Furious didn't begin to describe it. The longer he spent thinking about it, the angrier he got.
The bastard was leaving them.
Leaving them in the hands of someone who'd spent his entire life running away from responsibility. Good going, big guy, bra-fucking-vo. He deserved a round of applause for that one.
And yet the dark-haired man staring back at him in the mirror wasn't the same as the one it had been several weeks ago, that life had made him. The one who'd get out of town quick if he scammed a few too many folks and made enemies out of the wrong people. The one who'd let another man move in on his wife and didn't bother to pull the plug until months upon months later even as it went on under his nose. The one who had moved out on his eighteenth birthday with all his belongings stuffed into the back of his mustang to seek out work and education in Vegas. The one who had hid in his room from his father as a child, sometimes under his pillow to try and muffle out the angry shouting.
He'd been born out of irresponsibility, and he embodied it.
Nick had gotten so sick of his reflection that he lashed out and destroyed the mirror casting it.
It wasn't like him to lose composure like that, not quite so violently, to the point of physically breaking things… and it only sent him into a deeper spiral of doubt and uncertainty about being able to handle this. He wanted to say that something about the apocalypse had changed him… perhaps because there really was no running away– couldn't very well leave town when zombies had the entire country by the balls. And yet he didn't feel any different.
When Coach had said he'd 'make a good leader', what the hell had the older man actually meant? Had he just been trying to convince him then so that when they hit this snag down the road he'd just accept the role without a moment's hesitation? Or had there truly been something deeper, something he himself couldn't see? That could only be seen from the outside in?
The conman battled himself. Why couldn't he have picked Ellis? Or fuck, Rochelle. Anyone, anyone before him. He furled his hands into his hair, fuming in his self-loathing.
Ellis ambled behind him, setting something down on the desk. Nick took a deep breath, the southerner's movement bringing him partially out of his internal breakdown, and he turned to regard the boy. "You'd stick with me, no matter what?" he asked, needing to hear the answer.
The mechanic paused at the unexpected question, peering at him almost curiously. "Well shit, Nick, ya tole me once, I dunno if ya were listenin' tuh yerself, that'cha'd always be here fer me. What the heck kind'a friend would I be if I didn't return the favor, huh?" he reasoned, the epitome of simplistic logic.
Nick chuckled, running his hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I know," he said. He had made that commitment to the young man, hadn't he? He hadn't hardly given it a thought at the time, but it was a kind of responsibility. "It's just… something Coach said…" He shook his head, trailing off.
Ellis' face drew into a frown. "What'd he say?" he asked, looking suddenly very irritated, voice rising. "If he done gone an' said I wouldn't, then he's got another thing comin', cuz I ain't like him," he spat.
Well, at least someone thought this was as much bullshit as he did. "No, he didn't mean it like that," Nick quickly amended, hesitating on telling the rest of what had been spoken between them. He fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves.
The southerner shifted on his feet, seeming unconvinced. "The heck did he mean then?" he asked, folding his muscled arms in an aggressive, yet defensive manner.
Nick hesitated. "That I ought to be 'leader'." He paused, then added, "Because you and Rochelle really... trust me."
"Well a'course we trust ya! Shit," the younger man shook his head as if it were the most ridiculous thing he had heard.
"See?" Nick couldn't help but point out, "That's it right there."
"What's what?" he asked, blue eyes filled with bafflement.
"Well you trusted Coach too, didn't you?" Nick began to explain. "He was leading us. You thought he'd always be there for us. He even said himself 'he wasn't going to leave us behind'. And now look," the gambler threw out his arms. "Hell, kid, I trusted him. I did," he emphasized.
The mechanic fell silent. Nick frowned, feeling awkward that their dialogue had all but turned into a heated argument at this point. He slowly walked over and took a seat on the bed, giving another sigh as he set his elbows to his knees. Ellis sidled up closer to him. "Nick, man, what's really wrong?" he asked gently. "I know yer angry at Coach, so'm I. But there's somethin' else." Nick winced and averted his gaze. "I hate seein' ya all bent outta shape like this."
"I just… I don't know if I can do this…" he finally admitted, shutting his eyes.
He felt pressure descend on his shoulder; the southerner's palm squeezed. "A'course ya don't," Ellis spoke. "But'cha can."
Nick scoffed, averting his gaze with a roll of his eyes. "How do you figure that?" he asked sarcastically, disbelieving.
There was another pause before Ellis reached across him to the little bedside drawer. He pulled it open and took from it the motel-supplied copy of the Bible.
Nick came this close to laughing, but stopped himself. First prayer, now what? Bible readings?
He didn't interrupt as the more religious of the two of them flipped through the pages; he was obviously in search of some verse or another that the situation had reminded him of. The conman waited a little impatiently, finding it difficult to put his question on hold, but at last Ellis' forefinger stubbed down onto one of the pages. The thick accent began to read aloud, blue eyes scanning from left to right. "'For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.' Tha's Luke twelve, forty-eight."
Nick felt himself pause at the scripture. He certainly hadn't expected it to strike home quite so… well, well. 'Men who have committed much'. Yeah, that fit him like a glove. 'Of him they will ask the more.' Redemption, or some shit, he could only assume. He had to make up for past grievances. The big guy upstairs was 'testing' him. Nick wet his lips, not sure how to respond, chuckling softly, incredulously. However the mechanic spoke up before he could.
"The reason ya think ya ain't the best fer it is the reason ya are," Ellis concluded, shutting the tome and returning it to its place of safe-keeping.
He hadn't thought about it that way.
The southerner licked his lips a little nervously before the blue eyes raised to meet his gaze. "I know there's a lotta stuff ya ain't really… proud of, maybe. Stuff ya ain't ever even tole me," his voice sounded a little tight, "but nothin' matters 'cept the person ya are now." He gave a stiff nod and smiled. "An' tha's the person I know. The person I trust."
Damn, how did the kid manage to make so much fucking sense? He looked at him appreciatively, his eyes lightly misting as he spoke. "Thank you, Ellis," he delivered.
The mechanic put his arms around him then, squeezing him tight. "Ain't no one I'd rather be behind," he assured. Nick felt his own arms wrap around the younger man's middle, letting his face bury partially in the kid's wide shoulder. It was damp still from the rain, but nothing could have been more comforting to him at that moment than just having him close and hearing those words.
He'd never felt this… forgiven in all his life.