by Robin Kaye
Nicki looked up at him. “Patrice was right; you should have talked to Bree.”
“What do you have, bat hearing? You were upstairs when Patrice gave me that talking-to.”
Nicki shrugged and pushed the button for the elevator. “Voices carry in their house.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
They turned in the visitor’s badges on the way to the parking garage. “Let’s get home and see what’s going on.”
Storm drove through his old neighborhood—the Red Hook Houses, the projects, and did his best to ignore the memories beating on him with all the force of a battering ram. He wondered when he’d be able to drive through the area without breaking into a cold sweat. He turned up the blower on the air conditioner.
“Storm, are you okay?”
He checked the rearview mirror and saw Nicki watching him from the middle seat. “Yeah, I don’t like driving through here. I used to live here when I was about your age.”
“I lived here too, with my mom and one of her boyfriends. He wasn’t very nice.”
“Yeah, neither was my dad.”
“Pop wasn’t nice to you?”
He stopped at a stop sign, remembering a time when it wasn’t safe to stop after dark. “Pop’s not my birth father. He’s my foster father, same as he is to you.”
“Did your parents give you away too?”
“No, I was taken away. Though, if they knew someone would take me, I think they’d have gladly given me away just to be rid of me.”
“My mom said she couldn’t take care of me anymore. I think she just didn’t want me anymore either.”
Storm didn’t know what to say to her. He wouldn’t have believed it if an adult had told him his parents loved him. Since Nicki’s mom dumped her on Pete’s doorstep, chances were the kid was right. “Pop loves you and he wants you and you’re his. You’ll be his forever. When you’re my age, he’ll still love you and want you. He’s a forever kind of man. That’s all that matters.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
No. If it had been, he wouldn’t be gripping the steering wheel so tight, he might break the damn thing. Still, he didn’t have the heart to tell Nicki that. “It’s all that should matter. Pop loves you, and he’ll give you everything you need to be happy, healthy, and safe. You have Bree and Patrice and Francis. When you grow up, you can be anything you want to be, Nicki.”
“You have Bree and Pop and Patrice and Francis, and I know I’m just a kid, but you have me too.”
Storm tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. The kid just told him she loved him, and he didn’t deserve it—especially since he hadn’t added himself to the list of people she could count on. What kind of brother was he?
Storm tried to clear his mind of memories and regrets as he turned onto Van Brunt and spotted an ambulance outside the Crow’s Nest. “Oh shit.”
“Storm, if you say that in front of Bree, you’re gonna be in big trouble. Why’s an ambulance here?”
“I don’t know.” He parked and wasn’t sure what to do with Nicki. If something was wrong with Pete, he didn’t want her to see it, but he couldn’t very well leave her in the car, could he?
“Come on, kid. You stay behind me, okay?” He pulled her out of the car and took Nicki’s little hand in his. He was struck again by how small she was, how fragile she looked. He did his best to put it in the back of his mind and steeled himself to deal with the next disaster.
Storm pulled the door open to the bar and almost ran into Francis. “What’s wrong? Is something the matter with Pop?”
“Pete’s fine. He just needed some help getting upstairs, and you, my friend, were MIA, so Bree called me. You have one very P.O.’d lady upstairs.”
Storm looked up the steps and cringed. “Thanks for the warning.” He pulled Nicki out from behind him. “Go ahead upstairs, Nicki. I’ll be up in a minute.” He watched the kid run upstairs like a cat with her tail on fire before he turned to Francis. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how pissed is she?”
“Fifteen. You should have listened to Patrice.”
“Yeah, but that ship’s left the dock. If you want to be helpful, you’ll tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”
“Duck?” Francis gave Storm a pat on the back that pushed him a few feet toward the steps. “I’d love to stay and watch the fireworks, but I’m on the job. Call me if you need me to come back and patch you up.”
“Don’t laugh.” He rubbed the knot on his head. “It’s a possibility. Bree’s already given me a concussion, and that was before she was pissed.”
“Which is why I married a brunette. Redheads are too fiery for my tastes, and when Bree is fired up, man, she makes a lit box of dynamite look like a sparkler.”
Storm just shook his head. “Thanks for the help. I owe you, man.”
“Yeah, I just hope you’ll live long enough to repay the debt.” Francis turned to leave.
Storm started up the steps, feeling like a dead man walking. “When I fuck up, I do it royally.” At least Nicki was around. Bree wouldn’t ream him out with Nicki in earshot. He needed to keep the kid around as a buffer. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
CHAPTER 9
“Hey, Bree. I’m home.” Nicki banged into the apartment, her footsteps sounding like elephants running through Madison Square Garden minus the building shake, but then she was still pretty small.
Bree had called Patrice to see when she was going to drop Nicki off, only to be told that Storm had already picked her up. She was still on a slow burn over that one. “Hey.” She pulled Nicki into a hug and rubbed her chin on the top of Nicki’s head—enjoying the scent of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo and little girl. Bree didn’t like not knowing exactly where Nicki was; the tension she’d been carrying slid off her shoulders. “Did you have fun?”
Nicki pulled away and leaned against the counter. “Yeah, it was okay. Did you miss me?”
Bree flipped Pete’s three-egg-white asparagus omelet, and returned her gaze to Nicki, who was chewing her lip. “Of course I did.”
“But you didn’t come with Storm to pick me up.”
What was she supposed to say to that one? Are you hungry for lunch?
“Storm picked out these shorts for me to wear.” She plucked at the khaki material. “You know I hate them.”
Nicki didn’t take the hint. “He didn’t ask my advice, sweetie. You can go change if you want.”
Nicki didn’t move toward her room; she just eyed the apartment door.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “It’s just I’ve been gone for like forever.”
Bree slid the omelet onto a plate and grabbed a piece of toast. “Less than twenty-four hours.”
“Yeah, but it feels like forever. Me and Storm went to pick up Pop, but—”
The door slammed open and Storm stomped in; the look in his turbulent eyes reminding her that he was aptly named.
“I said I would take care of Pop and Nicki.”
Bree took a deep breath and did her best to sound as if she weren’t still reeling from last night’s fiasco. “Oh really?” She turned to face him. “If you were so willing, where were you? You certainly weren’t at the hospital.”
Nicki climbed up on a barstool. “Storm was teaching me to drive. He said we didn’t have to pick up Pop until twelve.”
Bree gave up on the whole deep-breathing thing—it was all she could do not to hit him with the frying pan again, and this time it was hot. She faced him; her heart beating a mile a minute, her hands fisted, and reminded herself not to scream at him with an audience. “You let Nicki drive a car? She’s ten years old.”
Storm shrugged. “Not on the street or anything. I let her drive around a deserted parking lot. It was no big deal.”
“Did you teach her how to hot-wire it too?” The look on Storm’s face made her want to back up a step; instead, she just raised her chin.
Bree heard a weird buzzing in her ears, and her scalp tingled as if she had just been turned into a human pincushion. She reached out and grabbed the counter to steady herself. “Right.” Her voice sounded as if it were coming through a tunnel. She blinked and continued. “Like you have so much experience with kids. She’s not allowed to cross the street by herself, but it’s okay to drive?”
“She’s ten. I’ve been crossing the street by myself since I was—”
“Way too young. Do you really want her growing up like you?” She thought she saw a flash of horror cross his face, but it disappeared before she could be sure.
“I turned out all right.”
“Says who? I, for one, think that’s highly debatable. You practically had to be begged to come back home and help your own father—”
“There was no begging involved. I came as soon as I heard.”
“Yeah, and you’ve been so helpful.”
“I have. I was going to pick Pop up from the damn hospital, but you beat me to it. I told you I’d take care of Pop and Nicki—”
“Oh, right. So I was supposed to do what? Assume you even knew what that entailed? Did you think that maybe Pete would need clothes to wear out of the hospital?”
By the color slashing across Storm’s cheekbones, it was evident he hadn’t considered clothes or anything else for that matter.
“That’s what I thought. Excuse me while I take Pete his lunch. He needs to eat on a schedule so he can take his medicine. He can’t wait around until you decide to make an appearance.”
She slammed the pill case she’d spent the last half hour filling with Pete’s medication for the week onto the tray along with his omelet, toast, decaf coffee, and juice, and then she left Storm standing in the kitchen with his mouth hanging open.
Bree looked forward to facing Pete only slightly less than going another round with Storm, and that was saying something. Pete would be as big a pain in the ass as Storm once he saw what she’d made for lunch. It wasn’t as if she had the opportunity to do anything special. She still needed to go shopping and couldn’t trust Storm to buy what was on the grocery list. Storm wasn’t the type to follow any kind of direction. If there was a chance in hell of getting Pete to stick to his diet, she needed to do the shopping herself. Maybe Rocki would stop by for an hour or two to keep an eye on Pete, Storm, and Nicki so Bree could stock the kitchen.
Stepping into Pete’s room, Bree found him dozing. The trip home from the hospital and up the steps had drained him. God only knew how long it would be until he could go back to work. Right now she wondered if he would ever be well enough. She sat beside him on the bed and patted the hand that held his covers under his chin. “Pete, lunch is ready.”
He let out a snore, and she shook him harder. “Come on, wake up, you big bear. Time to eat. You hate it when your eggs get cold.”
Pete’s eyes blinked open.
Bree set the tray on his bedside table and slid farther up the bed, pushing pillows behind his back for him to rest against.
“Eggs for lunch?”
“It was all I found in the refrigerator. It’s time to do some major shopping.” She set the tray on his lap.
Using his fork, Pete peeked inside the omelet, looking none too happy.
“You need to eat, and you have to admit, it’s better than anything they fed you in the hospital.”
“True, but that’s not much of a yardstick.” He brushed his thumb over the bags under her eyes. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much, Bree. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I thought with Storm here, it’d give you a break.”
She didn’t think he’d appreciate it if she told him the only thing Storm was breaking was her chops. “I’m just a little tired. Now, eat up.”
“Where’s the salt?”
“In the kitchen. You’re on a low-salt diet, remember?”
He took a tentative bite and made a face Nicki would have been proud of. “Come on, Bree. How’s a little salt going to hurt me?”
“It raises your blood pressure, which is already way too high. Next question?”
“You know, you’re worse than a mother hen.”
“I love you, and you scared the hell out of me and Nicki. I don’t ever want to see you gasping for breath again, so deal with it.”
He snuck another look at her and cut a piece of omelet. “Okay.”
“You need to take your meds. I put all your pills for the week in this box.” She handed it to him. “There’s a section for morning, afternoon, and evening of every day. Today is Sunday, so take all your afternoon pills. Can you get it open?”
“I’m not an invalid.”
She raised her chin and slapped her mouth shut. Snapping back at him wouldn’t help matters.
“Hey, Pop.” Storm’s voice behind her had every muscle in Bree’s body jumping. “Bree’s trying to help. You don’t need to rip her head off.”
No, that was his job. Bree didn’t turn to see Storm; the angry look on Pete’s face was off-putting enough. She patted his hand. “It’s okay.”
Pete turned his hand over and caught hers. “No, it’s not.” He deflated like a week-old balloon. “I’m pissed at myself and taking it out on you. I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need.” She stood and smoothed the bedcovers. “I have work to catch up on, so I’ll let you guys visit.” She turned toward the door and wished Storm would move out of the doorway. He didn’t. “Excuse me.”
Turning sideways, Storm sent her a silent dare, forcing her to face him in order to slip out. “You okay for a minute, Pop? I have to talk to Bree.”
Bree headed for the kitchen and as far away from Storm as she could get without leaving the apartment.
“What do you think?” Pete grumbled.
“I think you’re a pain in the ass. I’m glad you’re home anyway.”
Bree shook her head at Storm’s retort. Men.
“What’s the head shake for?”
She jumped—he was so close, his breath washed down the back of her neck. So much for staying away from her. “Must you corner me?”
He took a half step back. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“I choose not to.” She took the frying pan off the stove and did her best not to smile when she turned and he took a giant step away. “Is there something you need?”
“Do you know where Nicki is? She’s not in her room.”
“Shit.” Bree scanned the apartment. “She was standing right here when—”
“You ripped me a new one—”
Bree slammed the pan back onto the stove. “Well, if you hadn’t attacked me—”
“You know, right now I couldn’t care less about your delicate feelings. I’m more concerned about Nicki.” He grabbed his cell phone off the counter and hooked it onto his belt. “You stay here with Pete, and I’ll look for my little sister. Call my cell if she comes back. You have my number.”
“Yeah, I’ve had your number for a long time, and it hasn’t changed.”
* * *
Storm turned in time to make sure Bree didn’t see his reaction to her latest slap-down. After less than forty-eight hours at home he felt as if he’d gone nine rounds in a cage with an Ultimate Fighter.
He stepped out of the apartment and congratulated himself on not slamming the damn door. It would have felt good, but he had more to worry about than his dented ego. He had to find his little sister, and he didn’t have a clue where to look.
He took the steps two at a time to the empty bar and looked around. Maybe she’d gotten hungry for some real food and gone to raid the walk-in refrigerator. Storm pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen and did a quick scan. No go. He checked out the storage closet where the potato chips were kept—that was where he’d always gone when he was a hungry kid. Fri
es were the only thing better than chips, and the fryer was turned off—thank God.
He considered looking in the liquor-storage closet but figured Nicki was too young to be sneaking booze. Besides, after finding him and Logan in the throes of a guzzling contest when they weren’t much older than Nicki, Pete had put a lock the size of his fist on that door.
Storm didn’t know how Pete handled three boys on his own when Storm couldn’t keep track of one little girl. He took a deep breath and tried to put himself in Nicki’s fluorescent green Vans—not an easy thing for a man pushing thirty.
The alley—if she wasn’t in the kitchen, she’d either gone out the front door or the back. Since he was closer to the back, he’d check there first.
The door was held open by a block of wood—probably the same one he and his brothers used when they didn’t want to get caught sneaking back in. He slid out quietly and found Nicki on her knees, hand feeding a big-ass dog slices of leftover fifty-dollars-a-pound lox. She pulled the top off the tub of schmear and held it out for him. He looked like a German shepherd/golden retriever mix and was a far cry from growing into his huge feet—still, he looked to be about seventy pounds, so he was hardly a cute, cuddly puppy. The dog buried his snout in the Styrofoam tub. “That’s not such a good idea, kid.”
Nicki spun around and did her best to hide the mutt, but the animal wasn’t having any of it. He stuck his cream-cheese-covered nose through Nicki’s legs and stared at Storm.
“Your friend’s gonna get the runs if he eats too much schmear.” He leaned against the brick wall. “We should probably just buy him some puppy food—he’s gonna be a big son of a— I mean, he’s gonna be a big dog when he grows into those paws.”
Nicki’s mouth hung open, and the dog pushed through her legs, almost knocking her on her ass.
Storm crouched down and held out his hands for the dog to sniff and to keep the mangy thing from jumping on him. “How long have you been hiding him back here?”
Storm watched Nicki as her little brain raced—weighing her answer to get in the least amount of trouble, her sneakered foot digging a hole to China. She finally shrugged. “I found him just before Pop got sick. I was going to ask if I could keep him—”
