Infamous (Chronicles of Nick #3)
Page 13He could handle the cruelty from his classmates. The brutality from the demons sent to kill him. He could take his teachers and principal thinking he was the worst sort of scum-trash.
What he couldn’t stand was how quick his mother misjudged him when he went out of his way to do things to please her.
He locked his jaw, trying to keep the tears from falling. That was all he needed.
Cry in front of his girl like he was some kind of baby who couldn’t handle his emotions.
Nick shook his head. “I don’t know what else to do to prove to you that I ain’t Adarian Malachai. To make you see the real me and not this misconceived notion you have of a pain in your butt, sent here to shame and humiliate you. I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that you have no confidence in your ability to raise a decent person or the fact that you expect me to turn psycho for no reason. It’s not my fault Adarian’s my father. I didn’t pick him, and I’m sorry that I’ll never be anything but your personal disappointment.” His heart pounding, he turned around and headed for the door.
“Where are you going, Nick?” his mom called after him.
“According to you and everybody else, Mama,” he snarled, “I’m going straight to hell, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
Nick stopped as he reached the table Wren was currently cleaning. He pulled out a small handful of bills and set them down with the others that had been left in the empty bread basket.
Wren frowned at him. “What’s that for?”
Nick jerked his chin toward the booth where the man had been sitting. “You work too hard not to get what you’re entitled to. Since I cost you the tip, it’s only fair I make it up to you.” And with that, he left.
Putting his hands in his pockets, Nick headed down Royal, toward Bubba’s. He’d go home in a few minutes. But right now, he wanted to be with someone who didn’t accuse him of things when he didn’t deserve it. For all of his faults, Bubba had always trusted him and treated him like a man, and not some brain or genetically defective kid.
“Nick?”
He paused as he heard Kody’s voice. Part of him wanted to ignore her, but it wasn’t her fault his mom had laid into him in front of her. So he stood there with his head hung low, wishing he was anywhere else in the world than right here. Right now.
Yeah, one day he might have infinite powers capable of destroying the entire universe. But today, he was just another loser mandork, embarrassed to the core of his being.
Kody moved to stand directly in front of him. Bending her knees, she came up to capture his lips with hers. Nick closed his eyes and inhaled the sweetest scent he’d ever known.
She cupped his face as she kissed him, and he forgot all about his anger and hurt. After a few seconds, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close as she buried her face against his neck—something that sent chills all over him and made his blood race.
He held her against him and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “Thank you, Kody.”
Yes, she did. She cared. And that meant more to him than anything else.
Clearing his throat, he draped his arm around her shoulders and started back down the street toward Bubba’s.
“Your mother loves you, Nick.”
“I know. But she doesn’t trust me.”
“She worries about you.”
“I worry about me, too, but I don’t go around accusing me of … stuff I know not to do. I don’t understand why she can’t see me.” He clenched his teeth. “I don’t get it. I just don’t. You know, she actually asked me back when I played football why I wasn’t friends with Stone Blakemore. ‘He’s such a nice boy, Nicky,’” he mocked in a falsetto. “‘You can see all the good breeding in him. He’s such a gentleman. You could learn a lot hanging out with him and his friends.’” He curled his lip. “Stone, Kody. Stone. The boy who carries his only two brain cells in his jock strap, and who isn’t happy unless he’s picking on someone or mocking them.” The boy who called Kody a whore every time he saw Nick.
“Your mom always sees the good in people.”
But not in me.
And that was what always kicked him hardest. Stone, the idiot bully, was perfect. He, the ever dutiful son, was defective.…
The injustice stung so deep that it left a bleeding wound inside his soul. What would he have to do to make his mother realize that he wasn’t …
What?
A demon?
Something born to destroy everything?
A tool for evil?
Capable of murder?
His stomach churned even more as he realized that he was exactly all of that. And more. You’re destined to destroy everyone you love.
Maybe his mother saw more than he thought she did.
She pulled him to a stop. “We all have choices, Nick. Even if it’s nothing more than the choice between lesser evils. No one can take away your free will. Not even the gods. It’s the one gift that can never be returned, stolen, or revoked. We can blame others for our bad decisions. We can say that we had no choice. But it’s always a lie. No one puts your hand on the gun but you. Only you can decide if you pick it up or leave it alone.”
“What about silkspeech?”
“That’s the power of influence, Nick. It’s not mind control. If the person is strong in their convictions, they can’t be controlled. You cannot compel a pacifist to murder.”
He wasn’t sure he believed that. “You don’t think that with the right motivation, you can make someone do anything?”
“What I think is if someone held a gun to your head and threatened to kill you, your mother would do anything they asked to keep you safe. But that is her freewill decision that she, alone, makes. You see what I’m saying? She could choose to let you die. We know she won’t, of course she won’t, but that’s because of the decisions she makes every day to put your life above hers. You can motivate someone to action, but in the end, they are the one who makes the ultimate and last decision to either do or do not.”
His little Yoda sage made sense.
She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. “I don’t know if you’ll turn evil. Only you can decide which side of this fight you’re going to support. But I believe in you. I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. And I definitely wouldn’t be protecting you. All of us have darkness inside us, and at times it possesses and seduces us in ways we never thought possible. Gives us promises that if we give in to it, it’ll make things better. I’ve not always done the right thing for the right reason, either. And I’m ashamed of some things I’ve done. We all are. Mistakes don’t have to define us. They’re how we learn and grow. They show us who and what we don’t want to be. It’s why they’re mistakes. And you, my love, are such a stubborn, stubborn boy, I can only imagine how much more obstinate you’ll be as a full grown man. I honestly can’t imagine you doing anything you don’t want to. So, no, I don’t believe for a second that you’ll simply snap a wheel and turn evil. And I can’t imagine you ever being like your father. No matter what.”
He took her hand into his and kissed her knuckles. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kody.”
“Remember that the next time Jill or Casey talks to you.”
He smiled at her. “I always do.”
She gave him a quick hug, then let him go so that they could check in with Mark.
Nick opened the door to The Triple B and let Kody enter the store first. The moment they were inside, he paused as he heard Bubba and Mark arguing on the other side of the curtain.
“Get your hands—”
“Did I not tell—”
“You don’t know—”
“I know. You’re—”
“Stop. Just stop. You—”
There was an attractive lady on the other side of the glass cabinet, leaning against it with one hand propped against her cheek, looking oddly bored and amused all at the same time. An impressive feat really. With dark auburn hair that was cut in a chic style, and an elegant navy blazer, she straightened up and smiled as she caught sight of them. “Hi, y’all,” she said in a thick Tennessee drawl that was identical to Bubba’s and Mark’s. “How y’all doing?”
Contrary to misinformation and bad Hollywood attempts—some from people who ought to know better—not all Southern accents were the same. You could easily peg where someone came from by the sound of their accent and the words they used. And nowhere outside of New York City was it more obvious what ward or district you originated from, how educated your parents were, and how much money they had, than here in New Orleans. Even the name of the city itself was pronounced completely different depending on what street you grew up on.
Literally.
Nick’s Cajun accent wasn’t nearly as thick as his mother’s, unless he wanted it to be. And the Cajun version of French was all their own. While they could understand the French and the French could usually understand them, the Cajun way of pronouncing things and altering French grammar could send purists into fits.
Menyara’s Creole accent was as thick as his mother’s jar of refrigerated roux, and he loved the sound of it.
He wasn’t quite as pleased with his own. No matter how hard he tried to hide his accent, it always came out in certain words like “praline,” “etouffee,” “pecan,” and any time he lost his temper. You could easily tell how mad he was by how Cajun he sounded. And if he started spewing all Cajun words, duck.
“Can I help y’all with something?”
Nick smiled as he approached her. “You must be Bubba’s mama, Dr. Burdette. It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am. I’m Nick Gautier and this is Kody Kennedy.”
At the mention of his name, her demeanor changed completely. She went ramrod stiff and arched an irritated brow at him. “Nicholas Gautier, as I live and breathe. Now there’s a name I know well. Explain to me, boy, why you want to go and shoot me in my head when you don’t even know me. What’d I ever do to you?”
Nick sputtered as he tried to come up with an explanation for how he’d shot through her portrait that Bubba kept hung on his wall. “I-I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I swear it.”
She started laughing, then chucked him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m just joshing with you, Nick. Calm down, son. I don’t want to have to put down newspapers ’cause you wet the floor in a panic like my old hunting dog used to do every time Michael blew something up in the house. He had that poor old thing a nervous wreck until the day the Lord took her. I am absolutely not offended … much, that you blew my head off. But that’s all right, I was raised in the middle of four brothers, and with Michael for a son, I’m used to having to dodge bullets. Literally, most days.”
Without pausing or breaking a sweat, she went right into another segue. “Did he ever tell you about the time he was supposed to be napping and instead, he climbed up on his daddy’s gun cabinet, trying to get to the AC vent—whatever he was going to do up there, I don’t even want to know—I never asked. Anyway, poor boy slipped, hit the lock somehow, and popped it off. Next thing you know, his daddy’s 410, of all things, falls out and misfires. I was out in the yard with a friend, oblivious to my son’s stupidity, until a bullet whizzed right between us and shattered my birdhouse. By the time I got in the living room, Michael was trying to hide the gun behind the couch. Like I wouldn’t notice the busted cabinet hanging open and the gun missing out of its slot. Not to mention it was longer than the couch. Point being, don’t think anything about it, Nick. I am not offended,” she repeated.
Whoever said Southerners talked slow had never been around one raised in a big family. Here he’d always thought Bubba talked fast, but he had nothing on his mother.
“Hey, Michael!” she called out, finally interrupting Mark and Bubba’s fight. “You got visitors out here to see you. Stop arguing with your girlfriend and come on now.” Laughing, she winked at Nick. “The way them two carry on, I keep waiting to get a wedding invitation for them to take their nuptials. I ain’t never seen anything like it in my life, and especially not between two straight men. At least not to where it didn’t end up in a fist fight after a couple of minutes.”
“Michael is Bubba?” He felt stupid for asking, but …