and the same wide brown eyes as his mom. “Thank you for taking care of her. No one ever does. She won’t let me and…” He trails off. “Just thank you.”
An unexpected tightness grips my chest. Sometimes I forget how much of what we’re going through affects our kids. I reach out and clamp a hand on Jax’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid, but remember, you’re akid. It’s not your job to take care of your mom.” As I say the words, I realize this is the same song and dance I’ve been giving Holly and Daisy. Same issues, different parents. Somehow, the shit is more relatable than I want it to be.
I jerk a thumb, motioning for him to go back outside. “Go on,” I tell him. “Before the girls kayak down the channel without you.”
He nods, but before he leaves, he gives me a huge smile. Then he takes off running toward the backyard.
My next call is to my lawyer. “Hey,” I tell him, knowing he’s got me on caller ID. I wouldn’t call on a Sunday—and he wouldn’t answer—if it weren’t important.
“What?” he asks, getting right to the point.
“There was a break-in last night. Nothing stolen, though.”
I hear him suck air. “Your place? The compound? You make a report?”
“The woman who owns the salon. Poppy.” If Shayla is behind this, her motivation could either be jealousy or revenge. I’m not taking any chances. “We were out together with our kids when it happened.”
I listen as my lawyer tells me exactly what he needs.
“Got it,” I say. “On it.”
We end the call, and I text Savage.
Me: Upstairs in the kid’s room. Get his backpack, everything you can see that he’d need to draw, and a bunch of clothes. Bring it all.
Savage: I’m there now. Had to bring in the girls. There’s too much here for the jackass prospects to clean. Stella’s in charge.
Whatever it takes.
Me: Good call. And the other thing?
Savage: Tiny complication. Viper handled it.
Me: Hospital?
Savage: The other guy. Shattered ribs and a black eye. Nothing permanent. Message sent. Next run should go smooth.
I don’t reply. I hate that I can’t be there myself. I gave the order for Viper to handle the shitheads trying to horn in on the deal we worked with Elliott. But it should have been me—my knuckles, my fists.
Savage: Jizz has been dealt with.
