Page 96

For whatever the reason, Jared brought her the box with the metal fragments from Colby’s shoulder. It should have been gross, but it wasn’t. It served as a brutal reminder of the way Colby protected her from gunfire and explosions. That Colby would rather have died fighting than let her go down under his watch. But did he know losing him this way was just as terrible?
She tossed the box toward the trash can. The box bounced off the wall, remaining shut, and jumped to a dark corner under her couch, where it could stay.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Winters’s cell phone buzzed across the table, moving closer and closer to the edge. It was a cliff over the hardwood floor, and he’d let it careen off without hesitation. If it shattered, he’d have an excuse for not answering.
He heard the front door and knew his mom arrived. Another person he could ignore. This day hadn’t hit the bottom yet. She walked past him at the kitchen table and threw him a pitying smile. “Haven’t seen you since I took Clara with me on some errands last week, and you’re about as peachy as I saw you last. Is the baby napping?”
Winters grunted, digging at his fingernails with a tactile knife. There wasn’t dirt, blood, or grit to remove. He hadn’t been in the field since South America. Still, he moved on to the next fingernail. It was a nervous tic. Something to occupy his hands or his mind.
“Seen the guys?” she asked.
“You mean after that debacle you orchestrated with Cash last week? Nope.”
“Seen anyone lately?”
“Nope.”
She hovered. It made his skin crawl. Since he’d been home from the hospital, this was her modus operandi. Stand and watch. Stand and watch. Nothing said, but lots to say.
“Colby…”
Shit. Friendly fire was never friendly, and it was coming. Operation Stand and Watch was over. Did that mean Operation Bust His Balls was on deck?
He opted to go on silent mode and continue his weaponized manicure.
“Colby, you about ready to cut the crap?”
And Operation BHB was a go. He didn’t have the inclination to sit around for a lecture, so he stood. “Thanks, Mom. You don’t need to swing by if you don’t want to.”
She shook her head. “One day. You get one more day being a little tart before you’re done.”
“Christ, I don’t need this from you.” He fell back into his seat and stared at the ceiling.
“You do, ’cause no one’s giving it to you like they should.”
“Give me a—”
“You aren’t the only one in this family who knows how to kick ass. And now you’ve been warned.”
“Mom, leave it alone.” Yelling at his mother was the wrong thing to do, but here he was, ready to yell. “You don’t know what’s going on.”
“I know Mia.” She stalked over to him. “She’s the best thing in your life, next to Clara, and you’re hell bent on ruining it. If you haven’t done so already.”
“She’s not safe with me.” Why was this so hard for everyone to understand, and why did it even matter to them? “I did this for her.”
“That’s baloney, son, and you know it.”
He sheathed the knife and spun it on the table like a one-person game of spin the bottle. His frustration bumped up another level, into the red zone.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” He was harsher than he wanted. An out of control panic pushed at him.
“You don’t have a plan, so you sit here, watching hours drift by? That’s not my son.”
“Shit, Mom. I just don’t know what to do.” He slammed his hands on the table and pinched his eyes closed. He needed a deep breath, but all that came were escalating angry ones. He opened his eyes, and his mother had her hands planted on her hips.
“Simple. Take that fire and fix what you broke.”