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Oscar grins. “She’s…good. I don’t know. I’m hopeful this time.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but it’s a huge fucking deal. If Oscar’s mom can work her shit out on her own, Oscar will be able to move on with his life like he should. He won’t have to be her parent. Maybe she can even be his for the first time in a long time. “I told her about homeschooling, and she was fine with it.”
“Did you tell her about—?”
Oscar shakes his head. “No, not yet. I figured it didn’t make a difference right now because she’s in rehab anyway.”
I reach out to squeeze his hand. It’s not my imagination that he seems lighter, like a huge responsibility has lifted from his shoulders. “She’s going to do great.”
He crosses his fingers and brings them up to show them off. He drops them to his side again and turns toward Brawler. “What about your mom?”
Brawler heaves out a breath. “You know she fought me at first, but I actually think she loves the new place.”
He can’t bring himself to say the words. He acts like Yellowfield is some sort of new condo his mom had the opportunity to move into, but in fact, it’s an assisted living facility. The tenants there get as much or as little help as they need. His mom doesn’t need much assistance, but he’s hoping the scheduled activities and social mixers will get his mother out of her bedroom and into real life. The change of scenery should do wonders for her, too. She’s way outside the Heights now. Away from the tragedy and loss she was stuck in. Brawler and I drove her three hours north four days ago to get her settled. That was the first time she’d been out of the apartment since her children died.
No wonder she’s so depressed.
Now, she can get mental health monitoring right on site. There are dozens of tenants around her age only a few steps away. She has her own things. She can come and go as she pleases. Honestly, when we were there, I kind of wanted to stay.
“When I talked to her this morning, she said she went to the communal dining room to eat dinner.”
I gasp. “No…”
He nods, a smile slipping over his lips. Eating around other people seems like such a little thing, but this is huge for her.
My heart swells. “That’s awesome, Brawler. I’m so excited for her.”
Brawler rubs the back of his neck and then glances at Johnny.
Johnny puts his hand up. “I swear to God if you say thank you one more time, I’m going to kill you. We should all be thankful I haveoneaccount that wasn’t tied to the Crew’s and not currently frozen in litigation.”
I move toward him and wrap my arms around his hips. “That’s because you’re smart.”
Despite my words, the frown line between his eyes deepens. When he told me how much money was currently frozen in all of the Crew’s accounts, I almost had a heart attack, but we don’t need that money. It’s dirty. It’s gross. It’s Crew-stained, and that’s all I need to know to keep away from it.
“We can make more money,” I tell him.
He gives me a dubious look. “How?”
So, assimilating into real life isn’t going all that well for Johnny, but he’ll get used to it. He just has to shake off all his illegal tendencies. I give him the biggest grin I can. “Are you kidding me?” I point to Oscar. “NFL quarterback right there.” I turn my huge smile on Brawler next. “UFC champ.”
“Right back at you, knockout,” Brawler says teasingly.
I place my hands on my hips and face him. “That’s KnockoutQueento you guys.”
“Well, well,” Oscar says. “So, you’re moving up the line of royalty now? Princess no longer good enough for you?”
I shrug. “New life, new nickname.” I glare at him. “But if you stop calling me Princess, I’ll castrate you.”
Oscar fights off a smile. “You guys notice how she goes right for the goods now? She doesn’t even pretend we’re not pussy-whipped.”
I laugh, giving Oscar a playful shove. I’d like to see any of these guys be pussy-whipped. Please. If anything, I’m the one who turns into a puddle of arousal nearly every hour on the hour.
The back door to the police station creaks open. We all turn to find Jacob making his way out. He has his hands shoved into a pair of actual suit pants. They’re a little tight on him because he borrowed Johnny’s. He refused to wear a button-up shirt, but a black polo stretches over his muscles as he walks down the ramp toward us. It isn’t until he’s close enough to touch that he lifts his head.
He’s all smiles.
My stomach drops. In a good way. I almost forgot what a good stomach drop could feel like. The hair on my arms raises with goosebumps. I’m so carefree I could almost get swept away at this very moment by the tiniest breeze.
“Seriously, man?” Johnny asks, brows pulling together in hope.