Page 34 of Iron Hearts

“Alright, alright,” I grumbled. “You have valid points, but at the same time, I’m not going to find a waitressing or bartending job anywhere around here that pays better,especiallyby way of tips. And in case you hadn’t noticed, even with Grams and Gramps’ help, we’rebarelymaking it without Dad and we still have what? Five or six years to go on the mortgage for you?”

“Six,” she confessed with a sigh.

“There you go,” I said. “Let alone saving for the boys’ future. That shit can’t wait. The fucking insurance going up, up, and up with the hurricanes, medical insurance, groceries tofeedall of us and three growing little monsters – we don’t have the luxury to be snooty about where I’m earning my keep from.”

She stuck out her bottom lip and pouted.

“When did you get so grown up?” she demanded.

“When the fuckwit on the back of that crotch rocket slammed into Dad out on the boulevard,” I said unhappily.

She sighed and nodded, took a drink and then another hit, and passed the joint back to me.

“I don’t want to be sad tonight,” she said around her held breath. “I feel like all we are is sad anymore, you and me.”

I nodded, holding my toke in, and let it out without coughing this time. “We have a lot to be sad about,” I said. “The struggle is fucking real and shit just keeps getting tighter. But at the same time, we have a lot to be happy about too.”

“Yeah…” she sounded like she was struggling to come up with shit to be happy about so I helped her along.

“The boys are all healthy and happy,” I said. “I’m doing just fine. Dad taught me well, and you did too,” I reminded her. “I got out before shit had the chance to get too real and came right home. Fool me once, shame on you – fool me twice, shame onme,” I reminded her. “There was no way I was sticking around for round two. Just my luck that I saw how it started and I’m stuck being a stupid witness.”

“I’m proud of you for that,” she said.

“For what?”

“Talking to the cops and telling them what really happened.”

I shrugged. “All I can tell them is what I saw,” I said. “I’m sure they’d be a lot happier if I told them what they wanted to hear. seems like they really have a hard-on for anyone wearing a cut, but for real – the Royal Bastards didn’t do anything. It was all those other guys, the Scorpions.”

My mom stared at me and shook her head. “I can’t believe the bar didn’t do anything to keep you safe,” she said.

“I mean, yeah, that’s part of it – but the other part iswhat were they supposed to do?” I asked. “When the ‘customer is always right’ and the customers outnumber managerial and security staff two to one, I don’t think they thought theycoulddo anything.” I, of course, put “the customer is always right” in air bunnies with my fingers, because honestly, as someone who worked both retailandhospitality industries, whoever had come up with that little quip deserved a swift kick in the balls with steel-toed boots, as much as the sort of customer who liked to abuse the phrase.

“The manager should have called the cops and had them fucking trespassed thefirstnight after one of them clocked you,” she said.

I thought about that for a second and said, “You know what? Cheers to that.” I held up my glass, she clicked hers against mine, and we both took a drink.

“This is what you get when the world is run by men,” she said, her tone snarky, and I busted up laughing.

My mom only seemed to turn into raging feminist when she was drunk or high. It was funny as hell every time, especially coming from her, who had absolutely adored being a trad wife until I got into school and she started gettingbored.

Boredom and my mom hadn’t mixed. It’d led to an unhealthy amount of retail therapy that’d put my parents into ascaryamount of credit card debt for a while. She’d gone to work, and that had both seemed to balance her out and helped by way of paying down said debt. She’d been careful ever since.

Now, we didn’t have a choice. It wasstay frugal or die.

My mom and I talked, sitting on the porch under the fan, the warm, sultry night full of insect and frog song as wemellowed outfrom the day. Still, my thoughts kept drifting to Striker.

The more I sat with and understood my mom’s point of view, the more I realized Ididn’twant to return to the Iron Horse after what happened. I mean, I loved it there when the times were good, and the timesweremostly good – but the last two nights haddefinitelydinged my confidence in feeling safe going to work. I mean, shit – I had the bruises to look at every time I caught my reflection, reminding me every time that I had just barely begun to gaslight myself into thinking things were or would be fine.

No, the only reason I even considered for a moment keeping my job, was the hope that I might see Striker again. Something about spending time with him had been… nice. It’d been comfortable, and it feltsafe.

He hadn’t let anything happen to me, and yeah, he made me feel proud of myself for helping him, too.

I sighed and leaned back in my seat, staring out into the dark as something zipped low to the ground on the other side of the chain link fence that we had around our backyard.

“Oh, did you see that?” my mom asked.

“Yeah, what was it?” I frowned.

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