Sherrilyn Kenyon - Infamous

“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.”

He’d never thought about it that way. But Wren was right. He’d known his share of people who thought that very thing—kids at school who would tell other students they should pay for their lunch because their parents had more money. You’re rich, man. You can afford it.