“We end this, is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m stating facts. What could happen down the road if nothing changes.”
“We both know you’re not leaving New York. Bayside wouldstifle you. I wouldn’t want that. So, the bottom line is if I don’t move, we’re done.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Sounds like it.”
“I shouldn’t have even brought it up this soon. I’m just impatient. Wanting it all.”
“You deserve that, Lot.” His voice drops low. “I feel like I’m already letting you down.”
“You’re not.” The denial rushes out of me. “You know how I am. If you give me a little, I’ll want more. I’ve always been like that. But it’s on me to level-set.”
“Don’t downgrade your expectations for me.” He lets go of my hand.
I exhale hard, frustration scraping my throat. “You’re taking everything I say out of context. Why are we even fighting?”
“We’re not. You told me how it is, so let’s just enjoy the rest of the day.” He shuts the door on the conversation, retreating behind his walls.
“Dice—”
“Let it go, Lot. I don’t want to spend our time together circling something I don’t have answers for.”
So, no discussion. No reassurance. Not even a willingness to sit in the unknown with me. It’s not like I expected him to uproot his life right now. He’d just made a big change. I only wanted to know if New York was at least a possibility.
But looking at his tense profile, I do as he asks. Let it go. Giving him space… for now.
Back at the apartment, we dress for dinner and a show. The restaurant in the West Village is cozy and mellow. I order lobster ravioli; Dice goes for a bone-in strip topped with crab and garlic butter. The food is incredible. We share bites off each other’s plates, sip wine, laugh, keep it light. On the surface, we’re a happy couple on a date. But underneath, that earlier conversation lies like a landmine we’re both tiptoeing around.
After dinner, we catch the subway to see Alicia Keys’ musical production ofHell’s Kitchen. The songs fill the theater with the soulful ache of chasing more than you’re given. Some of the lyrics cut close, especially when the cast launches into “Kaleidoscope.” An upbeat anthem about thriving, not just existing. That’s how I like to live. Loud and passionately.
Dice watches the stage, shoulders pulled inward. His hand stays on mine the whole time, but the warmth somehow feels muted. We need to talk, but I can tell he’s not ready.
I clap hard with the crowd at the finale, letting the roar of applause fill me. We skip the late dessert and nightcap we’d planned and head home. Neither of us initiates lovemaking. We crawl into bed, sharing body heat and quiet breaths in the dark, but not our unspoken thoughts.
Sleep comes slow and restless. When a low ringtone stirs the morning, I’m half-awake. Dice had plugged in both our phones, but his is the one ringing. He answers, rubbing sleep from his face.
Then I feel his whole body go rigid.
“Don’t hang up this time,” he says sharply, slipping out of bed. “You obviously have something you want to say.”
He disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking shut, his voice muffled.
Unease pools in the pit of my stomach.Don’t hang up this time.Whoever it was had called before.
I sit up, waiting. When he finally returns, the shift in the air is like a cold front sweeping through.
“Dice?” I climb out of bed, approaching him. “Who was that?”
He hesitates, phone still clutched in his hand. Then?—
“A kid who says he’s my brother.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Dice
