Page 4 of A Kingpin's Weakness
"Yeah? Well, he needs a mother to take care of first, and let’s not pretend you’ve ever really been that."
That hit. I saw the flicker of rage in her eyes. She stood up straighter, voice rising like it always did when the truth cut too close.
"This girl thinks just because she tucked my son in a few nights and helped with some homework, that he belongs to her."
Classic Jo to get loud when she’s wrong. Downplay the truth until it disappeared. She wanted to pretend like I hadn’t practically raised Noah while she was off getting high or tangled up with the next man who’d treat her like trash.
"If you were out working, I wouldn’t have mind stepping in," I said coldly.
"But you weren’t, Jo. You were out chasing your next hit or your next fix in the form of some loser with a pulse."
That was our love language: yelling, fighting, throwing truth like knives. There were never hugs. Neverlove you’s. Just pain, tossed back and forth like a game we never learned how to stop playing.
"Go back where you came from, Stormi!" She yelled, anger bleeding from her eyes.
"Jo, no need to get loud," RJ said calmly, holding his hands up as if his tone could put a lid on the fire. "Calm down."
Jo turned on him, eyes narrowing. "And look at you." She laughed bitterly, stepping closer, her voice dripping with venom. "I should’ve known it was you who called her. You’ve always been her little lapdog chasing behind her like a sick puppy."
RJ didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened. He glanced at me quickly, then back at her, silent.
Jo leaned in close, too close, her voice dipped low, the kind of fake whisper that wasn’t meant to be private at all loud enough for the whole damn room to catch every word "You know she’s never gonna give you any pussy, right?" She smirked, knowing exactly what she was doing, cutting with cruelty, loud enough for it to echo. “All that loyalty and for what? A pat on the head? A 'thank you, RJ'? Pathetic."
"Jo, back the hell off." I stepped in between them. "RJ’s here because he actually gives a damn, which is more than I can say for you most days."
Jo looked me up and down, eyes narrowing like she was ready for Round Two.
Jo was right. Once upon a time, RJ had a crush on me. But I never acted on it. Not because I didn’t care about him. God, he was my best friend growing up. But because RJ always looked at me like I was broken. Like I needed fixing. And I didn’t. I didn’t need to be saved. I needed to be seen. I wanted to be his equal. Not some charity case. Not a project. Just someone he could love for who I was. I stopped being his mission when I turned twenty-one. By then, I had stability. I had a good-paying job. I was almost finished with my degree. I appreciated the things he did really, I did. The clothes he got his mom to buy me. The girly stuff he swiped from his sisters just to make sure I had what I needed. That stuff didn’t go unnoticed. That was care. Because let’s be honest, Jo could’ve given two fucks. But RJ? He cared. Maybe too much. In the wrong way.
“Jo, stop. Now!” My voice was low but sharp, the kind that could cut through noise without needing to shout. I grabbed her arm; not roughly, but firm enough to mean business and started leading her toward the back, away from the eyes already starting to linger.
She jerked against me like I’d insulted her. “Let me go, child. I’m your mom, not the other way around.”
I gritted my teeth. God, how many times had I heard that line? As if the title of mother erased the chaos, the mess, the years of me picking up the pieces she scattered without apology. I leaned in a little closer, just enough for her to hear the steel in my voice.
“You wanna act like my mom, start by not causing a scene.”
Before she could fire back, I heard that voice. Calm. Unfamiliar.
“May I?”
I turned. An older man, maybe her age, stepped toward us like he’d been watching the whole thing unfold. He didn’t have to get close before the scent of Old Spice hit me; it was thick and nostalgic. A department store suit hung off his frame like he’d borrowed it from a better time, and an unlit cigar rested between his fingers like it belonged there more than he did. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like someone used to being noticed without asking for it.
"I’m Ronnie," he said, extending his hand and removing his hat with the other. That Old Spice scent hit me again thick with memories I didn’t have. His voice had that worn-down Southern warmth, like gravel and molasses. I shook his hand briefly.
"Nice to meet you, Ronnie," I said, keeping my tone polite but firm. "I appreciate you coming over, but I got this. I’ve dealt with this woman all my life."
I didn't look at Jo when I said it. I didn’t need to. Ronnie just smiled, that knowing kind of smile older men give when they think they understand more than you want them to.
"Jolene can be a handful," he said.
He used her full name. Jolene. I blinked once then looked between the two of them.
"You two know each other?" My eyes shifted from him back to my mother, who suddenly seemed far too pleased with herself.
Jo chuckled lightly, reaching up to adjust her curly wig like she was on stage instead of at the hospital, awaiting the fate of her son.
"Ronnie here has been lookin’ out for me and Noah," she said, all sugary sweet like we were just one big happy sitcom family. I stared at her. Then at Ronnie. Looked like I had more to deal with than just her today.
