But that was all I noticed until I felt Martha crawl into bed with me, curve her body into the back of mine, her arm wrapping around and holding me tight.

I heard the voices in the living room then.

“Who’s here?” I asked through a sniffle.

“Cops, honey,” she whispered. “Brock has some business he needs to tend to after what went down tonight.”

Of course.

I shut my eyes tight and pressed out more tears. Finding her hand with mine at my belly, I pulled it up to my chest, held it tight with my fingers as I pressed it deep into my chest.

I opened my eyes and whispered, “He got shot at tonight.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

My hand clutched hers and new tears stung my eyes and nose. “I can’t lose him.”

“I know, honey.”

“His boys can’t lose him.”

“I know.”

“His family—”

“Shh, Tess.”

I sucked in a broken breath.

Then I stated a trembling, “I hate Damian.”

Her arm gave me a squeeze and her hand twisted to hold mine.

“I do too.”

I fell quiet. So did Martha.

Then I sucked in another broken breath and told her, “There’s a chicken in the oven.”

“I know. I sorted it,” she told me. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you something?”

“No, but Brock—”

“He’s a big boy, honey. He can take care of himself.”

“I know, but—”

“Tess, honey, trust me,” she said while squeezing my hand. “Right now, he’s not hungry. Right now that man out there is concentrating on making a statement to his colleagues and trying not to rip your living room apart. He pulls his shit together, I don’t think the first thing on his mind is going to be dinner.”

I nodded, then said, “I should go to him.”

“No.” She held me closer. “He wants you here and safe with me while he deals with that shit. Let him have that. You do what he needs you to do and get your shit together.”

She was right.

Therefore, I nodded again and settled.

She held me for a long time. The voices in the living room silenced. Brock didn’t come in.

Then Martha sensed I’d gotten my shit together (and she was right). I knew this because she gave me a squeeze and said, “The chicken is burned so I’m gonna go rustle up dinner. Time you two ate.”

She pulled away and I rolled to my back to look at her.

She hadn’t even taken off her coat.

She came right to me and didn’t take off her coat.

Fresh tears hit my eyes but I beat them back and started to suggest, “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

“I’m not going to cook, Tess. Riviera.”

Well that was a relief.

“Chile rellenos,” I ordered and she grinned.