Jackson watched as the black car pulled into the driveway. He cupped his hands around his cigarette and flicked the lighter, taking in a breath. He waited, leaning against the fence, as Shawn and Deacon stepped out. Shawn left Deacon to pull the painting out of the back seat, making his way to Jackson.

“No trouble?” Jackson asked.

“Don’t worry, I got it!” Deacon shouted to them.

Shawn smirked and leaned against the fence with Jackson, watching Deacon struggle with the painting. “Nope.”

“Actually,” Deacon started, making his way to them. He dropped the painting at his feet and let it lean against the fence. “You gotta have a talk with your boy. Watching him flirt with the art girl was painful.” He groaned.

Jackson narrowed his gaze on Shawn. “Why were you flirting with the art girl?”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “Christ. I wasn’t.”

“He got her number somehow.”

Shawn punched Deacon in the arm.

“Stop fuckin’ punchin’ me!”

“Stop being a fucking idiot!”

“Knock it off,” Jackson growled. He straightened, pausing for a moment to inhale his cigarette. “Lose the number.”

“Bro, loosen up, will ya?” Deacon started. “Let the guy get laid.”

“I won’t say it again.” Jackson turned and headed toward the house. “Bring it in.”

Deacon groaned and picked up the painting. “Sorry, man, I tried.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Shawn hissed at him, following him toward the house.

“Jackson doesn’t control your life. Go get laid.”

“I’ll punch you again.”

“I’ll smash this painting over your damn head.”

Inside, Deacon dropped the painting onto the couch. Jackson glanced up from the kitchen, then pulled out a knife. He made his way around the corner into the living room, then stabbed the back of the frame with the knife, ripping it open and destroying the canvas. Several sealed bags fell onto the floor, and he reached down to pick one up, opening it and inspecting the contents inside.

“Well?” Deacon asked curiously.

“Nice work,” Jackson said. “Looks like it’s all here.”

“You want us to drop it tomorrow?” Shawn asked.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Deacon dropped onto the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “This calls for a beer. Shay!”

“Get it your damn self!” Shay hollered from down the hall.

Deacon grunted and pushed himself up off the couch and made his way into the kitchen. He pulled out three bottles, opened them, and handed one to Jackson and one to Shawn. He leaned on the kitchen counter as Shay emerged from down the hall, and she jumped on his back, her hands draping over his chest and she kissed his cheek.

“Where’s mine?” she asked, looking between the three men and their drinks.

“Get it your damn self,” Deacon said with a teasing grin.

Shay rolled her eyes. “How’d it go?”

“Shawn picked up the art chick.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Shawn muttered.

“Who’s the art chick?” Vanessa emerged from around the corner where Shay had entered.

“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Deacon said, turning his gaze to Vanessa. He winked and gestured toward Jackson with his chin.

Vanessa smiled. “Oh, is he being a pain in the ass again?”

“What else is new,” Shay said.

“You’re all the pains in the asses,” Jackson grunted. “And freeloaders.”

“We just made you bank tonight,” Deacon barked at him.

Jackson put out his cigarette, drank from his beer, then walked around them and down the hall with a simple ‘hmp.’

“So, art chick?” Vanessa asked again.

“It was painful,” Deacon grinned.

“I’m not calling her,” Shawn hissed.

“Why not?” Shay asked. “Fuck Jackson. He doesn’t own you.”

“That’s what I said!” Deacon shouted. “Guys gotta get laid. It’s a fact of life.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes and turned to Shawn. “You do whatever you want, Hunnie.” She pinched his cheek and grinned. “Just don’t be a dick to her, okay?”

“Listen to Mom,” Shay said. “You treat art chick like the queen that she is.”

Vanessa folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not even old enough to be your moms.”

“But you’re The Mom,” Shay pointed out.

“I hate it here,” Vanessa grumbled. 

“But you love us,” Deacon sang.

“One of these days you’re going to literally drive my husband to drink.”

“Jackson’s a huge softie,” Deacon said. “He loves our shenanigans.”

“Does he, though?” Shay asked. “The guy isn’t even forty and he’s already graying. And those grays have names. Deacon and Shawn.”

“I’m a delight,” Deacon said. “His grays are his own damn problem.”

“I like them,” Vanessa said.

“That’s because you have daddy issues,” Shay muttered.

“Jesus Christ, Shay, what the fuck?”

Shay snickered. “Well, am I wrong?”

“You were an orphan,” Vanessa retorted.

Shay snorted. “Yeah, and what does that say about you two? You literally picked up three stray kids. Now you’re stuck with us forever.”

Vanessa shook her head. “I told Jackson it was a bad idea.” 

“And now we’re his little minions,” Deacon said. “Making us pick up ugly ass paintings for William Smith. Who the fuck thought to use that for a name?”

“Yeah,” Shawn started. “It wasn’t a good name choice.”

“William Smith?” Shay hollered. “This is what happens when you idiots don’t involve me.”

Deacon shrugged. “It was a simple job. We didn’t need a brainiac.”

Shay shook her head. “It’s just damn common sense. William Smith. Jeez, guys.”

“Whatever,” Deacon said. “The job was done, wasn’t it?”

“I’m going to bed,” Shay said. She tossed her beer bottle into the trash.

Deacon set his nearly empty bottle on the counter. “Sexy time?”

Shay rolled her eyes and made her way down the hall, giggling as Deacon chased her down.

Vanessa shook her head and took Deacon’s bottle, emptying the remaining contents, and threw it in the trash.

“Oh my god, I am your mothers,” she muttered.

Shawn grinned and finished his beer. “You guys literally raised us. What did you expect?”

“Certainly not an army of minions,” Vanessa muttered. She sighed. “But I guess I knew what I was getting into when I married him.”

Shawn frowned. He tossed his beer bottle into the trash bin.

“You’re allowed to have a life, you know,” Vanessa said softly.

“This isn’t exactly the kind of life you drag people into.”

She offered him a smile. “He dragged me in.”

“Pretty sure you forced your way in,” Shawn pointed out.

“Maybe.” She hesitated. “He just wants what’s best for you.”

“I know.”

“He doesn’t want you to deal with the shit he’s dealt with.”

“I know.”

Vanessa put her hands up defensively. “Yeah, I know. I sound like a gross mom.” She let out a breath through her nose. “I think you should call her.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “I really need to move out of this damn house.”

Vanessa smiled. “Oh, you’re my favorite, you can’t do that.” She patted his head playfully and, without another word, she turned and left the kitchen, making her way down the hall and leaving Shawn alone.

She stepped into the bedroom where Jackson was already laying on top of the bed, stripped down into his shorts and staring up at the ceiling. She ignored him as she made her way to her dresser, removing her jewelry. 

“You’re grumpier than usual,” she commented casually, not looking back at her husband.

Jackson closed his eyes. “I’m tired,” he said simply.

Vanessa frowned. She turned to glance at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You have to tell me if something’s wrong.”

“You have to stay out of it and let me do my job.”

Vanessa sighed. She turned back to her dresser, absentmindedly rearranging her jewelry. “Every day I sit here and wonder if this is the day you don’t come home,” she started. “I would at least appreciate some kind of heads up if there’s trouble.”

Jackson sat up and she met his gaze.

“There’s no trouble,” he said.

“Right. That’s the motto of the mafia.”

“We’re not in the mafia,” he growled.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s been a long time, Jackson,” she started, her voice soft. “I don’t blame you for being tired.”

Jackson held his gaze on her for a moment, then dropped back down onto the bed with a heavy sigh. He turned over, his back to his wife. He listened as she moved about the room, opening drawers and changing out of her day clothes. She climbed into bed beside him and put her arm around him, kissing his cheek.

“You can’t stop him from having a life,” she said.

“Yes, I can,” he said stubbornly.

“You couldn’t stop me.”

Jackson turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “You’re a stubborn, selfish woman.”

“Hey!” Vanessa pushed herself up and sneered down at her grinning husband. “I choose to think of myself as a romantic. I knew what I wanted and the dangers involved. I made the choice you would never have made for yourself.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. 

“You deserve to be happy, Jackson. And so do those kids.”

“They’re not kids, V. They know damn well what this life is like. They chose to stay.”

“They chose family,” Vanessa said. “That’s something they never would have had if it weren’t for you. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for you. You gave them a second chance. It’s not fair for you to restrict them and stop them from living. They’re not your tools.”

“I know that,” Jackson growled. “And you know damn well that isn’t what this is about.”

“I know,” Vanessa said softly. “I just think you need to find a balance. They know how to keep themselves safe. Let them have some semblance of normalcy. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

Jackson said nothing. He continued to stare up at the ceiling. Vanessa settled back down into the bed, resting her head on his chest. She listened to the steady rhythm of his heart, and closed her eyes.