“My son is home,” Mama said, opening her arms the same way she used to, and Trent fell into the embrace, damn near weeping on her shoulder right there in the club. She looked as if she hadn’t aged a day since he’d last seen her almost six years ago. He squeezed her tightly, inhaling the scent of Southern comfort cooking and her lingering Chantilly perfume.
“I’m so sorry,” Trent said agonizingly. “I was ashamed.”
She leaned back and cupped his cheek. “If Miles could see you now,” she said softly, her gentle voice and faint Mississippi accent washing over him like a soothing balm. “Come on in the back, son. You hungry?”
Trent was healing already.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Wood
Wood was drinking his third cup of coffee when Mike came through his front door like a wrecking ball without so much as a tap first. Wood slowly lifted his head, ready to mount some kind of defense when his eyes caught the glint of metal in Mike’s right hand. Shit. Wood carefully got to his feet, keeping the dining table between them and his back to the wall.
Mike expertly flipped the switchblade over the back of his hand, snapping it open and pointing it in his direction. “I told you what I’d do if you hurt my boy, didn’t I.”
“Mike,” Wood warned. “Think about where I’ve been the last seventeen years. Do you really think I’m just gonna let you stick that blade inside of me?”
Mike stopped short, staring at Wood as if he was stupid. “Of course not. That’s why I brought backup.” More men filed into his house through the front and back doors. The same men from Mike and Manny’s concrete crew, the ones he’d worked with on a couple occasions. “Sorry it took me a little while, but Trent’s brothers insisted on coming.”
Wood sighed tiredly. It was almost two in the doggone morning, and he hadn’t heard from Trent once. No one had. Not Summer, not Edison, not Bishop. Wood didn’t have the time or the patience for this crap. He’d done a good job of keeping himself in control since he’d got out, but this was as close as he’d been to losing his mind since he’d been tossed in solitary for two weeks. He also hadn’t hurt anyone in that long.
“Where is he?” one of the younger guys asked, standing next a man that looked as if he was related to him. “How long has he been gone?”
At least someone was keeping their eye on the bigger picture. They could always kick his ass later; he wasn’t going anywhere. “Since about eleven thirty this morning.” Mike took a hostile step toward him, but Wood didn’t back down. “Someone from my past came to see me today, someone I wasn’t expecting, and Trent took it the wrong way and stormed off.”
“Wow.” Mike shook his head, his knife still out. “So he mistook finding you with another man’s calves on your damn shoulders?”
If Wood could strangle Mike with a look, he would’ve. “He didn’t catch me doing a damn thing. I would never cheat on him. Look!” Wood barked. “There’s no time for this! Now Mike, you know him better than anyone. Where in hell would he go? What’s his favorite hotel? A place he goes to sit and think? Or does he have any other brothers I don’t know about?”
“Why?” Mike said simply.
“What?” Wood asked.
“Why should I go get him and bring him back to the reason he left in the first fuckin place?” Mike clarified.
Wood didn’t want to confess this to anyone else but Trent, but he literally had no choice. “I love him, all right. But that’s my business to tell, not yours,” Wood said between clenched teeth.
“I don’t care about what you love,” Mike said, then motioned to Manny and two other big men blocking his back door. “Grab him.”
“Wait! Wait!” Wood backed up and threw his guard up in front of him. “He loves me too.”
Manny stopped his guys and scowled as only an angry makeshift uncle would, like he was waiting for Wood to elaborate.
“Just bring him back to me… I’ll take it from there. Trust me,” Wood begged, needing Trent home and not caring what ass he had to kiss to make that happen. “I can’t explain us, Mike. Trent and I just go together.”
“I don’t trust your big ass as far as I can throw you, Wood.” Mike flipped his wrist and the next second his blade was gone, and with an unspoken signal, his men backed down. “And you and my son go together about as well as toothpaste and orange juice.”
Wood made sure Manny and Mike could see his genuine, most deepest sincerity when he gritted out, “I don’t give a fuck what you think.” Wood’s eyes moved around his place at the gang that’d assembled to take him out or at least do him serious bodily harm. “I don’t care what any of y’all think. I don’t give a damn about you. You. You.” Wood pointed around the room. “You. I don’t even freaking know you, so I doubly don’t care what you think.”
Mike watched him a few seconds, his intense eyes focused only on him, reminding Wood of Bishop and how he used to scrutinize a man so hard it could feel as if his skin was being fileted. He wasn’t sure what Mike ended up seeing, but eventually he turned around and stormed down the hall. Wood followed him and watched as Mike turned a full circle in Trent’s bedroom.
“Where the hell are you, kid?” Mike mumbled to himself. He went to Trent’s dresser and fiddled with a few pieces of mail before he tossed them to the side. He walked over to Trent’s record player and slowly ran his finger along the face of the equalizer. “Spotless. Not a speck of dust in sight.”
“Because he takes care of that thing like it’s his child. He cleans it every day.”
Mike sighed, lifting one of the rare Miles Davis albums from a black crate. “I know exactly where he is.”
“Good. Go get him now. His back was hurting earlier, and I know it’s time—”
“You listen to me,” Mike hissed, pointing his finger in Wood’s face. He clenched his jaw at the gesture but otherwise stayed quiet. “I’m gonna bring Trent home, and you got twelve hours to fix your fuckup. When I check on my boy tomorrow, he better sound happier than Mr. Fucking Rogers.”
“Done,” Wood agreed easily. “Now go. And take your damn gang with you.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Trent
Trent wiped his mouth, then took a long gulp of his sweet tea, just barely covering his belch before it escaped loudly. “Mama, that really hit the spot. I haven’t had cooking this delicious in ages. Bishop has a partner that brings me food a lot, but his stuff is more gourmet-style meets a kind soul.”
Mama smiled as she stirred a large pot sitting atop one of her three industrial stoves. “Sounds like goodness.”
“It is. But I’ve sure missed this.” Trent took his plate to the dishwasher in back and set it on the rack. It was as if nothing had changed. This had been his home away from home at one point. Where he’d come every day after his mom left him with her musician boyfriend to go work her late shift. It was a time in his life that Bishop hadn’t been much a part of because he never understood Trent’s fascination for rhythm and blues. But it was never about the music only. It was the love and sense of belonging this kind of music gave him, the family it introduced him to. Only Trent had been too young to understand then that blood didn’t make anyone family. “The club still looks and feel the same, Mama. I see all the upgrades are still done on your kitchen first.”