Page 50 of Riot

“You tell me,” Mayhem said calmly. “Coincidence you saw me and turned to leave? The fuck was that about?”

Ramos glanced at me, betrayal and hurt in his eyes. “You think I’d hurt you, Cal?” A short, hollow laugh. “I shouldn’t be surprised.” He shook his head slowly as the front door opened and our mom stepped in, still in her work clothes, the shadows under her eyes deep enough to bruise.

“You wrote me off,” Ramos said. “Both of you. Years ago.”

“That’s not—“ I started. “You’re the one who gave up after Dad died! You’re the one who caused so much trouble then got locked up!”

“Why, Calvin?” Ramos shouted. “Did you ever once ask yourself why? No, you were too busy acting like everything was fine! It was far from fucking fine!”

“Boys.” Mom’s voice was barely there. “Please.”

“You don’t get it.” He slammed his hand against his chest, once, twice, three times. “You lost your husband.” He looked at me. “And you lost a father. Me?” His voice broke fully then, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I lost my fucking best friend! I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning and didn’t know how to stop it.”

His eyes squeezed shut, and he pulled in a breath that didn’t seem to reach him. “I had nothing. Mom behind a closed door, you never home. I felt like I was the only one left. Do you know what it took to show up here? Thinking you’d turn me away at the door?”

Exactly what I’d said to my mom. I hadn’t wanted to go through the bullshit again. The cops. The fights. The friends who looked like they’d rob us blind.

The sound that came out of him then wasn’t a word. It was something rawer than that. A scream, his whole body behind it, fists at his sides, neck straining. Like something that had been sealed in him for years finally tore loose.

It moved through me like a frequency. Everything I’d been keeping buried for a long time finally crumbling.

“You’re the one who shoved me away!” I moved toward him, feeling like my feet were dragging through quicksand. “I needed you, Ramos. You turned your back on me!”

“When?” The word came out hard. “When did I ever shove you away?”

“The funeral,” I snapped. “I tried to hug you, and you pushed me off. Said you weren’t my therapist.” My breath hitched. “He was your best friend, but he was my daddy.” I pressed a hand to my chest, the pain carving its way out. “I had no one, had to grieve by myself, a kid who didn’t know where to put that pain. I hate him! Hate him for ripping us apart! Hate him for leaving us! Hate him for being everything then tearing that away from me!”

I couldn’t believe all of it had poured out of me, everything I had felt, that I had kept in the abyss inside of me, now free.

Ramos looked as if I was talking about someone else, like he was struggling to remember the past. “I don’t remember doing that to you.”

My mom hadn’t moved from the doorway. Her arms were folded tight around herself, shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

“I went to the prison.” I stared at the floor. “Got all the way to the visitors’ entrance. Stood there for a while.” I shook my head. “Couldn’t make myself go in.” The tears kept coming no matter what I did with my hands. “So I found work instead. Made sure there was always something in your account.”

Ramos went very still. “That was you?”

Riot pressed tissues into my hand. I blew my nose and nodded.

“Just tell me.” Ramos’ voice cracked open. “What do I have to do to get my family back?”

Mom took a step toward him then hesitated. “I never stopped loving you.” Her eyes dropped. “You look so much like him. Every time I see your face—”

“I’m not him,” he said. “I’m Ramos, Mama. Your son.”

“Six years,” she said quietly, “and I still reach for him in the night. Forty-five years together. We met when I was six years old. I walked right up to him and told him he was going to be my husband but that he needed a job first because I wanted a lot of baby dolls.”

I laughed a little through my tears.

“What did he say?” Ramos asked. Like it mattered more than anything.

“He went and asked your grandfather how to buy a job.” She shook her head. “Said I needed lots of babies.”

“What did grandpa do?” I asked.

“Choked on his beer. Grandma was still pounding his back when your father walked over to me and said his dad was hopeless.”

Something shifted in Ramos’ face. He pulled her in, arms wrapped tight, face pressed into her hair. I didn’t let myself think about it, just crossed the room. He reached for me before I even got there.