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"I'm mostly just worried about what to tell Jacob."
"There's nothing wrong with the truth here, babe. Miguel was involved in the lifestyle he was involved in. With that come certain risks. Jacob is a smart kid. He will understand that."
"He's going to throw it in my face that you're in a certain kind of lifestyle too."
"And he'd be right," Colson agreed.
"How the hell am I supposed to explain that there's a difference?"
"I guess you don't."
"But there is a difference," I insisted, pushing up. "You and your brothers are good men. My brother wasn't."
"True," he agreed, nodding. "But that doesn't change the fundamental fact that what I do is illegal, that we make that choice every day, that in doing so, we take chances with our lives, and do things others would think of as evil. Even if we are good men, we do some bad shit. That's the truth. And he's too old to lie to about that."
"Then how could I ever explain that you and I are starting something?"
Mr. Has-All-The-Answers looked stumped at that one for a moment before shrugging. "Fall back on my old favorite."
"What is that?"
"Do as I say, not as I do. You could sprinkle on some "When you are an adult, you will understand" for some extra flavor."
"I can just picture the sulk and door slam now," I said, smiling down at him.
"And the music he'll blare. Jelly likes some straight out of the nineties punk-pop angsty shit."
"My son gets his gangsta rap on, thinking he will piss me off. Meanwhile I'm in the kitchen jamming out. NWA and Pac practically raised me. And he thinks he is being all rebellious and shit," I said, rolling my eyes. "What?" I asked when he kept staring at me, something warm and gooey in his eyes.
"Nothing. Just looking forward to that old-person date of ours," he said, eyes going even warmer. And that warm-chest thing happened again.
"Me too," I agreed.
It was right about then, though, that there was a knock on the door.
"It's going to be alright. I will be over in just a minute," Colson assured me as I slid off of him, feeling my heartbeat trip into overdrive.
Colson slipped out the back, and I made my way to the door, making a show of looking out the window first, given that it was before sunrise and women who live alone didn't anticipate anyone at the door.
"Miss Alvear?" the man in a suit greeted me.
"I, ah, yeah. Can I help you?"
"I'm Detective Lloyd and—"
"Eva, is everything okay over there?" Colson's voice asked.
To his credit, he'd even stripped out of his pants and was standing there in a tee and boxers like he'd gotten out of bed.
Lloyd's eyes drifted toward Colson, then to me, something knowing in his gaze.
"I'm not sure," I said. "He says he's a detective."
"Oh, Colson knows me pretty well," Lloyd said, shaking his head.
"Are you here for me?" Colson asked, scrubbing a hand down his face, slow blinking at Lloyd.
"No. I'm here for Miss Alvear," Lloyd said, that strange, knowing look leaving his eyes, making me hope we were being convincing enough.
From there, it was the somber tone, the regretful news, the explanations about our strained relationship because of his gang relations, even some information about our mother's cognitive decline.
The tears, when they sprang up, were a culmination of the last several days of stress, uncertainty, and exhaustion.
It was all over more quickly than I anticipated, Lloyd turning to walk away, then looking over at Colson.
"I'm surprised you're here," he said.
"I live here."
"No, with the club... never mind," he started, shaking his head, lost. "Miss Alvear, again, I'm sorry for your loss," he said before getting back in his car and driving off.
"It's hard to stump Lloyd. He's not stupid. So I think we're in the clear. You should get some sleep," he said, leaning back against the wall.
"Do you have back problems?"
"I...what?" he asked, brows drawing together.
"Back problems. Do you have them?"
"No. Why?"
"Because my bed is about as old as I am," I told him, reaching out to take his hand, pulling him toward my door. "So if you had back problems, I figured maybe we should stay in your bed for the night.
He let me lead him inside, pausing to lock the door. It was such a stupid little thing, but as someone who always had to lock the door myself, who never had anyone to care about my safety, it was surprisingly endearing.
"What?" he asked when he caught me smiling at him as we made our way up the stairs and down the hall.
"You really have that dad thing down-pat, huh?" I asked. "Are you about to say something about not owning stock in the electric company?" I went on. "You turned off every light on the way up here," I explained.
