Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,27
I don’t like the tone I hear coming from Thibault. It’s got that older-brother-lecture timbre to it.
“Stay there. I’m coming down.”
There’s a small piece of me that wants to turn around and run out the warehouse door, which is ridiculous because I’m a grown woman and I could take my brother down if I really wanted to.
“Come on.” He gestures for me to follow him over to the exercise equipment. He takes a seat on the bench press, and I grab a spot on another machine nearby.
“What’s up?” I ask.
His voice is soft and there’s a hint of compassion there, which immediately pisses me off. It’s like there’s some kind of conspiracy to get under my skin by giving me advice today. I steel myself for the onslaught of good intentions.
“What happened with you and Lucky on Friday?”
I stand, deciding it’s better to take off rather than get into a wrestling match with a guy who’s got fifty pounds on me. I’m not quite mad enough to overcome that. I need a really dark, righteous anger to pull that off.
“Just sit down,” he says, gesturing with his hand for me to take a seat, like he’s annoyed with my completely normal, emotional reaction. “I’m not busting your balls. I really need to know. There’s something going on.”
I do as he says, my suspicions not completely gone, but my curiosity engaged. “What?”
“First, tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know Lucky was at the house and that he went home with you.”
I hiss out my annoyance, hoping he’ll take the hint, but he doesn’t. Of course. He stares at me, fully expecting me to spill my guts.
“He didn’t go home with me, okay? I got in the cab and he jumped in without my permission. Then he said he had to talk to me about something, so he came inside for a little bit.”
“What did he say after he came inside?”
I’m caught in a trap I laid for myself. Awesome.
“Nothing. Much.”
Thibault leans in, resting his forearms at his knees. “I need you to be honest, Toni. I’m not here to judge.”
I stand, too antsy and pissed to remain seated. I feel vulnerable and attacked. “Judge? Judge what? It’s my life, and I live it how I want. I served my time, okay? I don’t need a parole officer anymore.” I finished that nonsense six months ago, thank you very much.
Thibault drops his head, shaking it and sighing.
“What?” I’m pissed at him for acting like I’m the asshole.
He looks up at me, his expression almost tortured. “Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?”
My heart feels like it’s cracking again. I’m a burden; I know I am. I always have been. “Difficult? Fuck you.”
Thibault stands all of a sudden and gets in my face. “Fuck me? No, fuck you, Toni. I asked you to talk to me, as your brother, as the guy who nearly lost his mind when you got taken to jail, and you can’t come down off that high horse of yours for a single fucking second to show me a little respect and to show a little compassion for a friend!”
My mouth hangs open but nothing comes out. I had no idea that my brother was so disappointed in me. He’s never said a word before. It’s like a pit has opened up in the middle of my heart and it’s sucking the beating muscle right into it. Pretty soon, I’m not going to have any heart left.
He turns away and runs his fingers through his hair. “Shit. Sorry. That came out all wrong.”
I walk backward, needing to put space between us. “No, man. It came out just right. I get it.” I have to leave. I can’t stand here and tell him I’m sorry that I am who I am. That I fucked up. That I don’t deserve to be here. He already knows all that, apparently. And I definitely don’t want him to apologize for how he feels. That’s not fair to him. I’d feel exactly the same way if it were me in his shoes.
“Where’re you going?” he asks as I walk quickly across the floor.
“I’ve gotta go do something. See you later.” I can barely get the words out, my throat is so damn sore from holding back tears. I’m not going to let them fall, though. This is life. These are the breaks. I just need to suck it up.