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Summary
“Fiona’s probably gonna do ninety days.”
“Fuck,” Mickey replies. “Where?”
“Decatur Correctional. Where the hell is that?”
“Three hours out of the city.” Mickey sits with his back to the wall, legs dangling over the side of the bed. Lighting a cigarette would only earn him another lecture, so he slicks back his hair just for something to do with his hands.
“How’d you know that?” Ian asks, smelling chum in the water, the observant little fuck. “Not like your brothers are getting sent to lady prison all that often.”
Mickey thumbs at his lip, trying to find a way out of this conversation. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to distract Ian just by taking of his pants, but he is trying this new thing where he actually tells Ian what’s going on in his head.
“No.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s my mom.”