Page 31 of Ink's Devil

“Everything’s old,” I mumble, wondering what Connor wants with his defunct things.

“He might be able to sell it,” Ink suggests.

A stomping of feet tells us Connor’s reappeared. He comes back in a few moments later, this time carrying a full box. As I expected, he’s got the console and games, but it doesn’t appear he’s bothered to pack his clothes or anything else.

With a rueful look down at the pitiful contents, he approaches my mom. His voice sounds a lot calmer. “Patsy, I’m sorry. Look, I know how you feel about Phil, but, I, well, I can’t say more, but I don’t want to leave with bad blood between us.”

“Then don’t leave. Don’t go back to him. Stay here with us.”

A flicker of something crosses my brother’s face, so quickly I could have imagined it, then his features become hard again. “Can’t do that, Patsy. I work for him, remember?”

“Your room will always be here,” Mom says, but qualifies, “if you put space between you and that man. But not if he’s still in the picture. I’m not risking that.”

“Fuck it, woman,” Connor starts, getting angry again.

“I don’t think you’re welcome here.” Ink steps forward, not letting him finish.

“Beth’s man is right,” Mom says.

“Beth’sman?” Connor almost squeals as he looks at me in surprise.

I’m taken aback by Mom’s description myself and think I’ll have to have an explanation for her incorrect assumption ready later. Ink’s probably wondering what the hell I’ve told her about us.

But Ink surprises me. “Fuckin’ right I’m her man. Beth and your mom are under the protection of the Satan’s Devils and you better not fuckin’ forget that.”

As he says that he turns and comes over to me, and my brother must get his first proper look at Ink’s colours on the back of his cut. His eyes open wide. “Fuck it, Beth. Thought you’d have more fucking sense than hooking up with a Satan’s Devil.” He turns back to my mom. “They’re criminals, Mom. You best put a stop to this right now.”

Mom takes a step closer to him and leans back her head so she can stare into his face. “More than one thing wrong with that statement,Son. First off, pot, kettle, and black comes to my mind. Second, Beth’s a grown woman and can do what she wants. She says the Devils are okay? Then it’s her word I’ll be taking.”

Ink’s clearly had enough. “Come on, asshole. Think it’s time we get to see the dust from your tyres.” He pushes Connor hard.

My brother takes the hint. He swings to face the door, then he turns back. “Mom, Beth… Look, I don’t want to leave like this. Like I said, I’ll be doing some work here from time to time, I’ll pop in when I’m passing. Maybe next weekend?”

“That okay with you, Patsy?” Ink checks. He doesn’t seem to have taken to my brother at all.

Mom closes her eyes then reopens them. “He’s my son,” she tells Ink. “I don’t mind seeing him, I’m just not letting him bring trouble to my door.”

Ink nods. When Connor leaves, he follows him out.

Quickly I move forward and put my arms around my mom.

“I’m sorry,” she starts. “What a way to welcome your man.”

“I suspect Ink’s seen worse,” I reply, drily.

I hear the sound of a car starting, then wheels squeal as it peels out of the driveway.

Ink comes back through the door that’s still open, brushing his hands together as though removing dirt from them. He eyes me holding Mom. She barely reaches my chest so it looks like our positions are reversed, with me taking the parent’s role. “You want me to leave you two alone?”

“No,” Mom says, determinedly. “I’m sorry you were a witness to a family fight. I’m sorry you had to walk in on that. But please, stay. That’s if you still want to.”

Ink considers for a moment, then his lips curve up in a smile. “A bit of friction isn’t going to chase me off.”

“Jeez, I’m forgetting my manners.” Mom moves her head side to side. “I’m Patsy, Beth’s mom. And you must be Ink.”

“I kinda guessed that, though I imagined someone a lot taller.” Ink grins. “And yeah, I’m Beth’sman.” He winks at me, letting me know he has no objection to the label.

“Thank you.” Mom waves her hand toward the front of the house. “My son—”

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