What he said was true, but I couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible, because it was my mom after all. Placing my hands on his sides, I did something I hadn’t really done before. I leaned into him, resting my cheek against his chest.

“What are we going to do?” And that question was important and it was hard to ask, because I was asking about “us,” as in I wasn’t expecting to do this on my own. That was a huge step, a scary one.

Jax folded his arms around me. “We still have Ike to talk to. If we can find your mom . . .”

“And what?” I asked. “We can’t turn her over. We saw what they did to Rooster.”

“I wasn’t suggesting turning her over, honey. We get to her first, make sure she understands the kind of shit she’s messed up in, and then . . . well, we go from there.”

Going from there meant we made sure she understood that the likelihood of her stepping back in Pennsylvania and not getting shot would be slim to none. “But what about Mack?”

“He’s not going to get near you.” Jax drew back, his eyes meeting mine. “You can trust in that. Neither will Isaiah.”

I wanted to believe that. I almost believed that, because he said it in such a way that it came across as if he could control such things.

He dipped his forehead to mine. “Sucks about dinner.”

My lips twitched and I said hoarsely, “Yeah, I was really looking forward to that steak.”

“There’s always tomorrow. Hell, there’s always next Sunday.”

I closed my eyes, liking the sound of planning that far out. It was only a week, but a week was a lot of time. The next thing just sort of burst out there. “That’s the second time I’ve seen a dead body.”

“Babe . . .”

“Not my brothers. Their coffins were closed, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t see them bringing them out of the house. But I’ve seen a dead body before.” I paused, drawing in a shaky breath. “A bunch of people were partying with Mom. This guy, I guess he overdosed or something, and everyone else was too messed up to realize it. I’d come into the living room and he was lying facedown, not moving or breathing.”

Jax’s chest rose against mine. “Shit, baby, I don’t know what to say. You should’ve never seen something like that.”

“I don’t want to see any more dead bodies.”

A gap of silence stretched out between us. “It’s not something you ever get used to,” he admitted. “I saw it a lot in the sandbox—the desert. Sometimes it was insurgents, other times it was innocent civilians caught in the crossfire and . . .”

“And sometimes it was your friends?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I never forget any of their faces.”

I bit down on my lip hard. I totally got what he was saying. There were some things that you could never forget.