Rock Chick Reborn (Rock Chick #9)(51)

I pulled that over my head while he put his socks and shoes on.

He zipped me up.

I left my shoes where Moses had tossed them and stomped to the door.

“Shirleen,” Moses called urgently.

I didn’t listen.

I marched right to the door.

I did this thinking the boys would retreat to the living room.

And it would be there I could ream them.

And good.

I hauled the door open and saw the boys standing right there.

Their eyes hit me then they shot beyond me.

To Moses.

“You!” Roam shouted.

“Motherfucker!” Sniff shouted.

They both pushed in.

“Boys!” I yelled, reaching out and grabbing Sniff’s arm.

He shrugged me off as they faced off with Moses.

I had their backs but I still could see they took in the bed.

The air in the room became stifling.

“You did our mom right under our roof?” Roam bellowed.

I froze.

Solid.

Suspended in time.

And as I hovered there, a vision filled my mind.

Words on paper.

Perspectives of American Military Action in Vietnam By Roam Jackson

Roam Jackson.

Roam Jackson.

“Right now, you both need to cool down,” Moses’s voice tumbled through the room, taking me out of my stupor.

“Your mom?”

That came from my mouth and it sounded hoarse.

Forced from me.

Tortured.

Roam jerked around towards me, angry.

Sniff turned towards me, also angry.

They both caught one look at me and stilled.

Completely.

Suddenly, it looked like Roam was preparing to take a step away, but he stopped himself.

Though he started talking.

Fast.

“Not our mom. Sorry. I’m sorry. You’re not our mom. You’re you. Like, independent and you got it together and you dress real nice and you got a great crib and you can boss around the guys and they don’t care because you’re badass like that and you’re like, your own woman. With like, your own life. And you’re just, like, not anyone’s. You’re yours. You’re not anyone’s mom. You’re Shirleen.”

“Shut your mouth, boy,” I whispered.

He shut his mouth but he looked sick.

My Roam who didn’t expose anything, he looked sick.

Not sick.

Wounded.

My eyes shifted to Sniff.

His torso was rocking slightly, his gaze not meeting mine, but he’d moved, standing partially in front of Roam like he was preparing to be his shield.

I walked their way, slow, on bare feet.

When I got to them, I lifted a hand to Sniff.

He flinched when I touched his cheek, but I didn’t bother myself with that.

I slid my fingers back into his thick hair, curling them around his skull.

Then I reached long and high, to Roam.

I did the same with him, the pads of my fingers gliding over his short-cropped hair, curving in.

And when I got my hands on what was mine, I gathered it to me, hard, yanking them in, until all of our foreheads collided.

“Shirleen,” Sniff whispered, his hand had come to my hip, maybe to steady himself, but it stayed there, gripping tight.

I dug their heads into mine.

“You’re my boys. Mine.”

That wasn’t hoarse.

It was guttural.

It sounded like it came from an animal.

And maybe I was an animal in that moment.

A lioness.

“Shirleen,” Roam whispered, his hand coming to my hip, sliding back, pressing in.

My eyeballs shifted to him.

“Don’t you ever say I’m not your momma, boy, you hear me?” I demanded.

“Yeah. Yeah, Shirleen, yeah.” His words were fast, conciliatory.

Greedy.

My eyeballs shifted to Sniff.

“You ever gonna say anything like that, Sniff?”

“No, Shirleen, never. Not ever.”

“You sign your assignments Sniff Jackson?” I asked.

“Well . . . yeah,” he answered, like it was the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

And that was all I could stand.

So that was when I went down.

“Boys!” Moses called sharply.

But my boys had their hands on me.

They had me.

They caught me before I fell. And like every time, Sniff gave into his big brother and he let Roam lift me into his arms and hold me close as he walked me out of my bedroom, down the hall of our home, to our living room where he put me on the couch next to him and gathered me in his arms.

And I wept.

I sobbed.

I held on to my boy.

Until I realized something crucial was missing.

I pulled my face out of his neck and saw Sniff standing close to us, hovering.

“You better get down here before she blows,” Roam warned. “Again,” he finished.

Sniff moved, burrowing in.

I was still a mess, and only slightly recovering from my episode, but they were teenagers and they hadn’t yet learned to read a woman right, so I was in no shape at all for Roam to announce, “I wanna make it official. I wanna go to a court and get the name Roman Jackson. I’m eighteen now and I can do that. I don’t want anyone asking me what Roam means anymore, and I don’t want anyone wondering why my name isn’t the same as yours.”