Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) (11 page)

Mat shook his head, in denial at Derek's words, in denial of everything. He looked around, not really seeing the other people getting in their own workouts, the noise surrounding them just that: background noise. Empty, hollow. Devoid of all meaning or consequence. Just…there.

"I know that." He let out a deep breath then ran a hand over his face again. "I know. I'm not."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." He nodded, wishing he felt the conviction of his words. Was Derek right? Had Kenny been right? Was he already making more out of it than he should? Maybe Nicole really wasn't interested in anything but the sex. Maybe that was the only reason she'd said yes. Yet here he was, making these grand plans for a fun and relaxing date. Reading into things, making something out of nothing.

And Christ, wouldn't that just suck? The idea soured his stomach and left him feeling winded. Maybe he should call his sister and ask her opinion. Michele would be honest with him, give him a woman's perspective. But how humiliating would that be? Calling his younger sister and asking for relationship advice. Yeah, maybe he really had reached a new low point if he was considering doing that.

He looked back at Derek, wishing his friend would stop looking at him that way. Like he was a lost cause that needed saving. Derek finally smiled again, giving him the wide charming grin that showed off his dimples, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Fine. We'll go with you. But just know that if I see something, I'm going to say something."

"Funny. Real funny." Mat tried to smile at his friend's attempt at humor but his smile fell flat. It didn't matter, he wasn't trying to impress Derek. And maybe it would help to have someone watching out for him.

Just in case Mat wasn't as objective as he liked to think he was.

"You are such a ham!" Nicole laughed then looked through the viewfinder of the camera. Click, click, click. Laughter, clear and innocent and infectious, filled the small room and she hoped the camera would capture it. No, not the camera. Her. She hoped
she
would capture it and do the little girl justice.

Mia jumped up and down, the thin mattress bouncing against the frame of the hospital bed. The tattered feather boa floated in the air around her pale face and Nicole aimed the camera again. Click. Click. Click. Hoping to capture the smile, the innocence, the undying hope.

"You two certainly are making a racket in here."

Nicole lowered the camera and glanced over her shoulder, then offered the nurse a small smile of apology. "Sorry. I guess we got carried away."

Mary waved her hand in dismissal. "No, don't worry. It's good to hear." She turned what Nicole was supposed to be a stern look at Mia. "But I think that's enough for now. Time for your medicine and a nap."

Mia dropped back to the mattress with a theatrical sigh and tugged at the boa. The silk scarf wrapped around her head slid to the side and she pushed it back in place with an impatient swipe of her small hand.

"That's no fun." But Nicole could see the pinched look to her eyes, the even paler color of her skin. Guilt swept through her at the sight. Had they overdone it? Had she made things worse for Mia?

"She'll be fine." Mary put a reassuring hand on Nicole's shoulder then moved to the bed, helping the little girl get settled more comfortably before handing her a small paper cup with two pills.

Nicole looked away, busying herself with capping the camera and stowing her gear in the backpack. A small choke followed by a cough whispered through the room and Nicole flinched. Swallowing medicine was so hard for Mia, so difficult. And Nicole hated watching her, seeing her struggle and trying to be so brave when it was so easy to see—to feel—her pain and discomfort.

Nicole squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then mentally shook herself. What right did she have to be uncomfortable, when Mia fought so hard to be so brave? She could learn so much from the little girl in front of her. From all the kids on this floor.

"Are you coming back tomorrow? I want to see my pictures."

Nicole moved closer to the bed, the backpack held in one hand as she sat on the edge of the bed. She adjusted the covers, moving them higher so they fell around the girl's thin shoulders.

"No, sweetie. Not tomorrow. But the next day, I promise." She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper, like she was ready to share a secret. "I have a date."

Maybe. Nicole still wasn't sure if she wanted to go. No, that was a lie. She did want to go—more than she wanted to admit. And that scared her.

But Mia's eyes lit up, the glassy surfaces suddenly filled with excitement instead of exhaustion. She pulled her arm from underneath the covers and reached out, her fingers tracing the colorful tattoos on Nicole's arm.

"Does he have pretty pictures on his arm, too?"

The question, asked with innocent awe, caught Nicole off guard and she laughed. A real laugh that made her feel warm and light inside. "No, sweetie. No pretty pictures." No, not a single tattoo in sight. Or out of sight. She had looked, that first night in New Orleans, expecting to find at least one. But Mat's skin was bare except for the few scars that she had seen. Scars that made him even more attractive in her eyes, a reaction she still didn't understand.

Mia dropped her arm to the side and sighed, but Nicole couldn't tell if it was because she was tired—or disappointed. A small grin teased the corners of the girl's mouth as she met Nicole's gaze.

"Is he your dragon?"

Nicole laughed again. It was her fault Mia suddenly had an obsession about dragons. Between the tattoos on her arm and the pendant hanging from her neck, Mia was convinced that dragons were the ultimate superheroes, able to conquer all before swooping in and carrying the princess away to freedom. Her smile faded, becoming just a little forced when she realized she had once thought the same thing. Wished for the same thing.

"No, Mat's not my dragon, sweetie." There were no such things as dragons, not in real life.

"Oh. Well, will you at least take pictures so I can see your boyfriend?"

Nicole opened her mouth, ready to tell the girl that Mat wasn't her boyfriend. But she snapped it closed at the last second. There was a longing expression of excitement and anticipation on Mia's young face and Nicole didn't want to be responsible for making it disappear. So she nodded, trying to smile at the same time, to let Mia think she was looking forward to the date with her 'boyfriend', instead of calling him and cancelling the entire thing.

"If he lets me, sweetie. No promises. How about some pictures of fireworks, though? Will that work?"

"Hm-hm." But Mia's eyes were drifting shut, her words nothing more than an affirmative hum. Nicole tucked the blanket more tightly around her shoulders then sat there, watching as sleep claimed the little girl, finally relaxing the pinched lines around her eyes and mouth.

Nicole sat there for another minute, just watching, wondering if the tightness in her chest would ease up before she left. It never did so she didn't know why she thought it would now. She swallowed against the sudden thickness in her throat then leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against Mia's forehead.

She was surprised when she turned around and saw Mary still standing there. Surprised—and guilty, like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't have. She tossed the backpack over her shoulder and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, not quite able to meet the nurse's eyes.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stayed so long—"

"Don't apologize. You're good for her. For all the kids."

Nicole didn't say anything, not sure if there was anything to say. But she couldn't help but wonder if Mary would be saying the same thing if she knew where else Nicole worked now, if she knew what kind of past Nicole had. She had seen the raised eyebrows and pointed glances at her tattoos and piercings when she first started coming here. She'd caught some of the whispers, hastily cut-off as she walked by. She knew she didn't look the part when she first started volunteering, not with her clothes and jet black hair and make-up and colorful tattoos on her arm.

The piercings were gone now—at least, not being used. She was back to her natural hair color—kind of, maybe—and her make-up was toned down now, but her tattoos would always remain. And maybe they were more acceptable now—she certainly wasn't the only person in the building with ink—but she still wondered if people were whispering about her, still wondered if people were judging her, even more than a year later.

Nicole readjusted the pack on her shoulder, her hand automatically tightening around the strap. She glanced over her shoulder for one last look at Mia then turned back to Mary. "I should be going."

Mary nodded then stepped to the side so Nicole could pass. "I'll be looking forward to those pictures as much as Mia on Sunday."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, sure." Nicole moved past her and stepped into the hall, not sure why Mary had said that. Was she just being nice? Making conversation? Certainly she wasn't really interested. Why would she be?

And why couldn't Nicole just accept the words at face value? Why did she have to read into everything? Question everything and look for some hidden meaning or ulterior motive.

Dammit. Would she ever break that habit? Ever get over the distrust and wariness she had been conditioned to accept as normal? It had been more than two years, she should be over it by now.

She thought she had been until yesterday, when her mother had come into her room and shifted everything out of balance. Shifted? No, it was more like ripped the rug right out from underneath her, shattering her new existence and threatening to send her back into a hellish nightmare.

Nicole pushed through the open doors and blinked against the bright sun reflecting back at her from the sidewalk, pausing long enough to dig her sunglasses from the front pocket of her backpack. Head down, she focused on moving, her steps brisk and certain as she headed toward the bus stop. Even if the buses were running late—which they usually were—she would still be at work early today. Maybe Tony would let her start her shift early. And if not, she could go into the back and look through the pictures on her camera, start thinking about how she'd arrange and enhance and play with them. It didn't matter that she'd probably do something completely different once she loaded them into the computer program. Just the act of thinking about what to do with them soothed her, like some kind of meditation or therapy.

And it would keep her from thinking about tomorrow, keep her from worrying and wondering what to do. Part of her thought it would be better if she cancelled, or if she just didn't show up.

Except Mat was picking her up at her mother's and the last thing Nicole wanted was for her mom to meet him. Not after yesterday, not after all the things her mother had said, not when her betrayal still stung. The idea of her mom cornering Mat, of interrogating him and maybe saying the wrong thing—saying too much—filled her with dread. And she knew that was exactly what would happen, especially after yesterday, after her mom had brought up Donnie, had told her she needed a man to take care of her.

"No, Mom. I don't need a man to take care of me." She muttered the words between clenched teeth, anger and shame filling her at the memory of the conversation. Isn't that what caused Nicole's problems in the first place? Isn't that what caused all of her mom's problems, even now? Always relying on someone else. Trusting and depending on someone else. Falling into the trap of thinking she couldn't do it on her own, that she was defined by the man she was with.

No. Never again. Maybe her mother would always think that way, would never find a way out of that trap, but not Nicole. She'd learned her lesson—the hard way. Never again.

"Never. Never. Never." Nicole kicked at a piece of discarded brick in the middle of the sidewalk then winced when it hit her toe. It was exactly what she deserved for not paying attention, for acting before thinking. She needed to stop that, needed—

"I guess you're finally losing it."

The voice stopped her cold and she took a step back. Her heart pounded in her chest and she forced herself to take a deep breath, to breathe normally and not react. But that wasn't possible, not when her eyes met those of the man standing so close to the curb, leaning against the beat-up car parked there. How had she not seen him? Not noticed him standing there, waiting?

His pale eyes drifted down her body then back up. Slow, appreciative, meaningful. Menacing. Nicole fisted her hands around the strap of her backpack, wishing it was an iron shield instead of nothing more than a bag made of worn nylon. She took another step back then cursed herself, her fear, her reaction.

Donnie laughed, the sound harsh and cold. He straightened and stepped away from the old car, coming closer. Nicole took another step back, her body on high alert, ready to turn and run. But Donnie stopped, a flat smile splitting his narrow face, his eyes never leaving her. Like he was waiting for her to do something, anticipating her running away. Would he chase her? Or would he just taunt her? Play with her like a predator played with its prey?

Would anyone notice? Would anyone try to help her? She looked around, quickly studying the few people moving along the sidewalk. Nobody paid attention to them, nobody looked their way. Would they keep walking if she screamed? Or would someone stop and help?

No, they wouldn't. Not here, not now. In an hour or so, when traffic got heavier, when there were more people around—maybe then. Maybe. But not now.

Nicole swallowed back her apprehension, hoping her fear and worry didn't show on her face. No weakness. If Donnie saw weakness, he'd be all over it. She lifted her chin and stared at him, her eyes narrowed behind her dark glasses. Could he see them? Did it matter?

He laughed again and stepped onto the curb, coming one step closer. He ran one hand through his shaggy blond hair, pushing it off his forehead. She could see the grease stains on his hands, the dirt and grime under his sharp, ragged nails. A few years ago she had convinced herself that was a good sign, that a man who worked with his hands would be strong, caring. That a man who worked with his hands would never shy away from work.

She had been so naïve to think that, at least when it came to Donnie. The last few years had been educational, but an education that came with a high price. And she knew now that there was a difference between men who worked with their hands—hardworking men—and men who simply pretended. Men who used their hands for something besides work.

Men like Donnie, who only pretended to work, who did just enough to get by and sometimes not even that much. Men whose hands were more comfortable folded around a cold can of cheap beer instead of a wrench or tool. Men whose hands were quick to lash out, to punish simply because there was nothing else to do.

Maybe Nicole hadn't exactly been innocent and naïve all those years ago, when she first thought herself in love with the tough rebellious young man. But she'd grown up since then, had learned so much—at a cost to herself that could never be repaid.

She stood a little straighter, her eyes still narrowed on the man in front of her. It hadn't taken him long to lose the appeal she had first noticed, to lose the charm that had reeled her in so quickly and completely. For her to learn that he wasn't a way out of the trap that still held her mother firmly in its grip. Looking at him now, she didn't understand what she had ever seen in him.