Page 125 of Brazen Mistakes

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 And if the conditions are violated, the offer will immediately be rescinded.”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.”

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