The Nerd & the Ex-Con Sage Abbott

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The Nerd & The Ex-Con

Sage Abbott
 Editor: Tanja Ongkiehong

Proofreader: Abrianna Marchesotti

Cover Designer: Vicki Brostenianc

The Nerd & The Ex-Con © 2024 Sage Abbott
All Rights Reserved
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic, in whole or in part, without expressed written
permission. This is excluding brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Also By Sage Abbott

Class Act
 Contents

CONTENT WARNING
PROLOGUE
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EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Writing as Gianni Holmes
ABOUT SAGE
 CONTENT WARNING

P lease be advised that while the tone of 'The Nerd & The Ex-Con' is not extremely angsty, the book explores themes and
events that may be sensitive for some readers. This includes:

Physical and emotional abuse stemming from a previous relationship.

Instances of physical and sexual harassment by a former partner.
A main character's history as an ex-convict on parole for voluntary manslaughter.
Themes of parental neglect and abandonment.
A depiction of a parental overdose.

While these elements are integral to the characters' pasts and the story's depth, they are handled with care, and the overall
tone of the book is more uplifting than these warnings might suggest. Reader discretion is advised.
 PROLOGUE

GRIFF

Seven years ago

“B urke, you’ve got mail!”

No one was more surprised than me when the correctional officer handed me a long yellow envelope, the flap open
because of their inspection. I stared at my name written in bold letters, looking all neat and shit, and had a hard time
processing that I had mail.
In the eleven years I’d been locked up, I’d never received any letters, although I sent them regularly.
“Thanks,” I mumbled and put the envelope on the table.
My cellmate, Grant, nudged me with his elbow. “Well, look at you. Who’s it from?”
Only one person could be sending me mail, but the return address wasn’t his. I frowned. The name wasn’t familiar. I didn’t
know any Scott. Did I? It’d been so long since I’d seen other people than my fellow inmates and the guards that I couldn’t
remember all those I’d interacted with when I was a free man.
“Have no idea.”
“Then open it.”
I swallowed and stared at the envelope. Who are you, Scott Dischinger? Only one way to find out. I’d seen inmates,
sentenced for some of the most heinous crimes, receive fan letters from people who were obsessed with them, but my case had
been low profile. No reason a random stranger should be writing to me.
I shook out the single sheet of paper. A thumbprint at the bottom, which must have been left behind by the correctional
officer, distracted from the otherwise pristine look of the sheet. I unfolded the letter, which was all formal looking. The words
were scribbled in neat handwriting. Every letter had been precisely formed.
Dear Mr. Burke,
You aren’t familiar with me, but it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Before you wonder too much what a
stranger is doing contacting you, I’d like to introduce myself. My name’s Scott, and I’m the best friend of your son, Jay.
We’ve been best buds since the fifth grade.
Quite frankly, none of this is my business, but I care about your son and, I guess, as an extension, you as well. I would do
anything in the world to make him happy, even if he’ll be mad later when he finds out that I reached out to you.
Over the years, I’ve watched Jay throw out each letter you sent him. He forbade me from ever reading them, but I got
curious, and one day I stole one of the letters. I hope you can forgive me for reading it, but it was killing me inside, not
knowing why he got so upset each time a letter appeared. After reading the letter for his birthday, I understood.
I’m sorry, but Jay never talks about you. It’s not because he doesn’t want to. He’s hurt and angry, so he never opens your
letters. He’s not a bad guy, and I love him, but he can be a bit stubborn, so I’ve decided to step in the middle and fill in the
gaps for both of you. For you at least. I can’t ever let Jay know I’m doing this. I’m sorry about that.
However, I can update you about your son and how he’s doing, if you don’t mind hearing from a third party. I’ve enclosed
a picture of him. It’s not much, but I hope it’s somewhat helpful. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you not knowing what he
looks like now.
 Picture? What picture?
I shook out the envelope, and a photo fell on the table. I snatched it up and stared at the picture of my little boy. Not so little
now. He was eighteen and looked nothing like me, although he had blue eyes. He resembled his mother with that oval face, the
arch of his thin eyebrows, and the smile on his lips.
My throat thickened, and tears gathered in my eyes. I blinked them away. There was no place for tears in the rec room. Had I
been in my cell, I would have let them fall.
My son. I hadn’t seen a photo of him in eleven years. How much he’d grown. And I hadn’t been there for any of his special
moments.
“Who’s that?” Grant asked.
“He’s my kid.”
“Your son?” He shuffled closer and peered at the photo. “He’s handsome. Looks nothing like you.”
I laughed. “I know. That’s his momma right there. I can’t believe it. Look how grown he is.”
“Gonna be a heartbreaker too. All the mothers better lock up their daughters.”
“Actually, I think he might be gay,” I said, lowering my voice. “This letter seems to be from his boyfriend.”
“Yeah? You not freaked out or anything?”
“No. I just want to know he’s happy.” After everything I’d put him and his mother through, he deserved to be happy.
“There you have it.” Grant slapped my shoulder. “You’re fine with what he does in his bedroom, so the next time Julio wants
to suck your dick, it shouldn’t be such a hard decision to make. No pussy around. We gotta make do somehow.”
Unlike Grant, who’d had his fair share of “prison bitches,” I hadn’t touched a soul in here. Some men laughed that they had
nothing better to do, so why not? I’d rather jerk off, though, than bend one of these guys over.
It did nothing for me.
I picked the letter back up and continued reading.
Jay’s smart too. He wants to study to be a doctor. It might take him a while, but I fully believe he will do it. He’s very
determined. I think you’ll like that. Overall, you should be a very proud father. Your son is an amazing human being.
If you have any questions, you can send them to me in a letter or email me at scottiemchottiejr@gmail.com. I saw online
that inmates are allowed access to computers to keep in touch with their family. Since it’s faster than a letter, feel free to
email me at any time, and I’ll get back to you.
Also, I apologize if I overstepped a boundary, but I hope this letter makes you happy.
Your son’s best friend,
Scottie
He’d overstepped of course in reading the letter I’d sent to my son, but he’d also made me the happiest man alive by
responding and sending me a photograph of my boy. How could I be upset? This Scottie guy sounded like he cared deeply for
my son. It was good he had someone like that in his life, and now I did too.
For some reason, Scottie seemed to be on my side, and I would try everything in my power to keep him there for these
updates about my son.
 1

SCOTTIE

“S cottie!”
I cringed at Jay’s yell. Having come from a family who wouldn’t shout, even if the house were on fire, I had to get
used to my boisterous friend. After over a decade of friendship, I still winced when he made sudden loud noises—like
bellowing my name over the ringing doorbell.
The door to my bedroom was flung open, and Jay slid across the floor, courtesy of the multicolored diamond print socks he
had on. I picked my glasses up from the dresser and slipped them up my nose. He was only wearing underwear and his shirt,
and trying with big, clumsy fingers to get the buttons into the holes.
“Someone’s at the door,” he said. “Can you get it? Don’t want to scare the hell out of that Jehovah’s Witness lady like last
time.”
My lips twitched into a grin. Jay was the one who made things interesting. He spiced up my staid and ordinary life with his
antics. If only it had panned out when we’d flirted and fooled around when we were younger. We didn’t feel that way about
each other, though, which was just as well. I needed a true friend more than I needed another lying, cheating, abusive scumbag
of a boyfriend.
Thank god for Jay, who’d helped me out of a dire situation when he insisted I move in with him a year ago. Since a distant
relative from his mother’s side had willed the house to him, all I had to do was help with the utilities.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it.” I grabbed my brand new navy blue peacoat and car keys. “And you need to hurry, or you’re going
to be late for your first day on the job. You really should work on your tardiness, you know.”
“Stop nagging, Mom. Now you see why I had to quit medical school. I’d be late getting to the patient on the operating table.”
I walked out of the bedroom. “Then simply don’t be late.”
“You’d think it’s that easy, wouldn’t you?”
“It is that easy.” I trod down the stairs. “Stop staying up late playing video games, and wake up half an hour earlier.”
“I’ll try tomorrow.”
No, he wouldn’t. We’d had this conversation before.
The doorbell rang again, longer this time, like the person on the other side was leaning into it. As if that weren’t enough, they
pounded on the door as well. What was wrong with people? Couldn’t they wait for someone to answer the door?
I shrugged, unlocked the door, and opened it.
“Who could be so impolite as to—” I swallowed the rest of my chastisement at the sight of the man standing on the doorstep.
And what a man.
I came in at just five feet two, and most people towered over me, but this man must have been over six feet. I barely came up
to his chest. A ripped chest that his white T-shirt couldn’t hide. The sweat spots on the front and under the armpits caused the
material to stick to delicious-looking abs I wanted to poke.
Dang, but who was he? A delivery man? Because I would have to ensure I get a delivery every day of the week if they were
sending guys like these out now. All I usually got were ashy knees and skinny legs. This man’s thighs covered in tight denim
could squeeze the life out of me.
Why did that sound so hot?
“What’s that?” he growled, his voice gravelly and hard.
Since when did my fairy godmother give a crap about my dream man?
“Umm, what’s what?”
“You were saying something about impolite.”
Intense blue eyes that looked familiar, even though I’d never met him before, stared into mine. I couldn’t look away. His hair
seemed freshly cut, and he had a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. The sliver of silver that threaded through the dark hair
made me hold on to the door tightly.
 Oh crap, if gray hair could turn me on like this, I needed a Tinder hookup ASAP. This was embarrassing.
“Umm, just that it’s impolite to beat on someone’s door and ring their doorbell like that.”
“Sorry. Just checking someone was actually home. I should have called first, but…”
“Scottie, who is it?” Jay yelled down the stairs.
“I’m still checking!”
“Scottie?” The man widened his eyes and swept his gaze slowly up and down my frame and back up again. “Scottie
McHottie?”
Scottie McHottie.
Scottie McHottie.
Scottie McHottie.
Heat seared my face. Nearly flayed me right down to the bone.
Oh.
My.
God.
Only one person knew me by that stupid name. The one person I was certain I would never meet face-to-face so he wouldn’t
see I was more of a Scottie McNottie. As in the guy no one would ever want to date because he wasn’t real. The fun, sexy,
worldly cool guy I’d pretended to be all these years in my letters to him didn’t exist.
“Gr-Griff?” I mumbled his name with stiff lips. He couldn’t be Griffin Burke. That Griff was behind bars, serving life in
prison.
“Fuck me sideways. It is you.” He stared at me, looking as shocked as I felt. “You’re my Scottie?”
My Scottie.
My jaw went slack, and I might have ejaculated a little in my briefs. No one had ever called me their anything before, and
when this sexy man uttered it so casually, I was prime and loaded to go off at any time.
“I-I-I don’t understand.” My tongue kept sticking to the roof of my mouth, making it difficult to get the words out. “You’re in
prison. You can’t be here on my doorstep.”
If I’d known he would one day show up, I would never have replied to his letter to Jay. I would never have kept in touch
with him all these years, and I certainly would never have fed him those lies, which had somehow filtered into my letters.
They’d started as me keeping him up to date about Jay and had gradually evolved to me talking about myself.
“I won my appeal,” he replied. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if my sentence would stick and then I wanted it to
be a…surprise.”
He had certainly succeeded. I couldn’t be any more surprised had my mother been standing in front of me. And she’d been
dead for two years.
“I-you—”
“Scottie, I’m almost finished!” Jay yelled. “Don’t you dare leave without me. My car’s still at the garage.”
Griff’s eyes shifted toward the staircase behind me. His jaw ticked and his nose twitched. He seemed nervous.
“Is that him?” he asked. “Is that my son?”
I nodded. “Yes, but he can’t know you’re here.”
“Why not?”
Footsteps clattered upstairs. Oh god, Jay couldn’t see him. I grabbed a fistful of Griff’s shirt and tried to turn him around, but
he was way too big for me to move him even an inch. He frowned, and as the footsteps started down the stairs, I trembled.
“Please. If Jay finds out you’re here, he’ll never forgive me.”
“I’m his—”
“We’ll figure something out, but for now, please get into the closet.”
I released his shirt, stepped back, and yanked open the door to the coat closet.
Griff raised his eyebrows. “You expect me to fit in there?”
“You don’t have a choice.” I pushed my glasses back up my nose. “If you want to have any form of relationship with your
son, then you’ll fit.”
He cursed under his breath and moved toward the closet. “Only because I trust you, Scottie.” He glared at me. “Despite
everything.”
Despite all my lies. The photograph I’d sent him. Chestnut curls, brown eyes, and a personality that shone even from a two-
dimensional shot was the opposite of who I was in person. Pale, freckled, blond, and blue-eyed. I had the face of a cherub, or
so people said. A face that looked way too innocent and inexperienced.
He shuffled into the closet, and he hadn’t been kidding. He barely fit, and when I shoved the door shut, he grunted and
cursed.
“Shh.”
Why did this have to happen to me? I’d done a good thing keeping a father abreast of what was going on in his son’s life.
 I have only one rule in this friendship, Scott. Don’t mention my father. Ever.
I’d done more. I’d violated Jay’s privacy by pulling out a letter he’d discarded into the trash can. I hadn’t meant to deceive
him all this time. The way he’d get moody after each letter had made me feel bad for him. How could I make him feel better if I
didn’t know what was wrong? So I’d snooped, and when I’d read the heartfelt letter his father had sent him, the words had
touched me, leading me to make the stupidest decision ever.
I’d written back to his father. And had kept writing to him for seven years.
“Look, I’m all dapper.” Jay jumped down the last two steps and held his arms wide. “Am I good looking or what?”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t need me to feed your ego. You get enough of that already.”
“Ah, don’t be jealous. You know you’re the most important person in my life.” Jay crushed me to his chest in a hug. Damn, he
was almost as big as his father.
“Why don’t you warm the car up and take it out of the garage?” I jangled my key at him. “I’ll double-check we’ve locked up
properly, then meet you in the driveway.”
“No prob.” He took the key from me. “By the way, who was that at the door?”
“Uh, some random kid selling cookies.”
“And you didn’t get me any? Damn, Scottie, that’s cold.” He chuckled and walked away. I collapsed against the wall,
removed my glasses, and swiped the sweat off my brow.
That had been way too close.
The closet door opened, and Griff stumbled out, a scowl on his face.
“Why are you letting him leave? I need to talk to him.”
“But he’s not ready to talk to you yet.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know him better than anyone else in this world. We’ve been together for a long time, okay? Trust me, he’s not
ready to face you yet.”
He waved a hand up and down. “You’ve lied to me. How do I know anything you’ve said over the last ten years is true?”
“I-I’m sorry.” I shuffled my feet. “I didn’t think you’d get out of prison.”
I swallowed hard. An ex-convict was standing in my hall. An ex-convict who had taken someone’s life. To not cloud my
judgment about him, I hadn’t looked up who he’d killed and what had led to him committing such a crime, but now my stomach
churned. Writing to him in prison had been safe. We had walls, streets, towns separating us, but here he was, standing before
me, a man who had snuffed out a life.
He could snuff me out right there if he wanted to.
I took a step back, confused, afraid, and somehow excited all in one.
What’s wrong with me? This man’s dangerous.
What if he’d escaped from prison?
“Did you escape from prison?” As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. He wouldn’t have admitted it if he had, and
now he knew that I didn’t trust him.
“I told you I got out the right way.” He caught my chin, his fingertips burning my skin. Warmth spread throughout my chest and
lower. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I owe you one for keeping me up to date about Jay, but that doesn’t change the fact
that you’ve lied to me.”
A car horn blasted in the driveway, and I jumped. “I can explain everything, but not now. I have to go before Jay gets
suspicious.”
“Then meet me tonight so we can talk.” He dug a burner phone out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Here, put your number
in, and I’ll text you the time and where to meet me later.”
“But it’s a weekday.”
“And?”
My cheeks flamed. I took the phone from him. Of course the Scottie he knew was daring and got up to all sorts of
shenanigans, while the real me had a bedtime that didn’t extend beyond ten during the week. I needed a full eight-hour sleep to
function the next day.
“Here.” I gave him back his phone and grasped the doorknob. “Wait until we’re gone, and then you can leave. Twist the lock
on your way out.”
I turned the doorknob, but his hand landed on my shoulder. “Scottie.”
I swallowed and forced a deep breath into my lungs, then glanced at him over my shoulder. “Yes?”
“Despite everything, it’s nice to finally meet you. I don’t know why you lied, but I can tell you’re a good person.”
 2

GRIFF

S cottie had lied to me. He was nothing at all like the photograph he’d sent me, and I couldn’t make up my mind if that was
good or bad.
From where I sat, I watched him enter the pub. He’d gone home to change and was now wearing a pair of black jeans that
made him look even skinnier than this morning and a red vest over a long-sleeved green shirt. He loosened the thick navy wool
scarf from around his slender neck, tugging at the material almost nervously as he scanned the interior of the dimly lit pub.
He looked younger than his age. Or maybe his age had been a lie too. How much of what he’d told me about himself could I
believe, and what if he’d lied to me about my son? For years I’d taken comfort in the information he wrote to me about Jay.
Scottie spotted me, and his hands stilled on the scarf. He dropped them, then raised the right and fiddled with his glasses.
They looked cute on him. He approached the bar, not at all like the image I’d had of him all these years.
Was he even old enough to drink?
“Hi.” He gave me a little wave. He rocked on his heels, unable to stand still. Was he nervous? Well, he should be. His gaze
flicked back and forth like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
He wasn’t going anywhere. Not until we talked at least.
I used my foot to pull out the chair next to mine. “Sit.”
He swallowed, the movement emphasized by his pale throat adorned with a simple black choker. “Yes, sir.”
My breath got trapped inside my lungs, and I furrowed my brow. Was it how he said “sir” in that low register of his or the
way the choker clung to his neck? The simple piece of jewelry reminded me a long time had passed since I held someone down
for a real proper fuck.
My dick twitched.
What the hell was that about?
Scottie folded his bottom lip between his teeth—bracketed by purple braces—and drummed his fingers on top of the bar.
The bartender rushed forward, probably assuming Scottie was impatient, not realizing he was nervous.
“What can I get you?” the man asked.
“Whiskey. Make it neat, thank you.”
“I’ll need to see some ID.”
Scottie’s cheeks flamed. “I’m twenty-five!”
“You don’t look it. Either I see your ID, or you take a Coke.”
Scottie mumbled under his breath and fished his driver’s license out of his wallet. The bartender took a long look at it and at
Scottie, then handed it back. “One scotch coming up.”
At least he was legal. He hadn’t lied about his age.
The bartender returned with his drink, and Scottie politely thanked him. Instead of drinking, though, he kept his hand
wrapped around the glass. He stared at me long and hard. I didn’t say anything, just let him, but I silently questioned the flutters
his curious gaze set off in my gut.
“Is it really you?” he asked softly. “Are you really Griff?”
“It’s me.”
“When did you get out?”
“A few weeks ago. Took me a while to get here and find a temporary place to stay.”
“Oh.” He finally took a sip of his drink, made a face, and put down the glass. “So…you’re not staying?”
“I am staying. My son is here.”
“Of course.” He gulped down some more of the scotch, and his eyes watered behind his glasses. Why was he still pretending
to be someone he wasn’t? It was almost as if he wasn’t comfortable being himself.
“You see, I don’t think Jay will be happy about this.”
 “But you don’t know that for a fact.”
“It makes sense, though. He threw away every letter you sent him.”
Didn’t he think I’d considered my son’s rejection all this time? I couldn’t even blame Jay. My actions had forced him to grow
up without a father. And without a competent mother too. She’d overdosed, leaving him to be raised by relatives. If the stuff
Scottie had told me in his letters were true.
“I still have to try, and you’re going to help me.”
When he reached for the glass again, I couldn’t take it anymore. I snatched it from his hand and flung back the liquid all at
once. He gaped at me. I signaled the bartender, who came over instantly. It was a slow night at the bar.
“I’d like a Coke.” I gave him back the glass.
Scottie’s face was so red I would have laughed if he hadn’t irritated me. Our letters had been easy. I’d come to anticipate
getting them every month. We had exchanged over a hundred letters, and he still acted as if I were a stranger when he was the
one who’d lied to me.
“Why did you pretend to be someone you’re not? Why are you still doing it now?”
He squirmed in the chair and fiddled with his glasses. “I’m not—”
“Scottie, don’t make me put you over my knee in front of a bar full of people.”
His mouth fell open wide. The bartender placed the Coke in front of him and frowned.
“You okay over here?” he asked Scottie.
I nailed him with a scowl for him to mind his business, but he ignored me until Scottie nodded, then walked away.
“You’ve never drunk a day in your life, have you?”
He straightened his spine. “I have…” His shoulders sagged. “Not.”
“Then what are you doing ordering a scotch?”
He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and released it. “The Internet says it’s a safe drink to order at a bar.”
“Not for a new drinker. First the photograph and now this. Why did you send that picture?” Especially when the real version
of him was so much better. This man sitting next to me fit the image of someone who’d gone out of his way to keep me informed
about my kid for the last nine years better than the guy with the cocky smirk in the photo he’d sent me.
“I…I don’t know.”
“You do know, but we’ll come back to that. What else did you lie about?”
“I’m so sorry. I thought you’d never be released, and I didn’t want you to worry.”
My body went rigid. “What did you do?”
“There are a few things you should know first, but before I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t try to see Jay until I
say he’s ready.”
“I’m not agreeing to that.”
“You have to. I need time to come clean to him about what I did. I have to be honest with him.”
“Do you go through life being a liar, or is this a special effect reserved only for the Burke men?”
“Now that’s not fair,” he snapped, blue eyes flashing. “Most of what I told you is true. And if I fibbed, it’s because I didn’t
want to hurt your feelings. If you’re going to judge me all night, then I’ll go. You can screw up everything with Jay if you want.
See if I care anymore!”
So the pretty, mousy boy with the braces at the ripe age of twenty-five had claws. Interesting. Maybe not everything he’d told
about himself had been lies.
Before he could get up, I placed my hand over his.
“Don’t go.”
He curled his fingers into a fist. “Are you going to keep bringing up what I did?”
“I don’t understand it. Eventually, we’ll have to talk about it, but the important thing right now is Jay and how to get through
to him.”
He relaxed his hand until his palm was flat on the bar with mine still over it. Human contact wasn’t something I’d had much
of a choice in behind bars. I’d been prodded and searched at a stranger’s whim. My hand over Scottie’s was my choice. I
hadn’t touched anyone this way since I’d been out.
That must be the reason I didn’t want to let go.
“Yeah, Jay’s still upset when someone mentions you.” He cocked his head to the side as if apologizing. “All I want is a week
or so to let him know that I’ve been writing to you. He’ll be upset, naturally, so I’ll need another few days to break it to him
that you’re out.”
“This sounds like it’s going to take forever.”
“Why didn’t you say in your last letter that you might get out?”
“Like I’d said, I wanted it to be a surprise.”
I did. At first, I’d kept the appeal from him, not wanting him to get his hopes up. Thoughts of how Scottie would react when
he saw me in the flesh had consumed me.
 He’d never come to the prison to meet me in person, always making some excuse for not being able to. Now I knew why.
“I wasn’t completely truthful about Jay’s life,” he said. “He isn’t in medical school. He dropped out of college during his
second year of his nursing program. Said it didn’t feel right and he wanted to find himself. He’s been a bit of a free spirit
since.”
“Free spirit? What does that mean exactly?”
Shit. This wasn’t going exactly the way I’d thought. The lies Scottie had told me had let me believe that my kid hadn’t turned
out to be a screwup like his dad. I’d been proud when I learned he was studying to become a doctor.
“He bounces around jobs. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great guy. The absolute best. Why, when my ex hit…” He sucked in a
deep breath. “Anyway, he’s great.”
“No, wait, you were saying something about your ex?”
“It’s not important. Just that Jay has been there for me, and I want to be there for him, so please let me do this right.”
“Fine.” I sighed and downed the rest of my beer. “But I’m only giving you a week to tell him. I’ve missed too much of his life
already.”
“I guess I better find a new apartment.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been living with Jay for over a year, but I’m sure he’ll ask me to leave when he finds out what I did. He has two rules
—never to mention you or touch the letters you send him.”
I winced, the hole in my heart that had closed up with each of Scottie’s letters now widening again. What if Jay didn’t come
around and insisted he wanted nothing to do with me? I’d survived prison for this moment of making things right with my son,
but was that even possible?
“I’m sure he’ll come around.” Scottie slipped his hand from beneath mine, but instead of pulling it away, he laid his hand
over mine. He gently caressed my skin absentmindedly. “It’s one thing for him to reject your letters. Those were easy to write,
but when he sees you in person, he’ll realize how serious you are about reconciling.”
Scottie smiled, lips parting to reveal his teeth. He was breathtakingly beautiful when he smiled like that.
Beautiful?
Since when did I consider other men beautiful?
Yet something about him unsettled me like nothing had in a long time. We had seven years of history between us.
Scottie’s eyes clashed with mine, and he stopped brushing the back of my hand. His smile dropped, and he clamped his lips
together as if he realized he’d shown me his braces. He snatched his hand away too and fiddled with his scarf.
“I should go.”
“Already? You just got here.”
“I-is there something else you wanted to talk about?”
“I thought we could catch up.”
“I really wish I could, but I can’t.”
No explanation at all. Was he still afraid of me? If he was, he wouldn’t have come tonight, would he?
“You’ll let me know how things are going with Jay?”
He nodded and hopped down from the bar stool. “Sure thing.”
“And you’re sure you can’t stay for another drink?” I needed more time to figure him out.
“Maybe next time.”
I waved the bartender over to settle my bill. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
I quickly paid and left the bartender a generous tip. Although he was still watching us suspiciously as if he thought I had
ulterior motives for bringing Scottie here tonight. I held Scottie by the upper arm and guided him to the exit.
“Griff, you’re walking too fast.”
Scottie was huffing to catch up with my long strides. I slowed down my pace. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Most people forget I have short legs.”
I held the door open for him, and he slipped out ahead of me. He barely came up to my chest, and something about that made
my breath hitch. The guy in the photograph he’d sent me was much taller and broadly built. The fun-sized boy in front of me
wouldn’t have lasted a day in prison. He would have been passed around like the common cold.
My chest swelled with emotions—emotions that astonished, confused, and intrigued me. It might have been close to twenty
years since I’d touched anyone, but I still knew what desire was. I just never expected it to hit me like this.
Before prison, I’d only been with women, and while on the inside, I never took up the offers I got. I’d never even been
tempted by an offered mouth, preferring to beat my dick alone.
“That’s my car.” Scottie pointed at a compact blue Honda Civic hatchback. It was the same car Jay had been driving this
morning when they left the house.
 When a car sped past us, I took his elbow and pulled him back. He stumbled against my chest, and I wrapped my other arm
around his waist to steady him. He planted a fist against my chest, and time stood still. Neither of us moved, even after the car
was long gone.
He tilted his head back—all the way back. I couldn’t see his eyes clearly behind his glasses, and I wanted to remove them. It
felt like he was hiding from me behind them, but he’d hidden for so many years. Wasn’t it time he was truthful about himself? I
wasn’t freaking out about this undeniable chemistry between us. Was it the years spent talking to him that had created a bond
between us?
Whatever the hell it was, it was real, and I could be truthful to myself about that.
A snowflake fluttered onto his glasses, and he pulled back. I released him. Without a word, he scurried across the street. I
followed at a more sedate pace just so I could take my fill of him.
Like a predator stalking his prey.
 3

SCOTTIE

“O hkey.myBehind
god. Oh my god. Oh my god,” I whispered as I forced my hand into the pocket of my skinny jeans to grab my car
me, I could feel Griff’s presence, and I needed to get away before I made a bigger fool of myself than I
already had.
What had possessed me to order scotch? Should have known he would see right through me. I was a capable, grown man. I
had a decent job working at a bank. I contributed to utilities and groceries. Every year, I filed my and Jay’s taxes on time.
Why did Griff make me want to duck behind the nearest object and hide?
Get it together, Scottie.
“You need some help there?” Griff asked, way closer than I’d imagined.
“N-nope. I got it.” I hooked my finger into the key ring and yanked it out of my pocket. Yes! One triumph for the night. I
wiggled it so he could see, and the keychain flew off my finger and hit the ground. “Oops.”
I bent to pick up the key. At the same time, so did he. Our heads collided like walnuts and a hammer. He didn’t even shift on
his feet while I tumbled over. Griff caught me before I hit the ground, and as if I weighed nothing, he scooped up the key and
me.
“You all right?” He set me on my feet and gripped my chin. His hand was icy, a good excuse for me to brush it away and
duck my head. My cheeks burned, and I didn’t want him to see how red my face must have gotten.
“I’m fine.” I fixed my glasses and rubbed my forehead. Darn it, banging my head on his hurt. Why did he look like he hadn’t
been affected at all?
“You don’t look so fine. Lemme see.” His hand returned to my chin, and I squirmed. “Stand still.”
“Ye-yes, sir.”
Air hissed through his teeth. I raised a hand and pressed it to his chest to keep him at a distance. He was way too close, and I
already couldn’t breathe. Did I even have my inhaler in the car? It’d been a while since I’d needed it.
Griff nudged my chin upward to see better. His hand was rough on my skin. His touch left tingles on my flesh.
“That’s probably going to leave a bump.”
I glanced up at him, just as he lowered his face. Electricity crackled between us. Oh god, he was going to kiss me. Griff ’s
going to kiss me. Chapped lips from the cold and all, I puckered up and closed my eyes, giving myself a boost up on my toes.
He was so much taller. I tightened my hand on his shirt, bunching the material up into my fist, and squeezed. My breath hitched
in my throat, and nervous anticipation zinged through me.
I’m about to kiss Griff.
Seconds ticked by, and nothing but the frigid night air caressed my lips. Huh? I squinted one eye open and found Griff
frowning at me. His lips, unlike mine, weren’t puckered up for the kiss I’d thought he was about to give me.
Mortified, I squeezed my eyes shut tight. How to get out of this?
I swooned.
What else was I supposed to do? I faked a swoon that should have put some distance between us, but he caught me. Again. A
big, muscular arm slid around my back and kept me from hitting the ground.
“If you’re going to fake fainting.” Griff chuckled. “To make it work, you’ll have to release your death grip on my shirt first.”
Fig Newtons, he was right!
I blinked my eyes open. Griff’s stare trapped the nonsensical words that would have spilled from my lips. How could I have
been wrong about the kiss? The energy between us… the way he was looking at me. Was it all one-sided?
“Oh!”
Hands planted on my hips, Griff swept me off my feet and plunked me down onto the hood of my car.
“What—”
He lowered his head, and this time his lips were on mine. At the last second, I pressed my lips shut. And stared at him. I
couldn’t look away. Griff was kissing me.
“Open up, Scottie,” he murmured.
Hypnotized by his honeyed words, I parted my lips. Surely, he would retreat when he encountered my braces. But he took his
time, keeping his tongue away from the metal and delving straight for mine. The tension eased out of my shoulders, and I
grabbed his shirt and moaned into his mouth. My nipples tingled against my shirt. I wanted him to lay me down on the car and
take me right there.
I clenched my ass and shifted my hand lower, grazing the bulge at the front of his jeans. Jumping Jerry Springer, that was
because of me? I spread my legs open and urged him to come closer.
“Get a room already! Nobody needs to see that!”
At the angry tone, I flinched and jerked my head back.
“Ouch.” Griff stepped back and inspected his tongue, blooming red.
Horrified, I jumped down from the hood of the car. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.” I hopped from foot to foot, wanting to move
closer to him to inspect how bad it was, but fear kept me back. What if he got mad? My gaze dropped to his hands. They were
so big. They could really hurt me.
“I-I have to go.” I grabbed the door handle and yanked it, but it didn’t budge.
“Scottie, calm down. The door’s locked.”
“It’s getting late, and I really need to go. May I have the key, please?”
“Sure. Here you go.”
He extended his hand, and I hesitated. I didn’t want to touch him. Something was going on here, and it couldn’t happen. He
was Jay’s father.
Oh, nutcracker! I’d made out with Jay’s father on my car.
The need to get away from him made touching him worth it. I pretended a zing didn’t race up my arm and that I hadn’t tasted
his blood from where my braces had cut his tongue.
“Scottie, are you safe to drive?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I laughed, the sound too high-pitched even for me. “I’ve been driving since I was sixteen. Passed the
driver’s exam on the first go.”
“I know. You told me.”
Right. This was the man I’d been writing my deepest secrets and desires to. Oh my god. Some of those letters… what the hell
had I been thinking? He was a stranger. Who went into as many details as I did to another man about his sex life? A stranger at
that. A stranger in prison.
No, it couldn’t be that bad.
I tried to convince myself. I had to, or I could never see him ever again. I unlocked the car and jumped inside. Griff caught
the door before I could close it.
“We should—”
“I’ll let you know when I tell Jay!” I said. “But I really should go, Griff. Good night.”
He sighed and nodded. “Fine. Good night. Drive—”
I pulled the door shut and buckled my seat belt while I put the car in Drive. I pressed on the gas, and the car shot backward.
Right into the wall with a loud crash. My body hurtled forward, but the seat belt kept me in place.
The rear windshield shattered, littering the back seat with glass. Trembling, I put the car into Park. The door was flung open
from the other side, and Griff poked his head in.
“Scott! Are you hurt?” He leaned forward and unbuckled my seat belt.
“I-I’m fine.” Shaken up at how stupid I’d been, but fine. “I’m okay.”
Griff helped me out of the car. A few people had wandered out of the bar but didn’t seem particularly interested. Just the
world’s biggest idiot ramming his new car into a wall. Nothing new to see.
“What the hell happened?” Griff growled.
I took a step back. My noodles—because calling them legs would be misleading—wobbled, and I almost went down. Griff
caught me. Yet again.
Ugh, I wasn’t a damsel in distress.
I straightened my spine and locked my knees. “It was a stupid mistake.” I looked at the disaster of my car. “I’m so stupid.”
“Stop that. You’re not.” He brushed a lock of hair from my forehead. Why did he make it seem so natural? He should stop
doing that too. He just made me want to cling to him like a koala and bawl for wrecking my car. It wasn’t even a month old yet.
“I know you made the dean’s list in college and graduated top of your class for your finance degree.”
I scoffed.
“You made a mistake, that’s all. We all do.”
But not as many as the ones I did tonight. “I need to call someone.”
“Do you have AAA?”
 Yes, that’s who I should call.
I nodded.
“Let me take care of it.”
“I can handle it myself.”
“Scottie, you've just been in an accident. You might not have been hurt, but you must be pretty shaken up.” He took me by the
shoulder and walked me away from the car to a low wall that ran the perimeter of the property. “Sit right here and let me take
care of everything.”
He made it sound so easy. I sat and wrapped my arms around my legs.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “You can have my jacket?”
“I already have one on.”
“You still look cold. You’re so skinny that a strong wind might blow you away.” He shrugged off his jacket and draped it
over my shoulder.
“How much does this weigh?” I mused. “One pound? Will that stop the wind from blowing me away?”
Griff chuckled. “Feisty. I like that. Keep it up, and I’ll know you’re okay. Now stop distracting me with your sass, and let me
handle your business.”
I handed him my phone with the number, and he walked toward the car with the device pressed to his ear. Too bad the
business I’d wanted him to take care of earlier was me.
He got my papers out of the car, and when he returned to my side, he gave me the phone back. “They’re sending someone out.
Should be here in ten. Let’s at least wait inside the bar. It’s warmer.”
I nodded and followed him inside, where we found a table close to the door.
“Why are you so nervous?” Griff asked. “It’s just me, Scottie.”
I rubbed a hand at the side of my neck and glanced away. This was the Scottie he had to accept. Not the brave, daring guy I’d
pretended to be in our letters. This Scottie took time to make decisions and always weighed the pros and the cons before doing
anything important.
Like kissing my best friend’s father.
That had con written all over it.
“I should let Jay know what happened.” I unlocked my phone and pulled up Jay’s number. I typed in a few quick lines of
explanation and sent the message. When I locked my phone and turned to Griff, he was frowning. He looked… distant and
withdrawn.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
Regretting the kiss?
He shook his head but didn’t expound. He kept glancing at the door like he wanted to go. Was he only sticking around to help
me because of what I’d done for him in prison?
Was that the real reason he’d kissed me? To make me not feel bad for misinterpreting the movement of his head earlier?
“You can go, you know. I’ll handle everything when they get here.”
“I can’t do that. Not after all you’ve done for me. And I’m sure Jay would want me to look out for you. I didn’t get a chance
to do that with him, but I can do this instead.”
“Oh.” He was only doing this because Jay was my friend. Yeah, that didn’t make me feel better at all.
My phone vibrated, and I answered it. The AAA guys were here. Griff raised his eyebrows, and I nodded. Why was it so
easy to understand him? When it didn’t have to do with my misplaced desire.
We exited the bar to meet the tow truck. I mostly hung in the background while Griff handled things. He just took control
without even asking. Not that I was complaining. In fact, I liked it a little too much.
I’d never known what he looked like before. Jay didn’t have any pictures of him lying around. Writing letters to him every
month had been exciting. I might have even had a silly crush on the man I’d thought him to be based on our conversations, but
this—I would never have expected this hot-as-sin older man who kissed like a god.
“All right, that’s taken care of.” Griff and I watched the tow truck haul away my car. A little whimper left me. I needed my
car to get to work.
“I’d better call an Uber,” I said.
“What for? I’ll give you a ride.”
I waved my hand. “I couldn’t. You’ve already done so much.”
“You know things would be easier if I just pick you up and—”
“Don’t you dare! I’m not a child.”
He swept his gaze from my head to toe and back up. “I can see that.”
What was that supposed to mean now? I swallowed hard. Our kiss from earlier and the way it’d made me feel, swirled in my
head.
“Okay,” I mumbled. “It’s not that far anyway.”
 “Good. You know, you weren’t this difficult to handle in your letters.”
I pouted and followed him. “In your letters, you weren’t ordering me around.”
He was walking too fast again, and I wasn’t going to run after him. He seemed to have realized that on his own, though, and
slowed down.
“Thought you enjoyed being ordered around.”
Oh, fudge sticks and popsicles. Those things I’d mentioned in my letter were as bad as I’d feared.
I tried to laugh it off. “I think we’ve established I said a lot in those letters that stretched the truth a little.”
He harrumphed, the only response I got out of him. Griff stopped, and I stared at the black motorcycle in front of us.
“Wait a minute.” I stepped back. “That’s what you rode here?”
“Yeah. What’s the problem?”
“I can’t get on that.”
Just looking at it made my lungs lose all their air.
“Why not?” He unlocked the helmet from the handlebars and extended it to me. “Here you go.”
I eyed the thing that looked way too big for my head. “B-b-but it’s a motorcycle. I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle.”
“That’s why you’re taking the bitch seat.”
I sputtered, my face growing hot. “What did you just call me?”
“Not you, the seat back there. That’s what it’s called.”
“Oh.” How… disappointing.
“I thought you wanted to be daring Scottie McHottie.” He grinned, displaying perfect rows of teeth. “You won’t back down,
will you?”
“I’m not a wuss!” He hadn’t used the word, but I was certain he was thinking it. I grabbed the helmet from him and placed it
over my head. Just as I’d thought. Way too big.
“Let me.” Griff shifted the helmet to sit better on my head. “Now you look badass.” He rapped his knuckles on the helmet.
“Kind of.”
“Let’s just go.”
The sooner I was home, the sooner I could forget all about this nightmare.
Griff threw one leg over the motorcycle and sat. He patted the seat behind him and held out his hand. “Come on up.”
I took a deep breath and hopped onto the bike and squeaked when I landed hard on the seat and might have bruised my balls
a little.
“You okay back there?”
“Yes.”
“Put your arms around me.”
I pulled my hands into my chest. “What?”
“Hold on to me, Scottie, or you’ll fall.”
“Oh.” If only I could throw away my brain and order another on special delivery. One that was Griff-resistant. My brain
hadn’t been functioning right since he showed up on my doorstep.
I slipped my arms around him cautiously. Griff gripped them, his hands now covered by leather gloves. I missed the skin-to-
skin contact. He wrapped them around his middle, the action sliding me forward until I was plastered against his back.
“There we go,” he said. “Hang on tight.”
 4

GRIFF

S cottie held on to me for dear life, his body pressed up against my back, doing crazy things to my insides. Yup, I was
definitely attracted to the pint-size guy who still constantly threw me for a loop. That kiss…better not to think about it too
much when I had precious cargo riding with me.
I’d always taken him to be a little eccentric. He had gone through his best friend’s mail, contacted me, and kept in touch for
seven years. But what I’d found… Every second I was around Scottie, he proved to be more interesting. At first, I might have
pegged every little thing he’d said as a lie, but after that kiss, whew! Scottie might not be the timid little mouse he’d come
across as the first time we’d met.
He had more layers.
Too bad they weren’t mine to peel back. It was bad enough that I’d kissed my son’s boyfriend. And what was he doing
looking at me with such open hunger and kissing me back like that?
Was he not the person I thought him to be? Honest and faithful, loving and deserving of my son.
Their house came into view, and I slowed down and turned into the driveway. I came to a complete stop a few feet away
from the steps and lowered the kickstand. Scottie still clung to my back as if he didn’t want to let go.
I savored his closeness for a few seconds. Since I’d been out, I’d tried on three different occasions to fuck a woman and
ended up not following through. Why then did I want to put Scottie between me and the handlebars?
Stop it, Griff. He’s not for you.
I pried his fingers loose, but he had trouble getting off the bike by himself. His legs were so short. I helped him down by
lifting him up and setting him on his feet. How could one guy be so light? He couldn’t be more than one twenty wet.
“Popsicle!” he grunted.
“What?” He had a bad habit of not making sense, just throwing random words around.
“I said popsicle.”
“You want…a popsicle?”
“No, I mean…never mind.” He took off the helmet and handed it to me. “My legs feel funny.”
“What? You never had them open for that long before?”
Scottie gasped, and his face turned red. He shoved his glasses up his nose and glared at me. “That’s none of your business.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little too late?” I couldn’t resist teasing him. He made it so easy. “I mean, those letters…” I wolf-
whistled and waggled my eyebrows.
“You’re horrible for mentioning them.” He fiddled with his glasses. “Those letters…they weren’t me. They were the guy…I
was pretending to be.”
So I’d thought too, but something told me that the fake persona he’d created was also a part of him. Probably bred out of
some desire he didn’t know how to express. The fact that he denied it so strongly only made me want to prove him wrong.
I took a step back.
He’s not yours.
Even if my son was out of the picture, Scottie couldn’t be mine. I wouldn’t know what to do with a man in my life. In prison,
I’d seen enough men fucking to know what went where, and his little sexy ass might look tempting, but then what? This gay stuff
wasn’t me at all.
The kiss had come easy, though. There was that.
“Well, you’re home,” I said. “You should go in.”
Before I did something reckless and stupid. Like kissing him again. Why did he keep looking at me that way? Did I need to
remind him he had a boyfriend—my son—he seemed not to think too much about cheating on?
“Wish you would stop telling me what to do,” he mumbled, his tight behind swishing in his form-fitted jeans. Begging me to
spread him open and—
 Fuck, nope.
“You’ll stick to your word and talk to Jay, won’t you?” I called after him.
“Yeah, I said I would. Once he’s in a good mood. We’ve been together for so long I might be able to find a way to butter him
up and forgive me after.”
I frowned. Did he do that often? Treat my son badly, then use his charms to get Jay to forgive him?
Something was wrong with this picture. Besides me putting my tongue down my son’s boyfriend’s throat. If only I could put
my finger on it.
“Good night,” he said. “Thanks for helping out today.”
“No problem. You have my number. You need anything, you can call me.”
“Yeah, for Jay.”
Not really for Jay, but it was better for him to think that. “Right.” I put the helmet on and straddled the bike.
“Griff?”
He was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Those damn braces. I rubbed my bruised tongue over the roof of my mouth.
I’d kiss him again.
“Yeah?”
“Umm, are you okay? I mean, do you have a place to stay? I—well, you can’t stay here, obviously, but I can maybe spring for
a cheap apartment for you until—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Shit, his offer hit me in the feels. So many people I’d known before my time in the slammer had
turned their backs on me. I couldn’t blame them either. Many felt uncomfortable, knowing the level of viciousness I was
capable of.
“I can’t not worry about it. You’re Jay’s father, and I love him the most in the world. You already know that. He might not
know it yet, but he’ll want to reconcile with you someday.”
I bit my tongue not to snap at him for what he was doing—kissing another man when he was so in love with my son. “If you
really care about Jay, you should think about your actions in the future.”
He jutted out his chin. The stubborn streak was back. God, this was probably the most interesting side of him.
“I’m not sorry for what I did, and I don’t regret it. If I went back in time, I would do it again and again.” He spun on his
heels.
I stared at his back, struck dumb. He unlocked the front door, slipped inside the house, and closed the door behind him.
Minutes passed as I couldn’t look away from the spot where he’d been. What did he mean by that? He didn’t regret the kiss?
How shameless.
Yet a thrill hummed in my veins. The kind of thrill that urged me to go to the door and knock. When he opened it, I’d kiss him
again and again, just like he wanted.
“Jesus, Griff. Use your fucking brain, not your dick,” I whispered fiercely.
Maybe if he wasn’t so important to my son, I would have tested this unusual attraction. If I took him to bed, it’d probably
knock some sense into me, show me that I couldn’t fuck another man. I wasn’t a stranger to ass play with women, but this was
different. He was a man. He had a dick, and I’d never touched one of those except mine.
I gunned the motorcycle and sped out of the driveway, taking the interstate home—to my temporary home. Christ, he had
offered to get me a new apartment. He was a bank teller. I didn’t imagine he made a lot. Would he have followed through had I
accepted his offer? Not that I would have, but that was awfully nice of him.
How could someone that nice entertain the idea of sleeping with me when he was in a relationship with my son?
I shook off my confusing feelings toward Scottie. The night was too beautiful to waste trying to figure something out I
probably would never understand. After being locked up for so long, it felt good to be back on my hog, the wind buffeting
against my body as the familiar rush of time and place became nonexistent. Just a man on his motorcycle, living in the moment.
Too soon, I arrived at the apartment building where my friend, Douglas, lived. A confirmed bachelor, he had no intention of
settling down anytime soon and had been more than happy to offer me his guest bedroom. Although he’d told me to stay for as
long as I wanted, I needed to get the hell out as soon as possible. To regain the kind of freedom I’d been used to, I had to have
my own place and make my own money.
I secured my bike and entered the apartment building with my helmet under my arm. The elevator was broken, and it took
four flights of stairs to get to Doug’s place, but I didn’t mind the exercise. In prison, I’d worked out a lot to stem the boredom,
but I hadn’t been to the gym once since I was released. I was already short on money from getting my bike.
I let myself in. For two men, the apartment was just big enough, but there was no room to maneuver much. The front door
opened up to a short hall with the kitchen to the right and the living and dining room combo to the left. Doug had converted the
dining room part into a storage area for the instruments he needed for his business as a disc jockey. He worked at a nightclub
and traveled a lot. Tonight, he was off and sprawled out on the couch with a fat blunt between his lips, a slender, big-chested
girl on his lap and another on the couch next to them.
As I entered, all eyes were on me. Doug grinned. “Griff, you’re right on time.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of the
woman sitting on the couch and stroked her there. “Bree right here’s been waiting for you.”
He gave me a wink. The woman, who got to her feet, had a bored expression on her face, but as she assessed me, she smiled.
“Hi, Doug’s been telling me all about you, but he never mentioned how hot you are.”
I nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“Grab a beer from the fridge and join us,” Doug said. “We got music playing, and the girls can dance for us.”
The women seemed eager to do exactly what Doug had said. After so many years in prison, I should be excited at what was
happening here, but I wasn’t in the slightest. Not a lick of interest lashed through me. Instead, warm blue eyes filtered into my
mind.
Would he dance for me if I asked?
 5

SCOTTIE

I fAnd
there was a record for the worst date in the Guinness Book of World Records, my night should be in it under that category.
that was without any effort on my part to be included.
I clenched my fingers tightly and squeezed my butt cheeks as my date braked at the end of the driveway. Hard. So hard the
car jolted. He’d been driving like a maniac since we left the restaurant, and it couldn’t be the alcohol, unless he’d snuck in a
glass or two while I’d been in the bathroom, contemplating how to fit through the window bars to escape.
Even though I was small, I couldn’t, and I’d almost gotten stuck. I should have ended the date early, but each time I’d tried,
he’d talked over me and dismissed the many hints I’d given that we didn’t have anything in common. Besides being a human
being and having similar needs consistent with our species.
This date had sucked, and it was all Griff’s fault.
If he hadn’t kissed me, I wouldn’t have obsessed over it so much that it worried me. And when a coworker suggested setting
me up on a blind date with her gay cousin, I wouldn’t have forced myself to say yes. To forget about Griff. So much for that. I
kept comparing Curtis to him, and it was no surprise who I found lacking.
Curtis was well groomed, had a nice smile and a confident posture. He should have been the perfect guy to take my mind off
Griff. But Curtis had been an overbearing jackass, overriding my order and asking the waiter to bring me a salad instead of the
juicy steak I’d been craving the moment I saw it on the menu. Apparently, he liked my figure, and if we were to continue dating,
I would have to maintain it.
Red flags waved in front of my eyes all night. I’d been through one crazy, abusive boyfriend, and that experience was enough
to last me a lifetime.
Curtis’s hand landed on my thigh, dangerously close to my cock, which was so dead I could start making funeral
arrangements for it. I was pretty sure this guy would never be able to resuscitate it, but I didn’t want to think about who might.
Darn it.
My cock twitched. From the way he squeezed my thigh, Curtis noticed. Probably believed it was because of him.
“I was thinking,” he said. “For our next date, we’ll go out next weekend. You’re free then, right? It doesn’t matter. Whatever
you’re doing, drop it.”
I chuckled nervously, released my seat belt, and pushed his hand off my thigh. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to check, and
something might come up, but this was fun. Drive back safely!”
Without waiting for a response, I quickly got out of his car and shut the door. But when I rounded the hood, he was next to
me, wearing that smile I’d thought was nice at first but now just seemed predatory and creepy.
“What kind of date would I be if I didn’t walk you to the door?” he asked.
“Really, you don’t have to.”
“I insist.”
Which I’d feared. As we climbed the steps, he dropped his hand on my lower back, slipping just low enough to graze my ass.
“This is it.” I turned to face him so he would have to move his hand. “Thanks again for tonight, Curtis.”
“Wait, not so fast.” He caught my wrist. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“It’s a bit late and—”
“It’s the weekend, Scott. You had a good time, didn’t you? It doesn’t have to end.”
Fudging fudge sticks. He was one of those guys who needed plain words. “Yeah, you see, Curtis, the thing is that I didn’t
have that much of a good time. I really appreciate you paying for the dinner and everything, but I don’t believe we’re a good
match.”
“Not a good match? You’re a bottom, aren’t you?”
“There’s much more to a relationship than that.”
“You’re not interested in a relationship?” He shrugged. “So? You’re a bottom, and I’m a top. I don’t have to spell out for you
what goes where. I mean, you’re not exactly my type either, but I’m not making a fuss about your braces and not being all that to
look at.”
My mouth bobbed open. “What?”
“You got a mirror, sweetheart. You can’t afford to pass up someone like me, so stop playing hard to get and let me in.”
“You should go.” I took my keys out of my pocket. I had nothing left to say to him.
“Not even a kiss after I paid for your meal?”
“A meal I didn’t even want!”
“The only thing you got going for you is that doll size body of yours. Men like me—the fuck!”
I spun around, and the keys hit the floor.
“Griff?”
Looking like a god of vengeance, Griff had Curtis by the collar, holding him high enough that the other man’s feet barely
touched the ground.
What was he doing here?
“I believe he asked you to leave.” Griff’s voice was a low growl that shot tingles through my body. “But before you do,
apologize.”
“I won’t.”
A glint of steel flashed in front of Curtis’s face. I hopped away from the door and grabbed Griff’s shoulder. “Griff, don’t.
He’s not worth it.”
“I won’t leave permanent damage.”
“Still…” I shifted from one foot to the other. “Put it away before someone gets hurt.”
Griff jerked Curtis closer. “Are you going to apologize or what?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry, okay?”
“Not to me. To him.”
Curtis turned toward me, which had to have been hard to do, given Griff had him in a pretty tight hold. Curtis’s face was
white, and his eyes filled with fear. “I’m sorry, Scott. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”
“Now tell him why you said those things to him.”
“What?”
I nearly had a heart attack from watching the interplay. Curtis looked so confused, and Griff was so serious, his face set in
stone.
“Tell him you’re an idiot because only an idiot would have said those things to him.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m an idiot. That’s why I said those things to you.”
“Now scram!” Griff shoved him and let go. Curtis stumbled down the steps, falling flat on his ass. He scrambled up, ran to
his car, jumped into it, and squealed out of the driveway.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” Griff sheathed his knife and slipped it back into the pocket of his jacket.
“Are you crazy?” I squeaked. “You pulled a knife on someone!”
“To defend you.”
Aww, how sweet.
I shook my head. No! It was bad to pull knives on people. Very, very bad.
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
Griff sighed. “Do I need to coach you in what to say too?”
“What?”
“Thank you. That’s what you’re supposed to say when someone comes to your rescue.”
“I had it handled.”
Griff bent and scooped up the keys I’d dropped. “Still dropping keys, I see.” He walked over to the door and unlocked it.
“What are you doing? Jay—”
“Left half an hour ago.”
“Oh.” I pushed my hands into my pockets. “Then what are you still doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.” He walked into the house as if he owned it.
“Griff, you’re not supposed to be here.” I followed him and slammed the door shut. “What if Jay comes back?”
“I’ll climb through the window.”
“Wait! Just wait a minute, Griff!”
I rushed after him and…careened into his chest when he turned suddenly. He took me by the shoulders and glared at me.
Why did he look mad at me?
“Wait for what, Scottie?”
My face burned. Why did I like it so much when he called me Scottie and not Scott like everyone else? Scottie was my
childhood nickname that no one called me anymore except Jay. I’d made it clear that I’d outgrown the name so people would
stop treating me like a kid because of my size. Crazy to think I’d now like it when someone other than my best friend called me
by that name.
“I know it’s been a week and I promised to talk to Jay, but—”
“You think that’s why I’m upset?”
“I don’t understand.”
“First you kiss me like you mean it, and then you’re out on a date with some other guy.”
Oh.
He was jealous? My heart skipped a beat, and suddenly the horrible night wasn’t so bad anymore.
I smiled.
“I mean, it’s bad enough you kissed his dad. Do you make it a habit to cheat on him?”
“What?” The high I was feeling evaporated like the poppers my ex used to force me to sniff when he was going to be rough
on me. The high never lasted long enough, and then came the pain.
“I’m talking about you cheating on Jay. Who’s that guy you were with tonight?”
“A date, but—”
“Do you have an open relationship? Is that it?”
“No, we don’t. Just let me—”
“Then what the hell are you doing, Scottie?”
“I’d tell you if you let me finish a freaking sentence!”
The room fell silent. I glared at Griff. Fiddlesticks. He made me shout. I didn’t shout. Jay did all the shouting in this house. I
was the quiet one.
“I’m listening,” he said.
I removed my glasses and rubbed them with the hem of my shirt, then set them back on my nose. “I’m not in a relationship
with Jay. What on earth gave you that idea? We’re best friends—brothers—except not really brothers because you’re not my
father. If you were, then what we did that night would have been…incestuous, but I guess we could be brothers from his
mother’s—”
Griff groaned. “Stay on track, Scottie.”
“Like I said, we’re just friends.”
“Are you sure?”
I placed my hands on my hips and raised my chin. “I think I’d know if I’m in a relationship with someone.”
“But the things you said…you always talked about Jay.”
“Of course I did, to give you information about him. That was the purpose of those letters, wasn’t it? I mean, besides the
weird parts where I got too comfortable talking to you about certain things.”
“You always went on about how much you love him.”
“And I do! He’s family to me.”
“And you’ve never…”
I shook my head. “Good gravy and biscuits, of course not. We might have fooled around for a hot minute, but that was ages
ago when Jay was questioning. He’s not even…my type.”
Jay was too nice. I seemed to have a thing for bad guys who thought nothing of pulling a knife on someone.
“You have a type?”
“Don’t we all?” I frowned, then gasped. “Wait a minute. You kissed me, even though you thought Jay and I were in a
relationship?”
Color rushed to Griff’s face. For once, I wasn’t the one looking like a boiling lobster. “I didn’t say I was proud of my
actions.”
“What would Jay say if he knew you were kissing the guy you thought was his boyfriend?” I couldn’t help my grin.
“It’s your fault,” he groaned.
“What? How so?”
“You’re nothing like I expected, Scott.”
My smile faded, and I dropped my gaze. “Well, you’re not what I expected either. Definitely not for you to pull a knife on
someone. Do you know how reckless and dangerous that was?” I raised my head and nailed him with my glare. “Do you want
to go back to prison? I thought you wanted to stay out so you can have a relationship with your son. Pretty sure an ex-convict
shouldn’t be carrying a weapon.”
“You mean you’re worried about me?”
“Pfft.” I wiggled past him. “I’m worried about Jay not getting the chance to reconcile with his father.”
“Are you sure you and Jay—”
“Positive.” When I walked into the kitchen, he followed me. I took two bottles of water out of the fridge and handed him one.
He looked like he could use it. “What were you doing watching our house?”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“Have you talked to Jay yet?”
“I haven’t had the chance.” Mostly because I was a coward who didn’t want to lose his best friend. Jay was the only person I
had in this world.
“You haven’t had the chance, or you have no intention of talking to him?” Griff guzzled down the bottle of water. I stared at
his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. My tongue went dry despite just taking a sip of water. I wanted to lick his neck
and cover him with hickeys.
“Maybe I can try harder, but it’s difficult telling someone you care about that you not only violated their privacy but also
broke their trust.”
“Scottie, you said you would talk to him.”
“And I will.”
“When?”
“Scott, you home?” The front door shut, and I froze.
Jay was home. I hadn’t heard his car pull up.
“Answer him,” Griff whispered.
“Yeah, yeah, I am.” I rushed out of the kitchen to meet Jay in the hall. I had to distract him long enough for Griff to get out.
“How was your date?” Jay hung his coat into the closet. Holy cracker. How to prevent him from entering the kitchen?
“It was horrible.”
“Why? Did he try anything? I told you we should do a double date so I can check out this guy.”
“You can’t protect me all the time, Jay. I need to get back out there on my own.”
“Yeah, well, next time, meet him at the restaurant instead of getting into some jerk’s car. Okay?”
He started past me for the kitchen, and I grabbed his arm. “Wait!”
“What?” He frowned. “You’re acting weird.”
“Yeah, well, I need to talk to you about something, and it’s important.”
“Just let me grab a beer first.”
“The beer can wait.” I tugged on his arm and dragged him with me into the living room.
Jay groaned. “Scott, it’s not the sex stuff again, is it? You know I don’t mind if you’re gay, but I don’t want to talk about the
sex stuff.”
“It’s not.”
I gestured for him to sit. He took a seat on the sofa, and I plopped down next to him.
“What’s up?”
“I’ve just been thinking.”
“About?”
“My dad.”
“Your dad? Why? The asshole left you when you were a baby.”
“Yeah, but I always wished I got to know him. Hoping that maybe he regrets it and doesn’t know how to face me. Maybe if I
find him, we can let bygones be bygones.”
“You’re going to try to find him?”
“Yeah.” I blinked a couple of times. The words had come from an empty thought to bring my point across, but now that I had
uttered them, a longing opened up inside me to do just that. I wanted to find my father and see what kind of man he was.
Jay shook his head. “Why would you want that loser in your life? If he didn’t want you as a baby, what he wants now hardly
matters.”
“Maybe the circumstances were different back then.”
“It doesn’t matter what kind of excuse he had, Scott. You don’t just leave your kid. Anyone who does shouldn’t expect any
form of relationship with their child.”
“But what about your father?” I asked.
Jay’s body went rigid. “What about him?”
“Don’t you ever, you know—”
“No, I don’t know. What are you bringing him up for?”
“Because at least you know where he is. You know how to see him. I’d give anything to know where my biological father
is.”
Jay jumped to his feet. “Why are we even talking about this?”
“Because…maybe it’s time to see him, Jay.”
“You can’t be serious right now. I told you I never want to talk about him.”
 “I know, but what kind of friend would I be if I don’t do what I think is best for you?” I stood as well and stared him down,
even though I had to look up at him.
“You think what’s best for me is to form a bond with a murderer?” Jay thundered. “He killed someone!”
I swallowed hard. He was right. Not only had Griff taken someone’s life, but he had also held a knife at my date’s throat
tonight.
Oh darn it, was I wrong in thinking Griff had changed? That there had to be a good reason he had killed that man almost
twenty years ago?
“And he’s doing his time for it.”
“That’s forgiveness from the state, not from me, and I’m sure not from the family of the victim either.”
“But—”
“Just drop it, Scott.”
“He sends you letters, even though you don’t open them.” I put my hand on his arm. “Jay, that’s someone who’s trying.”
“He should have tried harder. He should have thought about the kid he was leaving behind with a lousy mother before he
killed that man, but he didn’t think of me, did he? So why the fuck should I be thinking of him?”
“We make mistakes, but—”
“I said to drop it!” Jay jerked his arm away, raising his hand.
“You’re just a waste of fucking space!”
I jumped back, lifting my arm to protect my face, tripped over my own feet, and went down hard. My heart beat fast, and I
swallowed the rush of bile that rose up in my throat.
“Scott.”
I glanced up. Jay didn’t look angry anymore, but confused and hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s one thing to bring up my father when you know that’s a hard limit for me, but to act like I’d ever hurt you...” He shook
his head. “How can you even think that?”
“Jay, it’s not—”
He stalked out of the living room.
“—you.”
The front door slammed shut. I winced and closed my eyes. Footsteps approached. I opened them, but my lashes were wet,
and I couldn’t see clearly. I slipped my glasses off, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, and settled them back on my nose.
“What happened?” Griff placed a hand on my shoulder and helped me up.
I shook my head, my insides feeling hollow. “It’s nothing.”
“It can’t be nothing. Jay seemed more upset about the last part of that argument than about me.”
I inhaled deeply and let out the breath. “Did you hear everything?”
“Pretty much.”
“Then you know…”
“He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
He sounded so defeated. Unlike the Griff I’d come to know over the years. Even while locked up, his words had always
sounded robust and positive.
“I should go,” he said.
“Wait, you’re leaving?”
“You heard him.”
“He’s just still hurt.”
“And if you keep pushing, you may ruin your friendship with him. I can see both of you value that.”
“We go a long way. He wouldn’t let something like this come between us.” At least, I hoped not. It would suck not to have
Jay in my life anymore.
“You didn’t sound so sure about that the last time we spoke.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Just leave it
alone, Scott. You’ve tried. I can’t expect anything more from you.”
“But he—”
“Scottie.” He raised his hand and brushed my cheek gently. “Thank you for everything.”
My heart lurched painfully. His hand dropped away from my cheek. Why did this feel like good-bye? What if I never saw
him again?
“Please don’t go.”
By the time I’d found my voice, Griff was already gone. I sat heavily on the sofa, pulled my legs up to my chest, and
wrapped my arms around them. This couldn’t be all, could it? Griff might have done something wrong, but he meant well by his
son. Why shouldn’t they have a happily ever after?
The man held a knife to someone.
 A shudder rippled down my spine. Very few people in my life had ever tried protecting me like that. I owed him. I owed him
big-time. Not just for tonight but for all those years I’d written to him. I’d divulged those inappropriate things because he was
the only person I could have talked to about them. Jay never wanted to discuss intimacy with me, and with Griff in prison, it
had felt safe. I’d never expected him to be released and for my words to come back and haunt me.
The least I could do was try to repair his relationship with his son. With or without his help.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
dire, son père est en effet Capitaine au long cours dans cette maison
et doit se trouver pour le moment à Rarotonga, au fond du Pacifique
austral…
Bernard les attendait au bord du trottoir ; Noë lui tendit la main
pour traverser avec lui la rue de Rivoli, mais avec une inattention
parfaitement simulée l’enfant s’était approché du maître qu’il prit par
la manche ; le bonhomme ravi lui donna une tape d’amitié et regarda
Noë d’un œil rieur ; mais l’expression du jeune homme taciturne lui
fit deviner que sous l’apparente ingénuité de Bernard venait de se
cacher quelque petite vilenie et que l’enfant les avait moqués tous
les deux. Décidément, se dit-il, il faudra serrer son jeu avec ce jeune
diable.
Arrivés sur le pont, Bernard reprit son avance et le père Lazare
demanda à Noë ce qui venait de se passer. Toute explication ayant
été donnée, il resta pensif. Mais enfin, songeait-il, d’où tout cela
peut-il venir ? Les Rabevel sont de fort braves gens, un peu têtus
certes et même boudeurs, mais francs comme l’or, bons comme le
pain ; et fins avec ça. Et courageux ! On l’avait bien vu pendant les
Journées ; le père Rabevel avait fait celles de 30 et celles de 48, et
la Commune, encore qu’il fût déjà bien vieux. Bon ; mais ce Bernard
n’avait pas l’air lui non plus d’avoir froid aux yeux ; il était donc bien
Rabevel. Noë pourtant le prétendait sournois et de tendances
cupides, violentes et dominatrices. « Au fait, dit Lazare, je
comprends fort bien que vous ayez gardé ce petit qui n’a plus de
père, puisque ton malheureux aîné est mort deux mois avant sa
naissance, mais enfin sa mère ne pouvait-elle le garder elle-même ?
et où est-elle ? s’est-elle remariée et son nouvel époux ne veut-il pas
prendre l’enfant ? est-elle malade et incapable de s’en charger ? ou
bien est-elle morte ? »
Le petit Bernard s’était insensiblement laissé rejoindre et il
écoutait attentivement bien que d’un air indifférent ; mais les deux
hommes ne le regardaient pas.
— Cher Monsieur Lazare, dit Noë qui desserrait avec peine les
dents, nous autres, nous ne sommes que de simples ouvriers qui ont
poussé assez pour en employer d’autres ; et nous travaillons avec
les compagnons ; et on connaît l’ouvrage ; c’est pour dire qu’on n’est
pas des gros monsieurs. Mais on a son honneur comme les gros. Et,
vous comprenez, Monsieur Lazare, je ne vous dirai point si elle est
morte ou si elle est vive, cette femme, parce que d’abord on ne le
sait pas, vu qu’elle n’a jamais donné de ses nouvelles ni envoyé un
sou pour le gosse ; et qu’on ne les lui aurait pas voulus comme de
bien entendu, ses sous ; en parlant par respect, ce qu’on gagne
avec le cul n’est jamais propre. Je ne sais pas d’ailleurs qu’est-ce
que je vais chercher là ; la vérité c’est que nous ne savons pas s’il a
une mère ni même s’il en a jamais eu une. Vous comprenez ?
— Je comprends, je comprends, dit doucement le maître d’école.
Voilà des choses, ajouta-t-il comme se parlant à lui-même, qu’on
n’aurait pas vues du temps de l’ancienne Rome. Mais les institutions
corrompent le genre humain. Qu’il y ait des femmes sages et fidèles
et des hommes intègres après les turpitudes de la Royauté et des
deux Empires, cela passe l’imagination. Pourtant il y en a ; c’est la
majorité ; et c’est la preuve de la bonté foncière de ce genre humain.
Le gouvernement du peuple nous ramènera à l’âge d’or, Noë ; nous
y touchons déjà ; que chacun oublie ses misères pour songer au
salut de tous. Vive la République !
Il mit sa main sur l’épaule du garçonnet qui, maintenant, marchait
à côté d’eux.
— Et de toi, poursuivit-il, petit Bernard Rabevel, de toi nous
ferons un grand citoyen ; un noble et vertueux citoyen. Tu promets
par l’intelligence et la volonté ; nous les éduquerons comme elles
doivent l’être. Veux-tu être bijoutier ? Non. Changeur, géographe,
mécanicien ? Tu ne sais pas. Veux-tu mener des hommes, être
puissant ? nous t’en donnerons les moyens. Tu seras le plus grand,
le plus riche, le maître, tu entends, le maître par la fortune et la
puissance.
L’enfant sourit, leva vers Lazare des yeux extasiés, il donna d’un
geste brusque et comme d’oubli ou de pardon sa main libre à Noë.
Lazare fit un imperceptible signe au jeune homme et continua.
 — Oui, tout cela, c’est pour toi que je le disais ce matin, pour toi
tout seul. La République t’ouvre ses bras et elle te recevra parmi les
plus grands de ses fils. Il reste à en être digne c’est-à-dire à donner
l’exemple de la vertu, de la justice, de la bonté ; à se rappeler que
tous les hommes sont égaux et frères…
Mais l’enfant, depuis un moment, n’écoutait plus. Ils entendirent
sonner sept heures à Saint-Gervais et ils pressèrent le pas. La rue
des Rosiers était grouillante de lévites sordides quand ils y entrèrent.
Le père, Jérôme Rabevel, qui, sur le pas de la porte, guettait le
retour de Noë, les aperçut et cria dans l’escalier que Mr. Lazare
arrivait avec le cadet ; les femmes mi-souriantes, mi-furieuses
atteignirent la poële pour sauter une omelette supplémentaire et le
brave vieux Jérôme fit quelques pas au devant de ses hôtes.
— Voyez que j’ai encore de bons yeux, Monsieur Lazare ? Je
vous ai reconnus de loin.
— Et parmi cette foule qui sort des ateliers.
— Cela, ça m’aurait plutôt aidé, s’il faut dire vrai ; car, vous
tranchez, tout de même, au milieu de tous ces Galiciens.
— Je crois en effet que la majorité de ces gens sont des
étrangers.
— Des étrangers ! il n’y a que de ça ; c’est bien simple, il n’y a
que de ça. Ah ! autrefois, ce n’était pas pareil. Entre nous, pour cette
chose-là, l’Empire avait du bon ; la République laisse faire ; qu’est-ce
que vous voulez ? il est vrai, au fond, que tous les hommes sont
frères.
— Et les Prussiens ? demanda Noë en riant.
— Ah ! ceux-là, fit le vieux qui cracha avec dégoût, tout ce que
vous pourrez me dire c’est de la sciure et des copeaux ; on ne me
tirera pas de l’armoire qu’ils sont d’une autre fabrique que nous.
— Mais non, mais non, dit Lazare ; ils sont moins avancés sur le
chemin du progrès moral, voilà tout ; à nous de les civiliser comme
nous civiliserons ces Pollaks.
 — Bien sûr, bien sûr, chacun son idée, pas vrai. Mais pour les
Pollaks, ils ne font pas grand mal. Ça travaille et c’est assez
tranquille ; on n’en souffrirait pas trop sauf que c’est sale, que ça pue
et que ça fourre de la vermine partout où ça pose l’équerre. Montons
dîner.
Ils suivirent le couloir obscur et prirent l’escalier fort raide en
s’aidant de la corde qui servait de rampe. La mère Rabevel, sur le
palier, élevait au-dessus de sa tête la grosse lampe à pétrole ornée
de fleurs.
— Heureusement que vous savez où vous venez, dit-elle à
l’invité. On se croirait dans la caverne d’Ali Baba quand on entre
dans ce couloir.
— Mais je connais le mot qui donne le jour, répondit le maître
d’école. Sésame, ouvre-toi !
Rodolphe Rabevel de l’intérieur de la cuisine ouvrit en effet la
porte en riant et le père Lazare s’écria :
— Je reconnais les aîtres. Rien de changé. Plus de quarante ans
que je suis venu ici pour la première fois, avec vous, Jérôme. J’avais
dix ans et vous en aviez vingt-cinq. C’était tout pareil. Vous vous
rappelez.
— Si je me rappelle ? C’était à la veille des journées, foutre ! Ah !
ah ! les ébénistes du faubourg Antoine…
— Saint Antoine, dit la mère Rabevel.
— Antoine, répéta le vieux en clignant un œil pétillant. (Ça ne
peut pas faire de bonnes républicaines, ça aime trop les messieurs
prêtres, ces bougresses de femmes, pétard de sort ! Mais c’est une
citoyenne qui n’en craint pas pour vous tenir une maison ! et la belle-
fille, c’est pareil.) Je disais donc que les ébénistes du faubourg
Machin (te voilà prise, Catherine ?) venaient ici pour parler de la
chose ; parce que c’était à l’écart, on ne se méfiait pas. Pensez, si
près de l’Hôtel de Ville ! Et tous les mouchards logés dans le
quartier. Jamais, figurez-vous, jamais ils ne se sont doutés de rien.
Tu sortiras une bouteille de l’époque, cire jaune ; ça me donne soif
d’en parler ; vous le goûterez ce petit vin blanc, monsieur Lazare ; et
vous me direz ce que vous en pensez de cette mécanique-là ; je l’ai
soutiré huit jours avant les barricades. Et vous, sans vous
commander, Eugénie, servez la soupe, ma mignonne.
Il sourit au maître d’école.
— Oui, elle s’appelle Eugénie, ma petite belle-fille, brave petite,
comme l’ex-madame Badinguet. Mais elle est mieux. On ne lui
demande que de nous donner des petits Rabevel et ce sera parfait.
— Vous en avez déjà un, dit Lazare.
— Oui, fit le vieillard en regardant Bernard. Oui… Voyez ce que
c’est tout de même que la vie. J’ai eu quatre enfants. L’aîné, Pierre,
meurt en me laissant ce bambin. Le second, Rodolphe n’est pas
fichu à trente-six ans de me donner un petit bout d’homme à faire
sauter sur les genoux. Ma fille, troisième, meurt en couches à vingt
ans, quelle misère ! et le dernier, ce Noë que vous voyez et qui est
maintenant mon cadet, il parle de ne pas se marier. Dans quel temps
vivons-nous !
Eugénie posait sur la nappe la soupière fumante. On se mit à
table. Et soudain le vieillard rougissant comme un enfant s’écria :
— Et moi qui ne suis pas rasé, maître Lazare ! Aujourd’hui
justement que vous êtes là ; c’est un coup du sort. Donnez-moi cinq
minutes.
Lazare le regardait, propre, net, ce visage mince, aux rides
spirituelles, aux yeux noirs. Il retrouvait le même nez droit, la bouche
rieuse et bonne dans les enfants. Chez Rodolphe on voyait toutefois
l’air de ruse malicieuse du père qui ne se rencontrait pas sur la
figure de Noë plus souvent mélancolique comme celle de sa mère.
Tous deux, d’ailleurs, offraient le type du parfait compagnon français
tel que la tradition et les chants d’atelier le maintiennent dans une
élite depuis le Moyen-Age.
Le père Jérôme, un plat à barbe sous le menton, se savonnait
avec les doigts à l’ancienne mode. Puis, sans miroir, en un
tournemain il fut rasé.
— Qui veut l’étrenne ? dit-il plaisamment.
 Bernard s’était levé d’un bond et lui avait sauté au cou, plaquant
sur ses joues deux baisers retentissants :
— Ah ! ah ! fit le grand-père radieux, qui dit qu’il n’est pas
affectueux ce gamin ? Je prétends qu’il a du cœur, moi ; seulement il
ne le trouve que quand le corps et l’esprit sont satisfaits ; et ils ne le
sont pas facilement ; car il est exigeant, le gaillard !
— Le bonhomme a trouvé le mot, dit Noë en se penchant vers le
maître.
— Je le croirais assez, répondit Lazare.
— Vous nous excusez, Monsieur, demanda Catherine ; vous allez
manger des restes.
— Eh ! dit Rodolphe, que crois-tu que demande notre maître ; va,
il est un travailleur de la pensée comme nous le sommes des mains ;
il est simple comme nous, quoique plus intelligent et bien plus
savant. Pas vrai ?
— Bien sûr, répondit Lazare vraiment touché, tant cette pensée
sincère était proche de la sienne.
— Il faudra tout de même nous avertir une autre fois, reprit
Rodolphe ; nous ne sommes pas riches, les tailleurs, mais…
Jérôme l’interrompit en fredonnant :

Et les tailleurs sont des voleurs…

« J’ai fait de mon fils un tailleur ! Que voulez-vous ? L’aîné était

menuisier ; et habile, vous pouvez m’en croire. Celui-ci a voulu être
tailleur : il a installé ici le comptoir et le sixfranc, il nous enfume avec
son charbon de bois, il nous fait éternuer avec ses pattemouilles.
Est-ce que c’est un métier, ça : des ciseaux qui râpent et qui
grognent, une aiguille qui ne sait rien dire ? Moi, je descends au rez-
de-chaussée où Noë a naturellement remplacé mon pauvre aîné. Là,
il fait bon : la varlope siffle gentiment, le maillet dit ce qu’il a à dire et
on voit ce qu’on fait. Vous me direz que c’était mon métier. Tout de
même. Et puis, quel plaisir. Tenez, ce buffet et cette table sont dans
la famille depuis deux cents ans ; c’est le grand-père de mon père
qui les a dessinés et assemblés. Vous pouvez tâter : c’est massif,
solide, d’aplomb et d’équerre ; ça n’a pas bougé. Tous les meubles
de la maison ont été faits par des parents. Ça vaut d’être noble,
hein !
— Grandes choses, ces traditions, grandes choses, disait Lazare
convaincu.
— Ah ! bien oui, je crois bien, toutes ces assiettes au mur : celle-
là « La Liberté ou la Mort », celle-ci « La Bergère », ce plat à barbe
« Rasez-moi », tout ce qu’il y a là vient des vieux, rien du marché
aux puces. Vous croyez que ce gosse, quand il sera grand, il ne se
rappellera pas tout cela et qu’il ne voudra pas se nouer à ses vieux
lui aussi ? Je ne sais pas trop m’exprimer mais enfin je sais ce que
je veux dire, et c’est sérieux. Qu’est-ce que tu veux être toi,
Bernard ? Menuisier ou tailleur ?
L’enfant n’entendait pas ; il dessinait vaguement du doigt sur la
nappe et murmurait à voix à peine distincte : le maître, le maître…
— Il l’a dit, fit le vieillard, le Maître ; et ce n’est pas maître d’école
qu’il veut dire, sauf votre respect, monsieur Lazare, et malgré votre
belle redingote et votre chapeau gibus. Il y a longtemps qu’il veut
l’être, le maître. Depuis qu’il est né, je crois bien, le bougre.
Seulement il ne tenait pas le mot. Maintenant il le sait, je veux dire
qu’il le comprend. On aura du fil à retordre.
— L’éducation et les vertus du nouveau régime, père Jérôme…
— Ah ! monsieur Lazare, pour la République tout ce que vous
voudrez, vous le savez ; c’est le bien du peuple. Et puis, quoi, nous
sommes égaux et le droit divin c’est une blague. Mais pour dire
qu’un gars qui a quelque chose dans le ventre sera amélioré par
elle, vous ne le voudriez pas, ou alors vous n’êtes pas raisonnable ;
les hommes sont les hommes, allez !
— Père Jérôme, vous parlez comme un monarchiste.
— Non, foutre ! qu’on ne me parle pas des culs blancs ; mais,
faire confiance à l’humanité comme vous dites quelquefois !… Enfin,
trinquons à Marianne, et toi, Rodolphe, dis-nous quelque chose de
Victor Hugo.
Le tailleur se leva. Il disait les vers d’une voix sonore et
pathétique ; il rejetait parfois la tête en arrière et la douce Eugénie
debout près du buffet, joignait les mains et l’admirait. Une orgie de
tyrans, une fête de libertés et de grandeurs, une apothéose du
peuple souverain furent successivement chantées par les voix des
deux frères qui connaissaient par cœur tous les poètes de leur
temps, semblables en cela au grand nombre des compagnons du
faubourg. Bernard écoutait avec une sombre avidité. Que de mots
ardents et magnifiques dont le sens lui échappait ! Pourtant, il
distinguait dans ces hymnes l’existence de deux races, il sentait
confusément que l’une était contrainte et l’autre souveraine. Il
aspirait infiniment à quelque chose : libérateur, révolutionnaire,
dictateur, il ne s’en doutait guère, ne pouvait choisir. Mais ce qu’il
savait c’est qu’il aurait la calèche de Bansperger. Qu’il serait salué et
obéi, que nul ne lui imposerait comme aujourd’hui de faire les
commissions, d’essuyer la vaisselle et d’aider aux soins du ménage.
Il regardait tous les siens autour de cette table. Bien sûr ils n’étaient
pas méchants ; on ne cherchait pas à l’humilier, ni à le battre (bien
que Noë, ce matin…) mais on lui imposait l’obéissance ; on ne savait
pas lui donner ces beaux vêtements, ce luxe, cette pompe qu’il
voyait aux enfants riches ; il n’était pas libre ; et s’il disait : « Je
veux » il ne faisait naître que des sourires.
— Et penser, disait Lazare en sucrant son café, que si nous
autres, pauvres artisans, nous pouvons tout de même déguster ce
nectar nous le devons à l’esclavage inhumain qui pèse sur les
nègres en Virginie ou en Louisiane, malgré la prétendue abolition…
Bernard osa demander ce qu’on appelait l’esclavage. Et le maître
abandonna le langage emphatique auquel l’avait induit le lyrisme
déchaîné des poètes, pour expliquer d’un ton naturel la grande
misère des nègres, l’opulence cruelle et paresseuse des planteurs,
la fabuleuse richesse des courtiers, les vaisseaux chargés de café,
la cupidité des armateurs et des spéculateurs. Entraîné par son
sujet, il en vint à parler de la Bourse et de la Banque et il conta
l’étonnante histoire des cinq frères de Francfort. Il dit comment la
bataille de Waterloo les avait par un coup de crayon — ni plus ni
moins, Noë, que le coup de crayon dont tu traces ton axe dans le
bois de symétrie — par un simple griffonnage, valu cent millions au
Rothschild de Londres. Quelle est la puissance d’un maréchal de
France auprès d’eux ?
— Et ces gens-là, mes amis, ces gens-là menaient Pitt comme ils
ont mené plus tard le Philippard et Badinguet. Au fond, ces gens-là
étaient supérieurs à leurs soi-disant supérieurs. Sous les tyrans,
bien entendu. Vous comprenez bien que la ploutocratie ne pourra
rien dans la République. Ils le savent bien, allez ; ils manœuvrent
pour étouffer la jeune Marianne. Mais le lion populaire sera le plus
fort ; il a toujours su rugir quand il le fallait. Pas vrai, père Jérôme ?
— Pour sûr, acquiesçait Jérôme. Mais véritablement on n’a
jamais pu rien faire contre tous ces pirates. Les accapareurs, les
maltotiers, tous ces gens de gabelle qui font monter les tailles et les
patentes parce qu’ils ramassent le quibus, où voulez-vous les piger ?
Avec leurs papiers, leurs Sociétés anonymes, le peuple révolté ne
trouve que le vide.
— La République seule, désintéressée et soutenue par la voix
publique, la République seule, qui est pure parce qu’elle ne peut être
vénale, n’étant pas un individu mais une communauté, un
gouvernement issu du peuple honnête et probe, pourra étouffer
l’hydre…
Et comme Bernard l’interrogeait, le père Lazare lui décrivit
comme dans une image d’Épinal l’hydre de la Finance gorgée d’or et
de richesses, puissante et corruptrice, en lutte avec la jeune
Marianne.
— Et simultanément nous emploierons la douceur et la force.
Nous abattrons la finance dévoratrice, l’accapareur qui fait monter le
prix des draps, l’armateur qui fait monter le prix des blés, du sucre,
du sel, le banquier qui suce le petit commerce et l’artisanat, l’usurier
et le marchand de biens qui anéantissent la propriété paysanne par
le moyen de l’hypothèque ; nous les remplacerons par des fils du
peuple, intelligents, bons et généreux ; ils sauront se contenter d’une
richesse modeste et remplir honnêtement leur rôle social. Voilà le
but des vrais éducateurs sous le nouveau régime. Voilà qui sera
inédit et beau. N’est-ce pas, madame Catherine ?
— Je ne sais pas, monsieur Lazare, vous n’ignorez pas que nous
autres femmes nous n’entendons rien à la politique. Mais enfin il me
semble que ce que vous voulez faire n’est pas mauvais. C’est la
morale de Notre-Seigneur ; si tout un chacun était bon chrétien on
n’aurait pas besoin de réformer le gouvernement.
— Nous voilà au sermon, s’écria le père Jérôme. Donne-nous
plutôt la goutte, ça vaudra mieux.
Catherine mit sur la table l’angélique et les prunes à l’eau-de-vie
et elle reprit :
— Le parti prêtre, les messieurs prêtres, vous en avez plein la
bouche de vos « sacs à charbon », comme vous dites. N’empêche
qu’ils ne font plus de mal à personne s’ils en ont jamais fait. Et toi,
brigand de Jérôme, c’est bien un ignorantin qui t’a sauvé des
Versaillais ?
— Dame ! et je n’en rougis pas ; mais tu peux dire que je l’ai
toujours invité à venir nous voir ce brave frère Valier et que, quand il
passe dire un petit bonjour, on cause comme des amis. C’est un
brave homme et intelligent. Mais tous ne sont pas comme ça.
J’attends encore en tous cas qu’il me fasse voir et toucher
l’Immaculée Conception.
Catherine haussa les épaules tandis que les hommes riaient.
Puis s’avisant tout à coup de la présence du petit :
— Déjà onze heures et tu es encore là, toi ! monte donc te
coucher, tu ne pourras pas t’éveiller demain matin !
Bernard fit le tour de la table, souhaitant à chacun bonne nuit.
Cependant que sa tante lui préparait un chandelier, il embrassa
spontanément Lazare en balbutiant à son oreille :
— Vous m’apprendrez tout, tout ?
 — Quelle soif de science ! dit le régent à Noë qui répondit par
une moue sceptique.
L’enfant prit le bougeoir et ouvrit la porte.
— N’oublie pas ta prière, lui cria sa grand’mère.
Et il entendit, comme il refermait, la vieille Catherine gourmander
son mari. Il s’arrêta, retenant le souffle.
— As-tu donc toujours besoin de déblatérer contre la religion
devant ce petit ?
— Bah ! répondit le vieux, il saura bien un jour ou l’autre que c’est
des blagues, la religion.
— N’empêche que si tes fils n’avaient pas eu une éducation
chrétienne, qu’est-ce qu’ils seraient ?
— Ce qu’ils sont, de braves garçons. Penses-tu donc qu’ils soient
restés honnêtes par peur de l’enfer puisqu’ils n’y croient plus depuis
longtemps ?
Bernard prit l’escalier. Il couchait seul dans une chambrette du
cinquième étage depuis qu’il avait accompli ses sept ans. Il arriva
sur le palier et suivit le couloir en sifflotant. Comme il s’arrêtait
devant sa porte il crut entendre un bruit dans la pièce.
— Il y a peut-être un voleur, se dit-il.
Mais il ne songea pas une seconde à redescendre ni à appeler. Il
tira de sa poche un petit couteau à manche de corne, l’ouvrit et entra
bravement. Tout de suite il distingua un corps d’homme sous le lit. Il
n’eut pas un tremblement.
— Faudrait voir à s’en aller, dites donc, le drille, cria-t-il.
Un long jeune homme, tout confus, se tira péniblement de sa
retraite ; l’enfant, la lame tendue, l’épiait :
— N’appelez pas, au moins, je vais vous dire : je ne suis pas un
voleur, fit l’individu qui se sentait grotesque. Je me suis trompé de
porte ; je croyais être chez Mademoiselle Laure, la bonne du
deuxième ; je l’attendais et quand j’ai entendu quelqu’un qui venait
en sifflant j’ai compris que ce n’était pas elle et je me suis caché.
 — Et qu’est-ce que vous lui voulez à Laure ? demanda Bernard.
L’autre rit grassement.
— Tu es trop gosse pour comprendre… Sais-tu où elle couche ?
— Je ne vous tutoie pas, moi, dit le petit. Allez, partez.
Le jeune homme vexé, allongea la main pour une gifle.
— Ah ! non, fit l’enfant. Et de toute sa force il le frappa du
couteau.
— Sale gosse ! cria l’individu avec un gémissement de douleur. Il
m’a entaillé le bras.
La porte voisine s’était ouverte au bruit. Une fille en camisole,
s’approcha :
— C’est vous, dit-elle, imprudent ! Venez qu’on vous guérisse.
Ils entrèrent dans la chambre de la fille et Bernard referma sa
porte. Il se sentait un peu excité par le repas, la conversation, la
nouveauté radieuse de ce qu’il avait appris, l’espérance qui lui
promettait une vie magnifique. Il goûtait pleinement une sorte de
satisfaction immense. Sa victoire sur le pâle jeune homme
l’emplissait d’orgueil. Une phrase de son grand-père au sujet d’un
apprenti lui revint à la mémoire : « Je te le ferai marcher ce
foutriquet, moi ! » Peuh ! pour une écorchure il lui fallait des soins et
une consolatrice. Personne ne me console, moi, songeait-il avec un
orgueil amer. Il s’avouait que ses grands désespoirs étaient solitaires
et incompris. Nul ne pénétrait les silences où il s’enfermait, dents
serrées et langue entre les dents, après la moindre observation faite
sans malice à son égard.
Le sommeil ne venait pas. Il fit quelques pas dans la chambre
nue ; le carrelage net et froid, les murs blanchis à la chaux, le vitrage
de ciel-ouvert sans rideau, faisaient de la pièce un logement austère
et triste. Il monta sur une chaise, poussa la tabatière. La grande cour
intérieure était noire comme un tombeau. Un arbre magnifique et
solitaire achevait d’y mourir et la lumière qui veillait encore dans
quelques appartements venait se perdre dans ses plus hautes
frondaisons comme avidement absorbée. L’enfant croyait voir des
milliers et des milliers de personnages, agenouillés et l’écoutant. Il
leur dirait : Venez ! et ils viendraient. Il leur dirait : Partez ! et ils
partiraient. Et à ceux qui se révolteraient il savait bien ce qu’il fallait
faire. Tous des foutriquets ! Il descendit de son siège, se mit au lit,
souffla sa chandelle. Il crut entrer dans un conte. Toutes les images
qui peuplaient son cerveau d’enfant semblaient à cette minute
s’animer ensemble : les récits de ses oncles, les légendes de sa
grand’mère, les suggestions des boutiques, tout se mêlait pour
composer une vie extraordinairement fastueuse où il était le roi,
l’empereur, l’époux de la République et commandait à tous.
L’éléphant du Jardin des Plantes caparaçonné de riches tapis
balançait sa majesté, les fauves léchaient ses pieds. Ses ennemis
gisaient sur le carreau du Père-Lachaise, un petit couteau à manche
de corne planté dans le cœur. Il massacrait tout ce qui lui résistait. Il
avait une Bourse, déchirait des feuillets de papier, de vieux journaux
et les échangeait contre de l’or ; il était planteur, tout habillé de
blanc, gras et rose sous un immense parasol, et des nègres
soutenaient sa pipe démesurée. Tout tremblait sur son passage. Le
père Lazare était son introducteur et son ange gardien. Il entendait
sa voix : il faut être le maître. Puis, tout à coup : il faut être bon. Ah !
pour sûr, l’enfant se sentait si plein de bonheur épanoui et si prêt à
être bon : il comblait ses proches de cadeaux, il leur témoignait son
amitié. Qu’il était heureux ! Dans son demi-sommeil, il dit vaguement
sa prière comme le lui avait recommandé sa grand’mère, et en
remerciant le bon Dieu de l’avoir ainsi comblé. Un brusque
mouvement qu’il fit l’éveilla presque et il perçut, venant de la
chambre voisine, de déchirants soupirs. La conscience lui revint :
« C’est encore le foutriquet qui est malheureux » dit-il à voix haute,
en ébauchant un vague sourire. Puis il se rendormit.
Le lendemain commença sa nouvelle existence. Déjà, quand il
arriva à l’école, ses deux voisins installés causaient ensemble,
attendant l’heure. Ils l’accueillirent comme un ami et quand le père
Lazare fit son entrée, tous trois ne s’interrompirent qu’à regret.
Le vieux maître, psychologue attentif, eut vite pénétré cette
amitié et chercha à en tirer pour eux le meilleur profit. Il leur montra
que s’ils voulaient demeurer côte à côte il fallait qu’ils pussent avoir
en compositions des places qui leur permissent de se retrouver à
chaque fois dans cet ordre ; et que le meilleur moyen d’y réussir
c’était encore de travailler à être les premiers. Les enfants, fort
intelligents tous trois, le comprirent très bien. Ils prirent l’habitude de
se réunir, tantôt chez l’un, tantôt chez l’autre d’entre eux, pour y
préparer ensemble leurs leçons. Ils se piquaient fort d’émulation,
mais chacun avait ses faiblesses ; Abraham, d’une intuition
prodigieuse en calcul, se montrait assez piteux en devoir français ;
au contraire François y excellait et ne mordait guère à l’arithmétique.
Bernard, attentif aux trucs et aux ficelles, la mémoire
extraordinairement fidèle, s’enrichissait des acquisitions mêmes de
ses voisins ; studieux, régulier, toujours propre et précis jusqu’à la
minutie, jamais en faute, il gardait, inamovible, la première place,
tandis que ses amis se disputaient la deuxième. Le jeudi, ils
sortaient souvent ensemble et se livraient à des causeries ou à des
jeux interminables dans les squares et les jardins. Leurs rapports
n’allaient point sans dispute et, au début, les orages furent parfois
suivis de coups. Mais, bien que Bernard fût robuste, François,
autrement fort, lui avait infligé de telles corrections que, la rage au
cœur, le petit Rabevel ne cherchait plus les batailles. Encore qu’il ne
fût pas querelleur, François goûtait à se battre une véritable ivresse
et il triomphait sans ménagement ; aussi les rires de leurs
camarades, plus humiliants pour Bernard que sa défaite elle-même,
le corrigèrent-ils promptement. Quant à Abraham, l’instinct qu’il
devait à des milliers d’années d’oppression et de persécution lui
avait toujours épargné toute bataille. Le petit Rabevel ne fut pas
sans le remarquer. Sans que ses forces intérieures et ses
aspirations fussent en rien modifiées, il s’accrut en prudence, en
ruse, et il faut bien le dire, en hypocrisie véritable. Refrénés plus que
jamais, ses instincts de domination et de violence n’en croissaient
pas moins. Il semblait au contraire que leur ressort comprimé
davantage en eût acquis plus d’énergie latente. Mais rien ne s’en
révélait.
 Il y eut pourtant un jour mémorable qui fit un éclat. Trois années
s’étaient écoulées sur cette eau dormante et le garçon présentait
pour ses treize ans une figure vive, décidée et souriante, avec à
peine un je ne sais quoi de dérobé dans le regard mais qui ne
frappait pas dès l’abord. Il avait de grands succès scolaires, faisait
l’orgueil des siens et du quartier. Un soir qu’il montait à sa chambre,
il vit dans l’ombre du palier du troisième étage Tom, le chien de
Goldschmidt, le fabricant de chapeaux, accroupi et comme à l’affût.
Il se rappela tout-à-coup que sa grand’mère avait raconté qu’on
trouvait depuis quelque temps les chats du voisinage les reins
cassés, aux abords de l’immeuble ; il se cacha au détour de
l’escalier après avoir baissé la flamme du quinquet. Le chien ne
bougeait pas et regardait fixement dans une certaine direction ;
Bernard suivant son regard aperçut, dans la porte de l’escalier de
secours, une chatière nouvellement percée. Au bout d’un moment,
un matou, sans méfiance, parut ; il flaira l’atmosphère, agita un
instant la queue assez nerveusement et comme perplexe, fit
quelques pas et s’arrêta ; à cet instant, d’un bond silencieux, Tom fut
sur lui et, avant qu’il eût poussé un cri, le chat gisait, l’épine dorsale
brisée d’un coup de crocs. Du mufle le chien repoussa sa victime
dans la chatière ; on entendit dans la cage de l’escalier le corps
tomber sur le béton du rez-de-chaussée avec un bruit mou.
Bernard restait sur place, moite d’horreur, d’émotion, et d’une
sorte d’admiration : il eut la sensation d’être affamé, une espèce
d’appétit devant ce dogue qui léchait ses babines et bâillait avec
satisfaction. Un obscur désir lui venait d’être cette brute ; il se
rappela tout-à-coup le coup de couteau à l’amoureux de la bonne ; il
eût voulu avoir ce sang à portée de la bouche. Une envie, dont il
avait honte, de voir encore ce chien massacrer une autre bête
innocente traquait son imagination ; il se sentait cloué là. Pourtant il
se leva et redescendit à pas de loup. Il rentra dans l’appartement,
prétextant un livre oublié. La sueur au front, il alla derrière un placard
où reposait la chatte de la maison qui avait mis bas un mois avant. Il
prit l’un des chatons sans que la mère ronronnante s’y opposât et,
sur la pointe des pieds, il s’esquiva.
 Quand il aperçut de nouveau le chien, son cœur cessa de battre.
Le monstre couché le regardait d’un œil à peine ouvert. Il posa le
chaton et attendit ; mais Tom simulait l’innocence et le sommeil ; la
petite bête enhardie venue contre sa gueule le flattait du poil et de la
queue ; il se laissait faire d’un air bonasse. Bernard lui dit à mi-voix :
« Tu es malin. Pas tant que moi, tu vas voir ». Toute pitié avait
disparu de lui. Il saisit le chaton, le balança sous le nez du chien et
tout-à-coup le lui lança ; d’instinct, Tom avait tendu la gueule et
broyé les reins du pauvre animal ; il reposa le cadavre à terre en
baissant les oreilles et remuant faiblement la queue, craignant
visiblement d’être battu. Mais Bernard le caressa un moment en lui
disant de douces paroles ; puis il saisit le chat et le jeta par la fenêtre
dans la rue déserte.
Il se trouvait à la maison, le lendemain, lorsque la sensible
Eugénie raconta avec des larmes qu’on avait retrouvé l’un des
chatons martyrisé dans la rue. Bernard écoutait et contemplait sa
tante avec une impression nouvelle ; ces sanglots ne l’émouvaient
point de pitié mais lui donnaient une espèce de soif. Le soir même,
en montant se coucher, il prenait au nid un deuxième chat ; le chien
paraissait l’attendre et il n’en fut pas surpris ; à peine cette fois avait-
il posé à terre la petite bête que Tom la tuait. Il balança à
redescendre ; mais enfin, vaincu par le goût du péché, il revint au
nid ; un seul chaton, le dernier, reposait au sein de la mère ; il le prit
brutalement ; mais comme il atteignait le palier, son oncle Noë qui
avait cru entendre un frôlement quitta la table où il lisait entre le père
et la mère et arriva à temps à la porte pour voir celle-ci se fermer
doucement. Intrigué, il sortit à son tour, perçut le pas de Bernard, le
suivit dans l’ombre et assista au massacre.
L’enfant, pâle de rage, comparut devant les siens ; le grand-père
était anéanti. Catherine toute décomposée. Ils prononcèrent des
paroles énigmatiques pour lui.
— D’où peut-elle venir cette petite crapule, d’où peut-elle venir ?
disait Rodolphe.
Que pouvaient contre cette tête de fer les semonces des siens et
du maître d’école, le cachot, le pain noir ? Rien. Catherine attribua
cette misérable moralité à l’école sans Dieu. Sur ses instances il fut
entendu qu’il suivrait le catéchisme et verrait régulièrement le frère
Valier. L’enfant ne s’émut de rien. Les seules choses qui l’eussent
frappé, en dehors de l’affront de s’être laissé prendre, étaient les
paroles sibyllines prononcées par Rodolphe et dont il cherchait
vainement le sens.
Au catéchisme comme à l’école il fut l’enfant appliqué, artificieux
et ponctuel qui s’assurait les premières places, les prix et l’estime
des maîtres. Son intelligence toujours en éveil mais prudente
emmagasinait sans arrêt ; une prodigieuse mémoire et une
prodigieuse faculté d’oubli donnaient à sa pensée les armes et
l’aisance. Physiquement, il se développait fort bien, entraîné par
François à tous les exercices du corps. Blinkine réussissait moins et
Bernard ne se rappelait jamais sans dérision et orgueil la
maladresse qu’il montrait à ce jet du couteau auquel François les
avait initiés dans les fourrés du bois de Boulogne. Le petit Régis lui
avait fait don, en témoignage d’amitié et de satisfaction d’une longue
navaja à cran d’arrêt que son père lui avait rapportée du Mexique.
— Tiens, lui avait-il dit, maintenant que tu sais te servir du joujou,
voilà un souvenir. Nous avons treize ans, nous sommes des
hommes, on ne sait pas ce qui peut arriver. Il est vrai que si tu
deviens tailleur ou menuisier, tu n’en feras jamais grand’chose !
— Et toi ? répondait Bernard piqué.
— Moi, je vais partir comme mousse quand mon père reviendra ;
puis je deviendrai capitaine au long cours ; peut-être armateur ou
planteur. C’est une autre vie ça, tu sais ! Tu m’envies, Abraham ?
— Oh ! non, faisait l’autre ; je travaillerai avec mon père, moi.
— Qui sait ? On se perdra de vue, on ne se reverra pas.
Mais Abraham tranquillement :
— Si vous devenez quelque chose ou si vous voulez le devenir,
vous ne m’oublierez pas, allez.
Bernard enregistrait ces paroles.
 Il ne s’adoucissait pas en grandissant. Une jolie fillette du
voisinage, la petite Angèle Mauléon, qui suivait le même chemin
pour aller à l’école et aimait ce garçon à cause même de sa
sauvagerie, l’ayant un jour embrassé en le quittant et ainsi provoqué
innocemment la raillerie de ses camarades, il se précipita sur elle
comme une petite brute. Il fallut l’arracher pantelante de ses mains.
Quelque temps après, sur la proposition de François, ils
décidèrent de faire à eux trois une excursion en forêt de
Fontainebleau. Ils seraient censés invités à passer la soirée du
samedi et la journée du dimanche chez les parents de l’un d’eux, ils
prétendraient y coucher ce qui ne surprendrait point car cela arrivait
quand ils devaient travailler tard ensemble, et, ainsi, ils disposeraient
des deux jours du samedi et du dimanche. Restait la question des
dépenses.
— Moi, dit François, qui ne mentait jamais, je vous avertis que,
pour ma part, je dirai tout à ma mère ; à vous de vous débrouiller.
Abraham avait des ressources secrètes, opérant des
combinaisons étonnantes de jeux, de paris et de change avec ses
cousins. Mais Bernard se demandait, ayant fait quelques dépenses
sur les maigres sommes qui lui étaient remises, où il trouverait ce
qu’il cherchait.
Il se préparait à ce moment à sa première communion et, tous
les soirs, vers les huit heures, allait assister à une retraite qu’on
prêchait à Saint-Gervais. On était en Juin ; quand il retournait, sur
les neuf heures, dans la rue des Rosiers, le passage était sombre
mais les commerçants animaient la soirée, causant en groupes sur
les portes. Une fois, en passant devant la boutique du chapelier
Goldschmidt, Bernard vit le chien Tom couché sur le seuil ; le
chapelier, non loin de là, bavardait ; la boutique était déserte et noire.
Une idée subite traversa son esprit ; il s’approcha de la bête et la
flatta puis se mit à jouer avec elle ; le dogue prit goût au jeu ; ils
entrèrent et sortirent à plusieurs reprises ; le chapelier qui les
regardait s’amusait de les voir faire. Bernard recommença le
lendemain et finit par faire de ce jeu une habitude où personne ne vit
rien de suspect. Un soir, qui était la veille de la première communion,
au moment où il allait sortir, sa grand’mère l’embrassa plus
tendrement que de coutume.
— Il s’est bien amendé, dit-elle, ce petit. Le frère Valier m’a dit
aujourd’hui que, non seulement il était le premier au catéchisme,
mais qu’il faisait aussi l’édification de tous.
Il sortit et se rendit comme de coutume à la retraite. Puis, au
retour, subitement décidé, il feignit de jouer ainsi qu’il le faisait
maintenant tous les soirs avec Tom, pénétra dans la boutique et
courut à la caisse. Le tiroir était simplement poussé. Il l’ouvrit,
plongea la main. Mais déjà le dogue, une patte sur la main, l’autre
sur l’épaule, la gueule en feu, grondait et le tenait en respect. Le
boutiquier rentra au bout d’une minute dont l’enfant ne se rappela
jamais ce qu’elle avait pu durer. Il appela le chien, referma le tiroir et
dit simplement à Bernard :
— « Et tu vas faire ta première communion demain ! Jamais un
petit juif n’aurait fait cela. » Il réfléchit puis ajouta comme pour soi :
« Et il passe pour le meilleur sujet du quartier. Quelle nature !
Écoute, Bernard, quoiqu’il arrive, n’oublie jamais que je t’ai pardonné
et que je me suis tu. Tu promets ? »
L’enfant fit oui de la tête. Il rentra chez lui tremblant, le visage
cendré, les yeux hagards. La colère rentrée le rendait fou. A sa tante
inquiète il ne répondait pas mais ses mâchoires s’entrechoquaient.
On le dévêtit, on le coucha dans la chambre des vieux. Toute la nuit
il eut la fièvre et délira. Le matin, calme, effrayant, il déclara vouloir
se lever. « Tu n’y songes pas ! » dit Catherine. Il s’obstina, fit des
singeries, feignit le désespoir ; il voulait faire sa communion. Il
supplia ; il sut trouver des larmes. Le vieux Jérôme se mit en quête
d’une voiture ; on le recouvrit, on l’emmaillota ; pendant l’office tout le
monde remarqua son visage jaune et ses yeux injectés de bile ; il ne
cessa de claquer des dents ; il s’évanouit à plusieurs reprises ; les
parents craignirent de ne ramener qu’un cadavre ; le curé doyen vint
à son banc lui porter l’hostie et fit signe qu’on abrégeât ce supplice si
cruellement édifiant ; tandis qu’on l’emmenait, l’archiprêtre, en une
allocution qui émut profondément les fidèles, déclara qu’un tel enfant
consolait de bien des misères les serviteurs du Seigneur.
Cependant, Bernard avait demandé que la voiture s’en retournât au
petit trot. En pénétrant dans la rue des Rosiers, il se plaignit
d’étouffer et se pencha à la portière, la main comprimant le cœur.
Tout à coup, comme on passait devant la boutique de Goldschmidt, il
eut un geste terriblement rapide du bras. La navaja lancée par la
lame avec une force incroyable effleura en sifflant la tête de l’homme
qui, en bras de chemise, fumait sa pipe devant la porte ; et elle alla
se planter jusqu’à la garde, toute vibrante du manche comme une
banderille, entre les deux épaules du dogue qui s’écroula en hurlant.