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not get arrested again, and he absolutely could not do time again.
     
    They all understood, so now he was all but managing the bike shop. And making about half the bank his brothers were. But it was worth it, if it meant he could finally get custody and get DCFS out of their fucking lives.
     
    Once he had Tucker in a clean diaper and pajamas, he carried him out to the kitchen. “You want some milk, Motor Man?” Warm milk seemed to make Tucker sleepy. At almost three in the morning, Demon wasn’t averse to a little trickery.
     
    Tucker nodded, and Demon got to work, taking down a small saucepan from the rack hanging over Bibi’s island and pouring a little whole milk into it, all while Tucker rested on his hip. He’d come to understand why women always seemed to jut a hip out when they held a child. They were making a ledge. Demon’s hips didn’t work that way, so he kept his arm under his son’s little bottom, and Tucker held on with his legs and arms.
     
    When Demon turned the gas flame on under the saucepan, Tucker tensed, his blue eyes wide. “No, Tuck! Hot! Hot!” he said, his little voice emphatic. He shook a hand as if he’d just touched a hot thing and then blew hard on his fingers, his cheeks puffing out.
     
    Demon smiled and caught those fingers in his hand and brought them to his lips for a kiss. “That’s right. The stove is hot, huh? Only big people can touch it.” A couple of weeks ago, Tucker had touched his fingertips to a pot on the stove. Bibi had been about a second too slow to stop him. He’d ended up with blisters on the tips of three fingers, and Demon had been terrified that Rex, or Miss Kathy, or somebody would use that as a reason to take him from Bibi and Hoosier. Rex had asked about it, but nobody had made it into a deal. Kids got hurt sometimes.
     
    And Demon felt better that even a fantastic mom like Bibi could screw up once in awhile.
     
    As he poured warmed milk into one of Tucker’s sippy cups, he noticed a tented piece of paper on the counter—from the magnetic pad Bibi kept on the side of the fridge for her grocery list. On it, she’d written, Had to go out. Might be away until breakfast. If so, will call. No worries, though. Love you, B.
     
    Demon set the paper back down and finished preparing Tucker’s milk. That was a little weird, Bibi going out in the middle of the night, but not entirely unheard of. She was involved in every little thing everywhere. She was probably helping somebody out. He chuckled. Maybe she was delivering a baby or something. With Bibi, it could be just about anything.
     
    That thought, though, made him pause as he was handing the cup to Tucker. How pregnant was Riley? Like seven months or something, he thought. Not so far gone that Bart had stayed back from the run most of the club was on right now. Damn, Demon hoped it wasn’t that.
     
    Tucker grunted in frustration, his hand extended. “Mook!”
     
    “Sorry, bud. Here ya go. Let’s watch some TV. You want Cars?”
     
    He shook his head. “Mins!”
     
    Despicable Me it was. He carried his son into the family room and settled onto Bibi and Hoosier’s ultra-comfortable sectional sofa. They had a big television installed over the fireplace and an elaborate home theater system that filled a built-in bookcase at one side. He got the movie going and settled back, with his son reclining against his chest, sucking lazily at his cup of warm milk. Demon pulled a throw off the back of the sectional and covered them both with it. He turned off the lamp on the table behind them.
     
    They were alone in the house. The erratic glow of the television was the only light in the room. His son lay quietly on his lap, one hand holding his cup to his mouth, the other plucking absently at the leg of Demon’s sweatpants. He smelled of lavender and baby shampoo. They both did.
     
    Moments like this were the only times Demon ever knew genuine peace.
     
     
    ~oOo~
     
     
    Tucker was sound asleep, his