Ma turns to face me with a small smile still on her lips. “Morning, baby,” she says as she slides off the stool and walks toward me. “Sleep well?”
“Ma,” I tell her, shaking my head. “You can’t call me baby here.”
She looks around the empty room, no one but her and Morris there with me because everyone else is either busy working or not awake. “Why?” She looks so innocent when she asks the question.
“It’s just not cool.”
She laughs, her blue eyes sparkling. “You mean it’s not manly?”
I nod. “Something like that.”
She turns back toward Morris, who’s laughing his ass off behind his hand. “Morris, can I call you baby?”
“Sugar, you can call me anything you like, but I have a feeling your boy wouldn’t like it too much.”
I can’t stop myself from glaring at Morris, but I quickly wipe the look off my face when Ma glances at me again.
“Would you care if I called him baby?”
“It’s different, and I sure as fuck would care,” I tell her, careful to control the volume of my voice. No matter how old I am, she’s still my mom and will not hesitate to put my ass in place.
“Language,” she warns me like I’m ten again.
I glance up to the ceiling, muttering a slew of curse words under my breath.
“Josiah,” Ma whispers, touching my chest. “I didn’t even know you knew all those words, and the fact that you’d say them in front of me is even more shocking.”
I tip my face down to the tiny woman who gave me life. “I’m sorry. This is just so awkward, Ma. I’m used to just being me when I’m here. I can’t act like a church boy just because you’re around.”
“Hold up.” Morris lifts his hand, shifting his body in our direction. “You were an altar boy?”
I give him the middle finger, careful so my mother doesn’t see. “Ma, this is my home. These are my people. They swear. They don’t hold back. They don’t attend mass. And they never refer to me as Josiah or baby. I don’t think Morris even knew that was my first name. Here, I’m Mammoth.”
“I knew about Josiah,” he interjects, holding up a finger. “Background check.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, Morris.”
“Be nice, Josiah,” Ma says, tapping her finger against my chest, my name sounding so foreign coming off her tongue. “Morris has been a complete gentleman, and you’ve done nothing but throw him attitude this morning.”
I stare down at her, holding the cup of coffee in my hand as it cools with each passing second. “Can I drink this?”
Her eyes move from the cup to her side. “Come and sit with us.”
“Yes.” Morris pats the stool next to him. “We have a lot to talk about with Jessica.”
As Ma starts to walk away, I notice she’s no longer in the sundress from last night, but a big T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that I didn’t give her. “Where did you get those clothes?”
“Morris gave them to me,” she says without turning around.
My gaze moves to him, and he shrugs. “I found them in my room, buried in a drawer. She couldn’t wear the same clothes two days in a row.” His words are code for: one of the bitches he fucked in the past left them behind.
I slide onto the stool next to Morris where my mother had been and move her coffee to my left, away from him. “Tamara’s bringing you some dresses later today. You won’t have to stay in that ridiculous outfit for long.”
“I was sitting there,” she says to my back as she stands behind me, not sitting in the spot I’ve made for her.
“Well, now you’re sitting there.” I point to her coffee, making sure she knows I’m not moving. “So, sit there.”
She grunts, but a moment later, she’s next to me just like I told her. “I’m not sure I like this side of you.”
“I only have one side.”
“Jessica, sugar,” Morris says, leaning forward to see her and ignoring me again. “Let’s talk about the man and what happened. Do you feel comfortable telling us more? I need names, dates, details.”
I grind my teeth together, keeping the burning in my stomach from roaring out of my throat and saying something I know I’ll regret.
Mom nods, tucking a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “His name is Boyd Weaver. We had mutual friends and all, so I figured he was a good guy. One night, he saw me out at a festival and asked me to dinner.” She pauses, staring down at her half-empty coffee.
“Okay.” Morris nods. “Then what?”
“We dated for a few months. Everything was great. He seemed like the perfect man. Kind, caring, and considerate. He was so attentive.”
“They always seem like the greatest guys,” Morris replies, and I sip my coffee, trying to keep myself busy to divert the rage building in me toward Boyd Weaver.
“Around the fourth month, I sold my house and moved in with him.”
I snap my head to the side, and my eyes widen. “You sold the house?”
“You know, bab…Mammoth—” she places her hand on my arm “—I never get attached to places. They are always temporary.”
“But you sank everything you had into that place and said you’d spend the rest of your life watching the sunsets from the back porch.”
She shrugs with a frown. “I thought I’d found a different future.”
Her words are like a punch to the gut. A gutless bastard not only laid his hands on my mother, but he convinced her to sell her dream. If he isn’t dying by bleeding out from the sledgehammer, he is going to by my hand.
“Keep going, Jessica,” Morris tells her as he lifts his hand, placing it on my shoulder and squeezing.
I turn my head, glaring at Morris, and he gives me a nod and a look I know far too well. It’s a situation we’re going to handle. Why does he have any skin in the game? I don’t know. Maybe it’s out of loyalty to me, even in a time when I want nothing more to do with the club. Either way, I know I’m no longer on my own.
“I don’t want to get into all the details. I told you enough last night. Finally, I had enough and took it upon myself to make sure he could never use that hand on me again. I got in my car and drove, leaving everything behind.”
“I can run a background check on Boyd, but it would be faster if you tell us what you know about him. Where he’s from, where he lives, the work he’s done in the past or still does. Anything you can tell us to understand the man before we head up north.”
Her eyes grow wide. “You can’t go north.”
“Like hell, we can’t,” Morris says, not giving me a chance.
“You show up, scared and shaking. You bet your ass, your son and I are going to take a little trip and make sure this asshole gets what he deserves.”
I curl my hand into a fist against the wood of the bar top. “We’ll make sure you’re cleared of the charges too, Ma.” I know that’s what is really on her mind. She’s worried about the law coming after her and not Boyd, but men who abuse women are rarely so quick to let them go.
She slides her hand over my fist. “I only care about the charges.”