Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

44. Trips

Chapter 44

Trips

R J’s dad doesn’t recognize me when he comes into the living room. Not until I take off my mask.

If he’d helped RJ move in more than just freshman year, he would have recognized us long before now, and he would have hightailed it out of here before he got caught.

How he still thinks he’s getting away with this when RJ has tabs on his every bad habit is beyond me, but shame makes people stupid.

Been there. Fucked that up.

Clara gestures him onto the couch, then perches on RJ’s chair. Her back straight, her face lacking its usual teasing grin, she reminds me of my third-grade teacher, Ms. Olson, and damn. I want to cower. For the first time, I see the woman that impressed Jasmine Cadieux .

Maurice looks between the two of us, but it’s Clara who speaks first, her voice clear and curt. Cutting. “Mr. Moore, as I’m sure you can see, you joined the wrong game this evening.”

He chuckles nervously. “I’m seeing that. Royal, my boy, you here? You can come out.”

I can’t take this shit right now. “He’s in fucking jail. He was out looking for you,” I spit out, and he freezes.

Clara too, but she recovers so fast that only someone who’s spent way too many damn hours watching her would catch it. “As you see, Mr. Moore, we can’t just snap and bring him out. You’ve created quite a mess for us. Your only son is in jail. Your wife is home alone for New Year’s Eve, and you’ve lost, how much money? We both know you’ll expect RJ to magically make that money reappear. Add to that, now you know your son is involved in something illegal. Quite a mess. Extra work for all of us.”

The urge to grin gets stuffed down, along with the ill-timed surge of arousal.

Fuck. Who is this girl?

RJ’s dad shifts in his seat. “Is he okay?”

I want to drag my hands through my hair, but if Clara can play her part, so can I. “Luckily, he’s squeaky clean and didn’t move too fast.” He flinches, and a wash of shame comes over me. He might be a bastard, but he obviously cares about RJ. I shouldn’t be such an asshole.

Only, he’s the reason RJ was out. And he sounded terrified on the phone, worrying about Jansen’s car, Trish, his dad, his work, all while dropping that he’d been at the end of not one but two cops with weapons drawn. It’s bullshit.

I can’t fix that. None of us can .

So instead, I point that fear and anger at what started this mess. Because there’s no way RJ would be in jail right now if his dad were at home toasting the new year with his family like he’s supposed to be.

Instead, he’s out here losing ten grand he doesn’t have, expecting RJ to come back and save him from himself the next time the mortgage payment bounces.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when Clara’s eyes close, just for a second, and I realize I’ve scared her, too. Damn it. But then she’s back in character, calm and disapproving.

“So, Mr. Moore, what do you think we should do? We’re down a member of our team, down the buy-in you borrowed from Donna, and when you inevitably come crying to RJ to cover it, we’re down that money too. And you know all about our business. This is not good, Mr. Moore. Not good at all.”

He looks between Clara and me, his fear for his son almost making me regret this confrontation. Almost. “Are you sure that RJ’s fine? He’s safe?”

“Yes,” I spit out.

“I won’t tell anyone who you are. I honestly don’t care. And I’ll find another way to get the money.”

“By gambling?” Her eyes are dark, cold.

He gives a half shrug. “Do what you’re good at.”

“But you aren’t very good, are you, Mr. Moore? Not if you’ve lost so much. And not just tonight.” She tsks, and Maurice Moore starts to boil.

He pulls his mask off, tossing it on the coffee table, fists clenched by his sides. I lean forward, reminding him I’m here. That Clara has protection .

“I don’t know what my boy has told you, but I’m good for it. No need to go diva on me.”

Clara pauses. Because she doesn’t know the details. But I do. “This is, what, the third time your gambling has gotten away from you? And as I’m sure you’re aware, you’re finding it harder and harder to step into a casino and make it to the table before you’re escorted right back out. No. I don’t think your plan to take the poison until it turns into a cure is going to work for us.”

Now he directs his anger at me, and I relax. This I can handle.

“How do you know about that? About the casinos?”

I just raise a brow, and Clara almost breaks character. She likes when I’m an asshole. At least when it’s not directed at her.

She clears her throat, regaining Moore’s attention. “I have a solution. But I don’t know if you’ll like the terms. Here’s what I propose—”

“I’m not working for you kids. That’s ridiculous.”

Her eyes flash, like she’s pissed he cut her off. Is she? Or is it an act? “Then it’s a good thing that’s not what I was going to suggest.”

She stares at him until he settles back on the couch, motioning for her to go on.

She nods like a queen to a crowd, then switches the leg she’s got crossed, her hand smoothing the outside of her thigh, her biggest tell sneaking out. “I was actually considering forgiving the loss. But there are conditions. And if the conditions are violated, the offer will immediately be rescinded. ”

“Forgiving?” He laughs, the cadence identical to RJ’s, and Clara’s eyes shutter closed at the sound, like the reminder of RJ hurts right now. “Right. You kids are such scary gangsters that you’ll offer this old man loan forgiveness? You’re giving mixed messages here, sweetheart.”

Her eyes flash open, and I can see this isn’t feigned anger, but the real kind. “Do not misunderstand, Mr. Moore. This is a courtesy to your son, not you. Because he’s always your safety net, isn’t he? Consider your net cut. He’s got enough on his plate without your drama. So, term one,” her pointer finger pops up, keeping her hand away from her leg, “under no circumstances are you to ask RJ for a loan, to cover a bill, any of that ever again. You’re going to lose your house? We’ll take care of your wife and daughters, but you’re on your own.”

His anger shows in the deepening creases across his face, but Clara’s second finger flies up before he protests. “Term two—you have two weeks to find a gambler’s anonymous meeting that meets your needs. You will attend at least once a week for the length of our agreement. Every week of attendance will remove $100 from what you owe us. How many weeks is that, Trips?”

A grin desperately tries to break free as I answer. “One hundred weeks.”

“Two years from now, you’ll be debt-free. At least with us. Term three—you make a doctor’s appointment. There’s something wrong with your brain, and it’s not weak to ask for help. It’s strong. If you’re not strong enough to ask for help, well, we’ll be strong for you. You owe it to your family not to fuck this up. Because remember, you mess up, the balance comes due, and RJ will not help you. Not anymore. ”

“Who the hell are you to speak for my son?”

The first actual smile from her lands on her face, soft and gentle, like it always is when she’s with RJ. “I will not let you mess up our future, Mr. Moore. I won’t.”

Confusion clears after a second, replaced by indignation. “You don’t know what all I’ve done for my son.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t know. But I do know that he’s been making himself sick worrying over you. I know he’s been keeping your secret from your daughters. I know he loves you. Show him the same respect he’s shown you. Don’t burden him with your mistakes.”

Maurice Moore sits in silence on our couch, glaring at Clara like this is her fault.

Only, it’s his own damn fault. And she’s offered the best possible solution. He doesn’t even have to come up with the money. He just has to get some help. Coerced help, but help, nonetheless.

Somehow, Clara and I are on the same wavelength as we wait him out, letting him stew in his own thoughts. Finally, he sighs, still furious, but picking up that we’re not going to bend. Not on this.

“Sure. I’ll take your damn deal.”

“Trips, I’m going to write up the contract. Keep our guest company.”

She leaves toward her room, the jangling of keys heading upstairs a moment later. Who gave her a key? Probably Walker.

RJ’s dad slumps forward, head in hands. “You kids aren’t nearly as scary as you think you are.”

“That’s because you’re seeing our nice sides. ”

He scoffs, turning to me, and I let out a hint of what I hide. Something I rarely do. When he shivers, I lock it back up, all the rage that roils under my skin. All the fury that bursts out in the middle of the night until my breath comes in pants and my knuckles are sore.

He glares at the blank TV across from him, avoiding my gaze. “RJ’s a good kid. You should keep him out of whatever shit you guys are into.”

“He was a good kid. But the first time you almost lost the house, he crossed a line. One with a federal jail term attached. But it paid for the many months of missing mortgage payments, so you didn’t ask questions about where that money came from. Maybe you should have.”

“Kids do dumb shit all the time.”

“Most kids don’t commit credit card fraud. Especially for tens of thousands of dollars.”

He crosses his arms, like he’s got a winning hand and wants to gloat. “And most college kids don’t risk jail time for their poker nights.”

“Tough economy.”

He huffs out what could be mistaken for a laugh but is probably closer to a groan.

Eventually, Clara returns, a handwritten contract scrawled on a piece of paper she must have found in one of Walker’s many printers. RJ’s dad takes it and reads it, shaking his head. “Are you actually dating my son?”

“Yes.”

“I’d be thrilled for the kid if you weren’t such a frigid bitch.”

Her hand drums on her thigh before she crosses her arms .

That one hurt. Goddamn Bryce leaving another lie in her head. I’ve heard her, and there’s nothing frigid about Clara. Even if the too thin walls make me fucking wish there was.

He signs with a flourish, then gets to his feet. “You know you made a dumb deal, right? It’s not like you’re going to join me every week. I can just lie. How the hell would you kids know?”

Clara laughs, and even I have to grin. He looks confused.

“You don’t know your son at all, do you?” she asks, shaking her head. She picks up the contract, locking eyes with him. “Trust me, Mr. Moore. You don’t want to lie. Because we’ll know. Don’t leave your meeting early. We’ll know. Don’t test the terms because you will not win. And I know you don’t have the cash lying around to fix this.” She leans forward, almost but not quite in his space. “But most importantly, do the work. Be open to it. You owe it to your girls. Don’t let the adoration they think you deserve be a lie.”

His shoulders slump. “I take it I’m done here? Where do I find RJ?”

Clara and I stand, moving beside each other, letting him pass. “We’ll get him,” I say.

“He’s my son.”

“And he’s my best friend.”

Clara says nothing as we walk RJ’s dad to the door.

I toss him a bone for actually caring about his son. “I’ll have him call you when he gets back. It’ll be late—they’re waiting for a drug test.”

“A drug test? On RJ? Those fuckers.”

“That’s a sentiment I agree with fully. ”

I hold the door open for him, and he pauses, looking over Clara, still wearing her mask, still cold and unapproachable. “Huh,” he says, before stepping outside, the wind cutting across the icy ground.

Closing the door and locking it behind him, I turn to Clara, wanting to understand how she came up with that plan. I had something else in mind, but her solution was too perfect to not just adopt.

Only when I turn to her, her fists keep clenching and relaxing; her gaze stuck on the doorknob. She seems frozen, like she really was turning into an ice statue, not just pretending. I take one step toward her, wanting to shake her out of it. Instead, I watch a familiar fire light her from within, a strangled scream caught in her throat.

I don’t think, I just react, and it’s not until I have her in front of my heavy bag that I understand what I was seeing.

Her tiny fists fly at the leather, the bag hardly swaying, as rage strangles her. Muttered exclamations about help and failing, and repeated screams of why fill the space, and I watch with astonishment as the fury I knew was hiding floods out of her, uncontrollable and sharp.

She pummels the bag until suddenly, she’s shaking and choking on tears, her anger fleeing her as quickly as it came.

I should call Jansen or Walker, have one of them comfort her.

But then she tugs off her mask and presses her face to my chest. And I know I can’t leave. Not now. Not when the smell of that damn flowery shampoo is right under my nose.

It’s just a hug. Comforting a friend .

But there’s something about seeing her so strong with others, but feeling safe enough to fall apart with me, that makes me feel like I just won the lottery.

It’s been a long time since I had any good luck. Enjoying it, just for fucking one night, can’t be that bad. One night, where nothing will happen, where my damn father will never know.

Holding her is the right thing to do.

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.