And then he heard it. …
The sound of his mother’s tears coming through the wal of her bedroom. God, how he hated that sound.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered, wishing he’d strangled Stone where the creep stood.
One day … one day he was going to get out of this hel hole.
Even if he had to kil someone to do it.
It was nine o’clock when Nick left Liza’s store. He’d already picked up his assignments from Brynna at her huge mansion of a house on his way into work. Then he’d put in five hours so that he could save money for his “col ege fund.” ’Course at the rate it was accumulating, he’d be fifty before he could go. But something was better than nothing.
Liza locked the door to her shop while he stood behind her to shield her from anyone who might be watching them. “Good night, Nicky. Thanks for al your help.”
“Night, Liza.” He waited until she was safely in her car and on her way home before he headed down Royal Street toward the Square. The closest streetcar stop was over behind Jackson Brewery. But as he neared the Square, he wanted to see his mom and apologize for getting suspended.
She told you to go straight home. . . .
Yeah, but he’d made her cry and he hated whenever he did that. Besides, the condo was real y lonely when he was there alone at night. They didn’t have TV or anything else to do.
And he’d already read Hammer’s Slammers until he could quote it.
Maybe if he apologized, she’d let him hang out at the club for the night.
So instead of turning right, he made a left and headed for her club on Bourbon Street. The faint sounds of jazz and zydeco music coming out of stores and restaurants soothed him. Closing his eyes as he walked, he inhaled the sweet smel of cinnamon and gumbo as he passed the Cafe Pontalba. His stomach rumbled. Since he hadn’t been at school, his lunch had consisted of more powdered eggs and bacon, and he had yet to eat dinner … which would be those nasty eggs again.
Not wanting to think about that, he walked down the narrow al ey to the back door of the club and knocked.
John Chartier, one of the huge burly bouncers who watched out for the dancers, opened it with a fierce frown—until he saw Nick. A wide smile spread over his face. “Hey, buddy. You here to see your mom?”
“Yeah. Is she on stage yet?”
“Nah, she’s stil got a few minutes.” He stood back so that Nick could walk down the dark back hal way to the green room.
He paused at the door to the room where the dancers dressed and rested between performances, and knocked.
Tiffany answered. Absolutely stunning, she was tal and blond … and barely dressed in a G-string and lacy top.
Even though he’d been raised around women dressed like that and was used to it, his face flamed bright red as he kept his gaze on the floor. It was like seeing his sister naked.
Tiffany laughed, cupping his chin in her hand. “Cherise? It’s your Nicky.” She squeezed his chin affectionately. “You’re so sweet the way you won’t look at us. I knew it was you when you knocked. No one else is so nice. Al I can say is your mama is raising you right.”
Nick mumbled a thank-you as he stepped past her and made his way to his mom’s dressing station. He kept his gaze down until he was sure his mom was covered by her pink bathrobe.
But when he caught her furious glare in the chipped mirror where she was putting on her makeup, his stomach hit the floor. There was no forgiveness in that face tonight.
“I thought I told you to go straight home.”
“I wanted to say I was sorry again.”
She put down her mascara wand. “No, you didn’t. You wanted to try and make me tel you that you didn’t have to stay on restriction. I won’t have it, Nicholas Ambrosius Gautier. And your paltry apology doesn’t change the fact that you knew better. You have to learn to think before you act. That temper of yours is going to get you into serious trouble one day. Just like it did your father. Now go home and contemplate what you did and how wrong it was.”
“But Mom—”
“Don’t ‘but Mom’ me. Go!”
“Cherise!” her handler shouted, letting her know it was time to go on stage.
She stood up. “I mean it, Nick. Go home.” Nick turned around and left the club, feeling even worse than he had when he’d left Liza’s. Why wouldn’t his mom believe in him?
Why couldn’t she see that he wasn’t trying to play her?
Whatever … He was tired of trying to convince the world, and especial y his mom, that he wasn’t worthless.
On the street, he headed down Bourbon toward Canal, where he could pick up a closer streetcar. He hated when his mom treated him like a criminal. He was not his father. He would never be like that man.
Fine, I’ll never protect your honor again. Let them insult and mock you. See if I care. Why should he bother when doing the right thing made her so mad at him?