Page 75 of 23 Hours

Bink’s amusement slows to chuckle when she speaks. “I can’t say Harley has had one of those accidents yet.” She swipes the remnants of tears from her face with the meat of her palms and discards the wetness on the top of her thighs.

“Let’s hope you don’t need a strainer if she does,” I jest.

Caught up in the moment, Adam chokes on his merriment, folding in half at the waist as he gasps for air, coughs a dozen times, and punches the sofa cushion beside his leg. “Fuck. Mom.” He wheezes. I chuckle more to myself at his red-faced enjoyment than the experience I had when he was a toddler. To capture a mental snapshot of this moment to tuck away for later, to draw from when times get tough, I blink. Then I blink again, just to be certain I got everything.

“I hope not, too. If she does, maybe we should have Adam come clean up the mess as payback,” Bink teases, nudging my son's shoulder with her own. I can tell they’ve taken a liking to each other. Bonded amid chaos. She’s good to him, and he needs a lot of good in his life. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Hell, that’s all any parent worth their salt wants for their children. Goodness. Happiness. To feel loved and wanted.

Content to just be, I sip my tea and watch their banter unfold.

“I didn’t poop in the bath on purpose.” Adam rolls his eyes, still smiling at the ordeal.

“Says you.” Her head swivels in good-natured attitude.

In an exaggerated display of ridiculousness only he’s capable of, Adam’s eyebrows waggle. “I’m givin’ your daughter lots and lots and lots of prunes, so you’ll need a strainer. I’ll get you one for Christmas.” He winks, slow and deliberate, a nostril wrinkling at the corner as he does.

Bink faux gasps, covering her mouth. “You are not.”

Head held high, nose upturned, my son puffs out his rather broad chest. “Oh, ye of little faith.” He speaks like a duke, terrible British accent and all.

Once more collapsing into peals of laughter, they soon lapse into stories of themselves as kids. Pivoting from poop in the bath to rainbow Band-Aids from Big Dick, the club president, now Bink’s man. How that one came about, I don’t know, nor is it my business. Adam shares his school shenanigans. The same ones that wound him up homeschooled. You know the gist of those.

“Your dad’s a computer genius. It’s no wonder you could do all that,” Bink notes.

“My mom is, too.”

Turning toward me, the blonde woman’s eyes round. “You are?” She sounds skeptical.

I shrug a single shoulder, disliking the attention. I’m far more interested in watching them interact. It’s been a long while since I’ve seen Adam come this alive.

“She codes and other shit,” he answers for me and tilts his head back to take a drink of bottled water.

“Is that how you learned?” comes from a curious Bink.

Yes. He doesn’t have to say it for it to be true. I never knew Gunz was the specialist he is, nor did I need to with Adam having me as a mother. I know my way around security systems and computers just fine. Adam spent a portion of his childhood watching me. Not that I ever expected that knowledge to soak in and compute to jail time. That’s, in part, why I take his experiments to heart. They’re a byproduct of my rearing. Not intentional, but still indirectly my fault.

Growing up, my father tinkered in the garage most days with me as his curious shadow. My mother and his relationship was strained, as was my relationship with her. She was callous and cold. Never one to show love. I told myself if I was ever to be a mother, I would never follow in her footsteps. I wanted more for myself. For my family. Our nights around the table were filled with silence. The dinners were always lackluster—the same foods night after night. They lived separate lives under the same roof until my father died of a heart attack many years ago, and she ended up in a home.

Thanks to the relationship I had with my ex, I stopped coming around prior to that. We phoned, my father and me. The conversations were obligatory. Nothing more, nothing less. The same five minutes of small talk on holidays. Adam never really knew them. It’s for the best he only met them twice before age five and nothing thereafter. Not even a birthday card, or Christmas gift. Not that I expected different. My father was never one to rock the boat or push for more, and my mother never cared about me, let alone the child I bore. She acted the same with my siblings. No wonder my brother joined the military straight out of high school and my sister fell off the face of the earth. I haven’t heard from her since the day she left. Not a peep.

That’s why I swore I’d do better for Adam. We all do that, don’t we? Promise ourselves that our child will never experience the same heartache we did as children. As if we won’t fuck them up in our own special ways. We do. Oh, we do. My love for computers is why we’re here. Why my son was jailed. How I found Bonez and, by extension, Gunz. It’s crazy how the puzzle pieces fit together. One begets the other to form a picture. One you can’t see clearly until you… can.

A hand waves in front of my face. I blink, glance around, blink again, and focus on my son.

“Mom.” Adam’s lips press into a thin line.

Uncomfortable with how my brain seems to wander these days, I deliver a similar expression. “Oh. Um. Hi?”

My kid retakes his seat. “You zoned out a bit. You need something?” He inches forward on the couch, his butt hovering on the ledge as if he’s waiting for me to cry or worse. He has nothing to worry about. That’s not gonna happen.

“No. Just thinkin’.”

“Care to share?”

“Just the norm.” I shrug. “How we’re here today because of my choices. First, the wild night of sex.”

Adam pulls the cutest grossed-out face. Well, it’s cute to me. I’m his mom. You’d probably find it sexy. Who knows?

The tiniest of smirks hooks at the corner of my mouth, and I keep talking. “Then jail time because of what you learned from me.” I lift the mug to my lips and take a long, calming sip of tea. The warmth rolls down my throat and heats a trail all the way to my belly. Adam stares at me as if I’ve lost my marbles. A blanket draped over her lap, Bink remains quiet and observant.

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