Free On a Knife's Edge by Lynda Bailey

away. “Ma,” he protested.
“Don’t fuss.”
    “Don’t fuss?” She planted her fists on her hips. “Don’t
fuss? I’m your mother, Lynch Abraham Callan. I’ll fuss any time I please.”
    “Ah listen to the boy, Edie,” a voice boomed. “And don’t
fuss.”
    Lynch would know the owner of that voice anywhere. He
turned, and Rolo Pruett, the barrel-chested president of the Streeters, strode
from the kitchen. Always a stout man, the seams of Rolo’s cut jacket were
stretched tighter than usual across his increased girth.
    With his easy smile, big belly, white bushy beard and
hairline that reached the top of his head, Rolo resembled a kindly Santa Claus.
But anyone who underestimated him would regret that fatal mistake because under
that loveable façade beat the heart of a ruthless gang leader.
    Rolo enclosed Lynch in a manly bear hug. “Welcome home,
brother,” he whispered.
    More tears gathered in Lynch’s eyes, but he collected his
wits and smacked the other man’s back then stepped away.
    Rolo offered his hand to Jarvis. “Rolo Pruett.”
    Jarvis’s smile remained frozen as she shook it. “Emma
Jarvis. And Sam Newman.”
    After shaking Newman’s hand, Rolo draped his arm around
Lynch’s shoulders. “We can’t thank you enough for bringing our boy home.
There’s a keg out back and burgers on the grill. We’d be honored to have you
stay for dinner.”
    “Thank you,” Jarvis said, “but it’s been a long day and—”
    “Have you eaten?” Edie asked.
    “No, however—”
    “It’s settled.” His mom commandeered Jarvis and Newman’s
wrists. “You’re staying.” She marched them toward the kitchen. “This is a
party, goddamn it. So we're gonna have fun .”
    Lynch smiled. Those poor agents…they never saw his mom
coming. He turned to Rolo, but caught a glimpse of unruly, blond dreadlocks and
scruffy beard. The lump in his throat increased as his composure again threatened
to crack.
    Hez lingered in the hallway.
    Rolo followed his gaze and moved back. Hez came forward.
    Always taller and thicker than Lynch, Hez looked even more
so now. He grinned that lopsided grin of his and playfully punched Lynch’s arm.
“How’s it going? Gotten laid lately?”
    Lynch laughed and a tear ran down his cheek. “More often
than you.” He swiped a hand across his eyes with a sniffle. “Jesus, you’re
uglier than I remember.”
    Hez’s face crumpled, and he clutched Lynch in a fierce hug.
“God…it’s so good to see you, man,” he croaked.
    “You too, brother,” Lynch mumbled into his shoulder. “You
too.”
    Hez eased away and brushed his thumbs across Lynch’s wet
cheeks. “Fuck…I need a beer.”
    Lynch choked out a half chuckle, half sob. “I need a whole
fucking keg.”
    Rolo slung an arm over each of their shoulders. “Let’s go
take care of that.” He ushered them through the kitchen and into the back yard.
    An extra-long table, surrounded with a mishmash of lawn
chairs and covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth, dominated the
grass while a keg sat on the edge of the patio. The charred aroma of cooking
meat saturated the air, whetting Lynch’s appetite. Charlotte and Dawn, two old
ladies who’d been with the Streeters since before he was born, manned the
barbeques. Past the “ques” were card tables laden with every salad and side
dish known to man.
    And desserts. Good God, the desserts.
    His mom hadn’t relinquished control of either Jarvis or
Newman and they patiently stood by as she introduced them to everyone. A small
smile touched his lips. He’d given the agents fair warning his mom didn’t take
no for an answer.
    Another horde of well-wishers swamped Lynch, with more
embraces and a few cheek kisses. Rolo filled plastic cups from the tap. He
handed one to Lynch and Hez then lifted his own in the air. “A toast!” the
president bellowed.
    Other cups rose.
    Rolo looked at Lynch. “To coming home.”
    A chorus of “coming home” echoed. Lynch drained