Page 24 of Infamous (Chronicles of Nick 3)
She appeared impressed by his description. “A torch? Really?”
Caleb nodded. “So what happened, Gautier? What’d you do?”
Shrugging, he tried to remember. “What always seems to happen when I’m under attack. I was trying to summon my sword and then something from deep inside me grabbed ahold of me. Next thing I know, you’re yelling at me to not use those powers. I kill a bunch of stuff and then you yell at me again for not listening to you.”
Caleb didn’t appear nearly as amused by his explanation as Kody did. “You need someone to yell at you.”
Nick snorted. “Got plenty of volunteers for that job. Really don’t need any more.”
Caleb made a sound of supreme annoyance.
“Is he awake?”
Kody stepped back so that his mother could run to the bed and throw herself over him.
Nick grunted as his mother struck one of his sore ribs. “Ma, you’re killing me.”
She lifted her head to glare at him. “Good, I want to kill you. I swear, Nick, you’re going to be the death of me.”
A stab of pain lacerated his heart at her words. It was a bad reminder of why Ambrose was doing this.
To keep his mother alive from whatever he’d done that had gotten her killed.
Guilt gnawed at him. Not just over what he’d done in the past to hurt her, but over whatever future stupidity he was going to commit. He’d put her through enough. He didn’t want to do anything else to make her cry. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“No, baby. I’m the one who’s sorry. When I told you not to fight, I didn’t mean for you to not protect yourself. I never, ever meant for that.”
Her words confused him even more. “But Mom, all my fights are me defending myself. I never throw the first punch.”
She grimaced at him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”
His indignant anger begged him to lash out at her for that comment. But he held it back. “I’ve tried, repeatedly, and all you do is ‘don’t but Mom, me, Nick’ and then you refuse to hear anything I say.”
Sniffing, she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry about that, Boo. I’m going to try and do better. I promise. And you can fight anytime you want, okay? Just don’t let them hurt you like this ever again. I’d much rather bail you out of jail than put you in a cemetery.”
“Better to be judged by twelve than carried by six,” Dr. Burdette said from behind her. “That’s always been my motto. And it’s the one I raised Michael on. I told him that I would never get on to him for defending himself, but if I found out he backed down from someone out of fear, his back porch was gonna be pink.”
“Michael?” his mom asked.
Nick snickered. “Bubba.”
Dr. Burdette made a painful moan. “Please, don’t call him that. I cringe every time I hear it.”
His mom frowned. “Why do you hate it so? I’ve known a lot of good Bubbas.”
Dr. Burdette made an irritated sound in the back of her throat. “Lucky you, Cherise. My animosity goes all the way back to my first day of school. Bubba Clark, may he roast his tenderloins in the devil’s hottest pit. There I was, all pristine in my white handmade dress my mama had worked so hard on. I felt like a fairy tale princess. Had my little pale yellow hat, and a matching patent leather purse. I thought I was the cat’s meow and felt all pretty and girly. Next thing I know, I get shoved from behind and fall, scuffing my purse, my shoes, and putting dirt on my dress. Even worse, that little rat refused to apologize for it. Being the child I was, I laid into him with everything I had. And I might have been a little girl in a frilly pinafore dress, but I had three older brothers who taught me how to lay a man low, and sister, that day I did. I had him on the ground, crying like a baby after milk. Therein started a rivalry that goes on to this day. Bubba Clark has made me miserable any time he can, right down to pretending to be a policeman when I was on dates with Michael’s father. Anytime we kissed, he’d shine his light in our windows—until the day Bruce beat the tar out of him for it. So I cringe whenever I hear the name, and the fact that Michael would use it … I’m going to start calling him Mickey again just to watch him make the faces. That’ll learn him.”
Nick laughed, then groaned as a stabbing stitch went through his middle.
“You all right, hon?” Dr. Burdette asked before placing her hand over his abdomen.
“Yeah. I got kicked pretty good a few times.”
“Yes, you did. Do you know who did this?”
Instead of answering that question, Nick found a new fascination with the ceiling.
“Baby,” his mom said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Answer Dr. Burdette’s question so that we can file a police report.”
While he wasn’t happy with what Bristol had done, he didn’t want him to go to jail over it, either. Bad things happened whenever kids from his school got locked up. Besides, he could handle this on his own. Had he not been so sore from his mother’s reaming, this wouldn’t have happened anyway. He and Bristol would have tossed words, maybe a few punches. In the end, they both would have walked home. So no, he didn’t want to see Bristol in jail for this.
“I don’t remember.” Gah, how he hated lying, especially to his mom.
“Nick…”
He cringed at her tone, which said she knew he wasn’t being honest. “I just can’t, Mom.”
She narrowed her gaze at him before she sighed. “Fine. I can’t force it out of you. But I think you’re making a mistake. You let someone get away with this and they’ll keep hurting people until someone stops them.”
And normally, that someone would be he.
Squeezing his hand, his mother stepped back. “By the way, I’ve been told that you’re the most popular patient on the floor.”
“How so?”
“There’s a herd of folks outside, wanting to see you. And all of them worried about you. The nurses said that they get calls day and night asking about you and that if you think this—” She pointed to the all-out florist in his room. “—is a lot of flowers, you haven’t seen anything. They had to store some of them in the staff offices.”
Wow. It was a lot of flowers. “You sure they’re not thinking I’m dead and sending them to the funeral home?”
She scoffed. “You’re so bad.”
Yeah well, he hated to see all of the flowers go to waste. Just what was against one wall would fill up their apartment. “Seriously though, would you make sure that the nurses take the ones they want?”
“I knew you’d feel that way. I have the cards collected so that we can send out thank-you notes to everyone.” That was the thing about his mother, hard times might have caused her to live on the streets for awhile, but she was always polite.
And always a lady.
He realized she hadn’t been exaggerating about the number of people asking about him once she started letting his visitors in. Dang, it was impressive. He’d never known before how many people cared about him. Funny, huh? Most of the time he felt like an outsider, sometimes even in his own home. But mostly at school and around other people. Looking at the visiting crowd coming in, maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.
Even Kyl Poitiers and his dad came for a visit, as well as Casey Woods, and Amber Cassidy, who’d been one of Brynna’s best friends since kindergarten. And then the half of the football team that wasn’t in Stone’s pocket. It really stunned him. Especially since they hadn’t visited him in the hospital after he’d been shot. But then, he’d interacted with them a lot more over this last year. Strange how much could change in only a few months.
After they were all gone, Aimee, Dev, Alex, Kara, and Mama and Papa Bear Peltier all came in together and brought him a chocolate chip cookie basket. Yeah, not to be rude, but folks could keep the flowers. Choco-chip … Now we’re talking.
Load me up till I burst. Then bury me behind the Chips Ahoy factory.
Dev tsked at him. “Next time you want to play ping-pong, I suggest you use a ball and not your head. Slim, you look awful.”
“Thanks, Dev. That was just the look I was going for. Got up this morning, glanced in the mirror, and said, ‘Nick, you’re just too dang handsome. You need to find us someone to kick the crap out of you and bruise you all over. That’ll make you feel all better.’”
Aimee laughed, then popped Dev in the stomach with her hand. “Holy cow, I think we may have found the one person in existence who can give you a run for your sarcasm. Go, Nick.”
He didn’t know why, but there was something about Aimee that drew him to her, and it wasn’t just because the blonde waitress was exquisitely gorgeous. For that matter, he didn’t think of her like that at all. She was more like a big sister. One who could be really raw with people. He’d seen her take the heads off anyone who was rude to her or any of the wait staff at Sanctuary. But when she wasn’t riled, it felt good just to be in her presence.
“I have bad news for you,” Papa Bear said in a serious tone.
Dread rushed through him. Standing at a cool seven foot three and weighing in probably around three hundred well-muscled pounds, Papa Bear Peltier was not someone you wanted to upset.
“Sir?” Nick asked, scared of the answer.
Papa Bear tsked. “Quinn unplugged the Galaga machine. Your nine-hundred-thousand score was erased.”
Nick scrunched his face up. “Oh the humanity! I’ll never score that high again.” He groaned in miserable agony.
“Papa,” Dev teased. “Tell him the truth.” He grinned at Nick. “He had Quinn unplug it because he couldn’t beat your score.”
Papa Bear flashed an evil smile. “All right, I’ll own that. But it’ll teach you to get hurt and leave your successes unguarded, won’t it?”
Nick shook his head, grateful that was what had upset the bear.
They all traded jokes with him for a while, then left.
After they were gone, Wren came in alone. He hesitated in the doorway. Something that probably sprang from the animal part of him. It was as if he respected other creatures’ territory and didn’t want to enter into it unless he planned to kill them. Not that he’d ever killed anyone to Nick’s knowledge, but the day wasn’t over yet.
“How you feel?” Wren asked.
“I’ll live.”
“Good.” Wren pulled the bills out of his pocket that Nick had given him and held them out for him to take.
Nick frowned. “What are you doing?”
“I appreciate the thought, Gautier, but I don’t need the money.”
“Dude,” he chided, “you’re a busboy.”
“Yeah?” He said that like he didn’t get what Nick was saying.
Nick didn’t want him to feel bad about what he did to earn a living, but Wren was probably not much older than he was and he didn’t seem to have any ambition to make more money. He would assume then that Wren needed every cent he made for whatever it was Wren did when he wasn’t working, which wasn’t often, but still … “I know the Peltiers pay well, but…”
Wren’s face twisted into a pained expression before it settled into a wry grin. “Nick, I don’t work at Sanctuary for money. I don’t have to.”
“What? You secretly loaded?” Nick laughed. “Or you won the lottery?”
With his head bowed low, Wren sheepishly rubbed his thumb down his cheek. “Um, Nick, my last name is Tigarian. As in Tigarian Industries, Electronics, and a dozen other corporations that fall under our heading. I’m the sole heir to all of it.”
Nick gaped. Oh yeah if that was true, Wren was insane. “Why in the world would you work as a busboy if you have all that money?”
“Money doesn’t buy everything.”
“Then you ain’t shopping in the right stores. Sorry, but having been poor most of my life, I stringently disagree. Because you swim in it, money may not work for you. For me, hellooo Versace, Armani, and all those other highfalutin’ names I have to consult a dictionary to pronounce.”
Wren snorted. “I’ve never been poor, so I can’t argue.”
“I’m sorry. My mind is so boggled right now. I can’t imagine working if I had access to your inheritance. I just don’t get it.”
Wren shrugged nonchalantly. “You could if you’d walked in my tracks. As my father used to say, everyone loves a self-made man. But they passionately resent his spoiled, rich son … even when the son was never spoiled. When you have a lot of money, you don’t have a lot of friends. Only people wanting a loan, or scheming some way to take it from you, rather than work to get it themselves. Especially if you’ve inherited it. Then they feel justified plotting against you. After all, you didn’t earn it, so you owe it to them.”
