AN: Sorry it took so long to update. School and whatnot. Anyway, thanks so much for taking the time to read!

Mom was home early from work. It surprised me to find her car in the driveway when I pulled up. Angel and Jack both ran upstairs the second they entered the house, but I followed my nose to the kitchen. I could smell spaghetti, and my stomach growled to remind me I hadn't eaten all day.

I'd been too nervous to take advantage of the continental breakfast offered at the motel I'd checked out of that morning—and between driving into Detroit, attending the hearing to appeal my indefinite suspension from the league, and arriving home just in time to get a call from the high school about Jack and Angel—I simply hadn't gotten a chance to sit down and eat.

Mom was at the stove, stirring the pasta and sauce in their separate pots. I stood in the entryway for a long time, watching her and smiling.

"Hey, Ma," I finally said.

She stiffened at the sound of my voice, whipping around to look at me. It'd been a year, and I knew she'd probably had moments when she wondered if I ever would come back.

Her eyes went wide at the sight of me, and I think she forgot about the wooden spoon in her hand. I'd never seen her put so off-kilter, not even when I used to light things on fire, or come home raging drunk with blood all over my knuckles. After a moment of soaking in my appearance, she smiled, her eyes shining.

"Oh, Bobby," she breathed. "You look so handsome."

I smirked, purposely straightening my jacket just to play up the image of a well-off business man. "Don't I always?" I said, acting like hot shit and making her laugh.

I dropped the act, smiling genuinely as I approached and took the spoon from her, setting it down on the counter before I gathered her up in my arms.

She clung to me like she might never have the chance to hug me again, and I felt a stab of guilt for not coming home sooner. If it hadn't been for my appeal, it probably would've been a lot longer.

She released me at last, holding me at arm's length. "You should've told me you were coming!" she mock-scolded. "I wasn't expecting you until next week, and you said you might not have time to visit before you had to head back. I was going to get Jack and Angel to carry the extra bed down from the attic."

I chuckled, taking off my shades and sliding them into my breast pocket. "My appeal date got moved up. Don't worry about the bed—I can manage with the couch. Don't let the suit fool you, I haven't civilized that much."

Her eyes fell away from me, but for just a second I saw the disappointment in them. She tried to cover it up; she smiled, like the idea of me settling into a life that might make her proud had never occurred to her. I kicked myself mentally, suddenly realizing how stupid I'd been to let her see just how clean-cut and classy I could've been in a better life. None of her sons had much of a chance to make something of themselves. My resume included hockey, managing strip bars, and moving drugs. Angel sold, conned, and hustled. Jerry worked construction. Jack couldn't pull his head out of his guitar case long enough to go to school most days.

We all probably could've done well if we tried—but we didn't. I guess we didn't love her enough to do that one simple thing for her. None of us did.

I felt my brow crease with concern while I looked at her, and I gripped her shoulders gently. "Hey, you're doing okay here, aren't you? You've got plenty of money? Jack and Angel..."

"It's good to have you home," she interrupted, taking my hands in hers and squeezing them. She turned me toward the table, and led me by the arm to a chair. "Now tell me all about the hearing today. Did they say when they'll be lifting your suspension?"

I sighed, unbuttoning my jacket and sinking into my chair at the head of the table. I let my forehead come to rest on one fist, unable to articulate just how much I didn't want to think about the appeal. I glanced up at her, smirking a little. "I guess if you look on the bright side, we won't have to worry about all the expensive dental work I'd need after getting the rest of my teeth knocked out."

She smiled grimly, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know how much hockey meant to you."

I shook my head, not in the mood for pity. "It's just a stupid game. Besides, I had a good run. They just haven't invented the league that can handle me."

At the sound of the pasta boiling over, she suddenly turned and left me, running over to turn down the heat on the stove. I got up and went about setting the table without thinking about it—evidence of how far I'd evolved from the evil, stubborn child I'd once been.

When I was a kid, Ma had to fight with me to make me do anything. She'd never given up on me—and whatever progress I had made, she'd been proud of.

Maybe if I gave it a little push, Jack and Angel might turn out better than me.

It was the least I could do—for them, and for her.

Shark leaned back in his chair, smirking at me while blowing out smoke rings from a cigar. I stood before him, surrounded by all his little goons and hangers-on. Half of them looked doped to the gills, lounging around on rotting couches collected for their warehouse hideout.

Shark leaned forward, clearly amused by my presence. "Bobby Mercer. Haven't seen you in years. Thought you might've died."

I ignored him, pulling out the zip lock bags of weed from the pockets of my jeans and dropping them on the floor one at a time. "That's all of it," I informed him while pulling out my wallet. I pulled out all the cash I had on me—some two hundred bucks—and I let it drop on the small pile of bags on the floor. "That should more than cover the eighth they sold in the parking lot this morning. You're square with my brothers now, Darrell. I don't want to hear about you contacting them to move your shit ever again."

Shark threw up his hands in a mockery of a 'the sky is falling' pose. "Oh, woe is me. The best street fighter I've ever seen has told me to back off two of my best sellers at the only high school in my territory. Whatever shall I do?"

I glared at him, subtly allowing one of my hands to rest on my hip, under my coat. I had a handgun in my waistband, and I'd waste everyone in the room if it came down to it. "You'll do what I fucking ask you to do," I threatened.

So much for Mom's dream of seeing me grow up respectable. I'd done a lot of stupid things in my life, but this was just ridiculously stupid. I kept telling myself I was doing it for Jack and Angel—but what good would it do them if my dead body turned up on the porch in the morning?

"Or what?" Darrell asked, arching one eyebrow at me.

I braced my stance, moving my feet to shoulder width apart. "I think you know what," I replied with deadly softness.

Shark hefted himself to his feet. He looked good, strong. He hadn't overfed in the years since we'd played hockey together in early high school. We'd had a good rivalry—almost to the point of friendship. Then he'd dropped out of school to sell drugs, and I'd gotten pulled into traveling with a minor league hockey team for a good portion of every school year. We'd done some business on occasion since then. I'd even bought from him a few times—let him have access to customers in the bars where I'd worked.

I hadn't counted on the fact that he might hold a grudge against me. If he'd had the opportunities Ma had given me, hadn't had to worry about money, in his mind he probably thought he would've made the league too.

Or maybe it wasn't that in-depth. Maybe he just didn't like me. That wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence.

Shark shot me a grin, blowing out smoke in my direction. He stood a good four inches taller than me. I'd had the physical advantage of a low center of gravity on the ice, but we weren't on the ice.

"You know, Mercer, I could tell you I'm gonna back off. I could say your brothers are square, and it was nice doing business with them. I could wait until you leave town again and then pay them a visit after school, get them back on track. How many years until you come back and find out, huh?"

My eyes narrowed in his general direction. "You think you can play me, Shark? You think you're smarter than the other retards in this neighborhood who've tried to fuck with me?"

He started to chuckle, ashing his cigar. "Be real, Bobby. You ain't shit here anymore," he said, walking around behind me.

I'd had just about enough of playing games with that fucker, and I was all ready to take my chances drawing on him when I realized he'd beaten me to the punch.. By the time I turned again to look at him, Shark had a piece in hand, and it was pointed right at my head.

He nodded at me once. "Yup. Same old Bobby. All bright flame, and no follow-through. Now tell me, Mercer. What should I do with you?"

"I'm gonna kill you, Shark," I said, anger flashing hot inside me. I wanted to pull my gun out and blast him—go out in a dazzling blaze of glory, or make a legend-inspiring escape.

Darrell grinned at me, flashing all his teeth, just like a shark. "Not if I kill you first," he replied, thumbing back the hammer on his revolver and causing the cylinder to turn.

I thought for sure he was going to plug me right there, but I got hit in the back of the head before I could witness my own dramatic finish.

I fell to my knees, and then my side, feeling the darkness pressing in on me. The image of Jack and Angel sitting on that bench outside the principle's office flashed through my mind, and I wondered what the fuck I'd been thinking, trying to save the two of them from the inevitable.

Why the hell couldn't they have been smarter? If they'd done things right, I never would've found out about their little operation. I knew that because I'd sold plenty of drugs in high school.

I never fucking got caught.