Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(73)

“Fuck you,” I whispered back. “I’ll never forgive you for what you thought of me, what you did to us. Fuck you for not being the man I thought you were. Fuck you for not being the man I needed you to be.”

That did not get me haggard.

That got me wrecked.

“Kee—”

He cut himself off because I had to end it there before his reaction started working on me.

So I turned and trooped up to the house, fighting real hard not to do it running.

I slammed the door behind me and stomped right to the stairs, starting up them, yelling, “Enjoy the cookies. After that big decision got made, Momma needs a bubble bath.”

And hearing Hound’s bike roar outside, I realized I really, really did.

Motherfucking dick!

“Ma,” Dutch growled in a way I turned halfway up to look down to see him at the foot, staring up, Jagger coming to stand by his side. “You sort your shit with Hound?”

I stared back at him, my heart tripping over itself, fast, furious and full of fear.

In the time my sons had been spending with him after Jean, had Hound shared?

“What shit?” I asked.

“You two bein’ broken up,” Jag said.

Oh fuck.

He’d shared.

“What did Hound tell you?” I snapped.

“Nothin’,” Dutch said. “Hound cleaning up his place, clearing out old furniture to get new and your car at his pad told us. Jag went up once, didn’t see your car, just wanted to see Hound’s new shit, and heard you in his apartment, laughing with him. When he left, that’s when he saw your car.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

“You know about Jean. You were at the funeral. You didn’t even walk up to him, say that first word. What the fuck’s up with you dumping him right when he lost that old lady?” Dutch asked.

Oh my God.

My boys were taking Hound’s side.

Before I could answer, Jagger threw his own question in. “And did you know her? Like, before. When she was alive?”

“Shortly,” I pushed out.

That visibly did not make either of my sons happy.

“I get you kept shit under wraps with Hound, though you coulda told us and not snuck around like a goddamned teenager,” Dutch clipped. “But it woulda been nice to have met a woman that meant what that old lady did to Hound.”

Um, excuse me?

It wasn’t me who kept Jean from my boys.

“And speakin’ a’ that,” Jagger butted in again before I could make a peep, “you’re our mother and he’s been our stepdad without sleepin’ with our mom for, oh … I don’t know, fuckin’ ever,” he bit out his last. “Maybe call a family meal with Hound where he should have been for about the last decade, at our table, and say, ‘Okay, boys, your momma and your Hound have finally got their heads outta their asses and we’re doin’ this. Now pass the mashed potatoes.’”

That was kinda funny.

I was not laughing.

“This isn’t any of either of your business,” I told them truthfully.

“And that’s full of shit,” Dutch shot back. “Because you’re ours and he’s ours and we’ve been a fuckin’ family since Dad died, and we got a shot at makin’ that real and somehow it got dicked up and that’s impossible because he loves you like Tack loves Cherry, like Hop loves Lanie, and you know what that kinda thing means. Now we arrange this so you two will be forced to get your heads outta your asses, again, and you’re having a bubble bath and Hound’s … whatever the fuck he’s doin’.”

So they’d arranged this.

They obviously needed help making the decision and knew only Hound could offer that guidance. But they didn’t need me.

They just made it so Hound and I could have the confrontation we’d just had.

Regrettably, they thought it would go another way.

It didn’t. And they were my sons but I didn’t owe them an explanation.

I also didn’t need them piling this on me.

“Again, this isn’t your business,” I declared, and when both opened their mouths to speak, I kept at them. “It isn’t. Hound and I are done and how that happened is not yours to have. I know you love him. I know you love me. I get what you’re saying. What you need to get is, a breakup is a breakup for a reason, there’s always pain involved, sometimes more, sometimes less. This time, it’s more. A lot more. So think on that and back,” I lost it a little, leaning down toward them before I finished, “off.”

They looked stubborn.

They also looked contrite.

God, I so knew neither of them would have a problem with Hound and me.

It didn’t matter.

It was over.

The contrite won out.

“You ever need to talk,” Dutch said quietly.

“I love you, boy, but I’m your mother. I’m not talking to you about my love life,” I replied, trying to do it gentle, but for God’s sake.

I needed a bubble bath!

“We just don’t get it. He’s been so into you for so long, we thought, when you finally noticed that you’d …” Jagger trailed off.

Oh I did.

“Can we stop talking about this?” I asked.