Page 8 of Under His Protection

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NINA

Nina

At the end of my shift, visions of burning my shoes flitted through my head. These dressy flats were old, with hardly any cushion left to the sole, and I was past due to replace them. With how long I had to be on my feet waitressing at the Hound and Tea, replacing my footwear was a necessity, albeit a necessity that wouldn’t be seen to. Not with the shitty lack of money in my life.

When Dad passed away, Ricky and I were both stunned. First, that Dad knew about the cancer but chose to hide it from us. Then, that he wanted to spend the remainder of his viable days of functioning away from us, still serving for as long as he could. We’d been notified too late, after his discharge, and saw him only for a little bit of time when he was at the hospice.

I wouldn’t lie. I was glad to see him out of pain after all that suffering he’d hidden from us. And when we were told about the amount that would be left to us—which was no great wealth but to us, a bounty—I was thrilled that while he’d been so selfish to never be there as a father, he’d give us something after he was gone.

“But it’s not there,” I whispered to myself as I finished cleaning the tables in my section and mused about Dad’s death. Ricky had seen to the rapid disappearance of all that our father left us, and I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive him. If he wanted to lose his half, fine. I would’ve been responsible with mine.

“Hey, Nina?”

Speak of the devil.

I turned slowly to face my brother as he entered the dining room. The Hound and Tea was now closed, and without any customers in here, my supervisor wouldn’t care if he walked through.

“Hey.” It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize for how I’d talked to him earlier, but the logical, stubborn part of me wouldn’t allow it. He needed the tough love. He had to be told that he couldn’t be trusted with money. More than anything else, I deserved every right to tell him how mad I was that he’d lost my half of what Dad left us.

“You about done in here?” he asked.

Tessa had already left. Her dad came and gave her a ride, but she had to leave right then. He wasn’t in the mood to wait for her to wrap up her duties. I offered to stay and finish cleaning up her section since I walked home every night—further abuse on my poor, tired feet.

Ricky never came to give me a ride. He was often home playing video games or off doing who knew what. We shared an apartment, but we were more like roommates than family.

Because we always argue about money. Until he changed, it would continue to be a point of fighting. I refused to back down because I was already doing everything I could to avoid our being homeless.

The fact that he was here now, asking if I was finished working, raised alarms. “What do you care?”

“I, uh, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

I let my head tip back and groaned at the ceiling. You have got to be kidding me. “A favor?” I deadpanned as I faced him again. “You want to ask me for a favor?”

He winced at how I raised my voice.

“I am not giving you my tips,” I warned. Tonight had been busy, likely because the customers ate here and then went upstairs to gamble. I never asked questions about what went on above the Hound and Tea. I learned long ago to simply be grateful for the steady influx of people who’d tip me before potentially losing their money up there. Nothing could be overly legal about it, and I adopted an ignorance-is-bliss mentality.

“I don’t… I don’t need your tips.” He lowered his gaze and bit his lip.

Huh? That was a first. I crossed my arms. “You don’t need my money?” Yeah, right. My brother declining a chance to ask me for money didn’t make sense. It implied he had his own money, and that was bullshit.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, and I tensed up.

Shit. That’s two tells now. Ricky was likely a terrible gambler because he was too damn easy to read. First, the lip bite, now the clearing of his throat. He was nervous.

“What’s going on?” I knew whatever he’d say next would be bad news.

“You know, uh, how I told you and Tessa that I had an idea?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You said you had a ‘genius’ idea.”

“Well, it sort of… backfired.”

Imagine that. I wasn’t surprised. Something else filled me. I lowered my arms. They, along with my legs, felt leaden with dread. “What happened?” Backfired how, exactly?

“I lost…” He ran his hands through his hair and fisted the strands as he stared at me, eyes slitted with fear.

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