Chapter 9 Nick
NICK
She told me to stay in the car—practically snapped it—but I followed her inside anyway, telling her I needed to grab some things.
She rolled her eyes and let out that sharp little sigh that said leave me the hell alone, but I let it slide.
She was carrying something heavy—I could see it in the way her shoulders hunched like she was trying to fold herself in, disappear.
Something was off. Off enough to make my gut tighten.
I’ve studied body language long enough to know fear when it’s hanging off someone like a second skin.
And she was terrified. Not just on edge—terrified.
And people with money don’t usually look like that.
Not unless whatever they’re facing is darker than debt.
The urge to pull her into my arms hit hard and fast. Just hold her.
Tell her I’d figure it out, even if I didn’t know what the hell “it” was.
Which was insane. The last time I held someone like that, he died in my arms. My best friend.
My brother in arms. I’d been whispering to him that it’d be okay, that help was coming, while the life drained out of him.
I still remember the sound of his last breath, the way his body went limp, like someone just shut the lights off. I can still feel it.
I tore my eyes away from her and scanned the aisles, trying to ground myself.
Deodorant. Dr. Squatch. The only kind I trusted, unless it was something formal, was Acqua Di Gio.
Both had that clean, sharp smell that didn’t set me off.
Scent was a minefield. Anything that even hinted at burning skin, chemical bleach, or the sour rot of infection could send me spiraling, straight back to the pits of Somalia.
Just a whiff, and the sand, the blood, the screaming—it was all there again.
That’s why my house always smells like something warm, something good: incense, candles, anything to keep the bad ghosts at bay.
My PTSD doc once said scent was tied to memory, and he was right.
I started maintaining the lemon sugar cookie incense around.
Sounds ridiculous, I know. But that smell?
That one in particular? It took me home.
Not just home—home. My mom in the kitchen, laughing to herself while she mixed batter with a bent wooden spoon.
We didn’t have much, but she always made Christmas feel rich.
She’d bake these Italian cookies—Taralli al Limone.
Lemon knots. They were soft and sweet, with just the correct bite of citrus.
When I was deployed, she’d send them in care packages.
They arrived a little crushed, sometimes stale, but the smell…
God, the smell. It was like someone opened a door and let light into the darkest room in my mind.
CVS usually carried that incense. It’s why I said I needed to come in.
I didn’t want to admit I was chasing a scent like a damn addict—but I was.
I needed a reminder that the world still had soft places.
That not everything ends in gunfire or betrayal.
That sometimes, the smell of sugar and lemon could stitch you back together—even if only for a minute.
“Are you kidding me? For one bottle, it’s one hundred and thirty-five dollars? Isn’t there a different kind?”
“That’s the kind your doctor recommends.”
“Don’t you offer a payment plan? I only have ninety-five dollars on me, and I just left the hospital less than twenty-four hours ago because I just found out I had diabetes, so it’s kind of important I have this stuff. Dangerous even if I go without it.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you don’t have insurance. That’s the price you’ll have to pay if you want to leave with your medicine.”
“Don’t ma’am me. People in this town make me sick. Just tell me straight up, I can’t have the fucking medicine. Don’t smile with that damn smile on your face and call me ma’am like that’s going to fucking help me right now. You know what will h-”
I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Honey, it’s okay, calm down.”
Her eyebrows furrowed together as she tried to determine why my tone sounded so sugary, like a boyfriend. “Sorry, she’s had a rough day, ain’t that right, princess?”
She blinks and scrunches her eyebrows together.
Okay, so she wasn’t picking up what I was putting down, so it's time to make myself clear. “You can put the rest on this card,” I say as I toss my credit card on the counter.
“Oh no, no I-”
“You know my money is your money, babe.” I try to sound as natural as possible.
“Besides, you always make it up to me later.” I flashed her a wink, but she wasn’t doing the best job of playing along.
I leaned down over the counter, covering one side of my mouth with my hand and whispered to the clerk, “I think that time of the month is coming.”
The clerk giggled and I felt a swat on the side of my shoulder.
“I heard that, and no it’s not.”
“Then you must be hangry, I’ll go home and feed you once we are done here princess.”
I watch as she folds her arms over her chest. I know she was pissed but I was enjoying myself. Haven’t felt this kind of joy in a while.
“Here you are.” The lady hands me the small white bag of medicine.
“Thank you,” I tell the clerk, “C’mon along princess,” I say as I guide Mel out of the store, intertwining my arm around hers.
“You didn’t have to do that,” is the first thing she says when we get outside.
“I think the correct response is thank you. I know there are a lot of liberals in California, but surely they taught you basic manners. And you’re welcome.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.” She says in a dismissive tone.
“True, but I don't feel like taking you to the hospital again, not under my watch, because I'm away from my business, which means I’m losing time and money. So, accept the favor and let’s move on.”
“What happened to calling me babe?” She taunts.
“I’ll call you a lot more if you don’t wipe that smug look off your face.”
She scoffed; she was kinda cute when she was annoyed. “I have to stop at the restaurant on the way home before I drop you off at your place.”
“Just fucking great,” she says throwing her hands in the air.
I did feel a little sorry for the girl. Even though she was twenty-one it was like she was trapped in a twelve-year-old mindset.
It didn’t make sense that she couldn’t just call her mom for help, or go back home.
What piqued my suspicion more was she's at a place where she has no intention of getting better. Well, she didn’t until today.
I’m hoping she’ll care a little more about her health after the news she received.
“If it helps, until you figure it out, I can take you to work. It’s not a big deal since the lake house is not far from the restaurant and it’s on the way there.”
“No, that’s fine, I’ll just ask Abigail. I don’t like driving alone in cars with men. Especially men who keep doing me favors.” She used her fingers to signal quotation marks.
“You’re about to drive with me now.” I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Ya, because I have no choice, and I'm too exhausted to fight with you.” she says before opening the door and plopping her butt on my driver’s seat.
I lean my head back, and close my eyes, sucking in the fresh air to calm my nerves, before getting in the car with this stubborn girl and drive off.
Pulling up to the restaurant I say, “Wait in the car.”
“Why can’t I go inside?”
“Do you just want to argue because I told you to wait in the car?”
She pulls out her phone as she flops her shoes up on my dashboard. “Whatever.” She starts scrolling through her phone and I’m just grateful she isn’t putting up a fight like she normally does.
Walking inside the restaurant, I scan the back for my mom, when I don’t see her I walk out to the main floor. She’s been here way too long and needs to go home.
This is the part I hated about being a business owner: all the weight was on my shoulders.
I wish I could afford to let my mom retire but until this place is flourishing , that won’t be in the cards for a while.
Not until I get caught up. And knowing my mom, even if I told her to stop working she wouldn’t.
Like tonight, she insisted on helping out since she knew I had to rush Mel to the hospital.
When my eyes landed on the table located next to the bar, my blood froze and my body went rigid. I saw my mom place a plate in front of the man I never thought I’d see again. The fucking audacity this guy had. If he thinks I'm that punk kid I was seventeen years ago, he’s in for a rude awakening.
My mom walks off, spotting me as I come closer to his table.
“Niccolo, you’re back, how did everything go?”
“Good, good. I’m driving Mel back to the lake house since her car got towed.”
“What? Oh my gosh, that poor girl. It’s just one thing after another for her.” Concern etched all in her features.
Even though we’ve been in America for almost thirty years, my mom still had an accent. It really shined through when she was worried too.
“Ya, I know. But she has her medicine now, so she should be fine.”
My mother cups my face. “che bravo ragazzo sei, Niccolò. ti amo tanto.” Such a fine boy you are my Niccolo. I love you so much.
“I love you too mamma. That’s why I'm sending you home. The rush is over so we’ll be fine.”
She slaps my shoulder. “I’m fine, Going home to an empty house makes me depressed. I don’t mind staying late at the restaurant. More excitement here than in my bed, that’s for sure.”
“Momma,”
“Niccolo.” she scolds.
“Mom it’s nine o'clock. Go home and get some rest. Okay?.”
She smiles and stands up on her tippy toes to gently kiss me as she squeezes my cheeks together. My mom was the only woman I have loved unconditionally, so she always got to embarrass me endlessly.