“He was a complicated man. Capable of great violence and great tenderness in equal measure.” Her voice softened slightly. “He died protecting a family—a mother and two children who’dgotten tangled up with the wrong people. Took three bullets making sure they got away safe.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be worthy.” Betty stood, and I rose with her. “That woman in there has built something beautiful out of nothing. Those boys are her whole world. If you hurt any of them—if you bring your violence into this home—I will make you regret it.”
“I swear—”
“I’m not finished.” She stepped closer, and despite being a foot shorter than me, she somehow seemed to fill the whole porch. “I’ve been watching you this past week. The way you show up without being asked. The way you sit quietly out here when the boys don’t want you inside. The way you look at Lilac like she’s made of glass and you’re terrified of breaking her.”
I held my breath.
“My husband was like that too. Gentle with me in ways he was gentle with no one else.” She studied my face for a long moment. “I haven’t decided about you yet, Mr. Spencer. But I’m willing to keep watching. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.” My voice came out rough. “I swear on my life, I won’t.”
Betty nodded once, then headed for the door. She paused with her hand on the screen.
“The back lawn needs mowing. And the gutter on the east side is clogged.”
“On it.”
“Good.” A tiny smile crossed her face. “Maybe you’re trainable after all.”
She went inside, and I stood on the porch for a long moment, feeling like I’d just survived an interrogation way more intense than any I’d faced since patching in with the Death’s Head MC all those years ago.
Betty wasn’t just watching. She was testing.
And I was determined to pass.
?
On Thursday afternoon I was checking the rest of the gutters for leaves. The boys were in the backyard, Knox on his bike practicing some trick he’d seen on TV while Luca sat on the porch steps pretending to read but really keeping an eye on his brother.
I heard the crash before I saw it.
Metal scraping against concrete, a startled yelp, and then silence. The kind of silence that comes before a child realizes they’re hurt.
I was off the ladder before I could think, rounding the corner of the house to find Knox sprawled on the ground, his bike on its side, blood streaming from a gash on his knee. His face was white with shock, his eyes huge and glassy.
“Knox!” Luca was already running toward him, but I got there first.
I scooped the boy up without thinking, cradling him against my chest as I headed for the house. He felt so small in my arms—my son who’d grown up without me.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
Knox made a choked sound that was half sob, half gasp. “It hurts,” he wailed.
“I know, buddy. We’re gonna fix it.”
Lilac met us at the back door, her face pale with alarm. “What happened?”
“Took a spill off his bike. Scraped his knee pretty good.” I carried Knox through the kitchen to the bathroom, Lilac andLuca trailing behind. “Nothing that won’t heal. You got a first aid kit?”
“Under the sink.” Lilac’s voice was tight, but she moved efficiently, pulling out the kit and setting it on the counter.
I set Knox down on the closed toilet lid and knelt in front of him. The gash was about three inches long, jagged at the edges but not deep. It looked worse than it was.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” I kept my voice matter-of-fact, not making a big deal of his tears or the snot running down his face. “I’m going to clean this up. It’s going to sting for a second, but then it’ll feel better. You can squeeze my arm if you need to.”
