In the way Dice pulls back when emotions cut too deep. In how fast he shuts the blinds on his pain before I can peek inside. It’s in how he carries the weight solo rather than leaning. Because leaning requires trust. Vulnerability. The belief that someone will catch you.
The armor Dice wears didn’t come out of nowhere. He developed it piece by piece. Learned survival early, reinforced by parents who were never there. And by me.
I left him once, hurting him deeply. Then I threatened to do it again.
I didn’t mean to. But I did.
…if neither of us is willing to move…
The implication was clear. What he heard was that my love came with conditions. What he heard was that I might bail.
Fuck me and my careless mouth. I put that fear in his chest. Dressed up my own insecurities as self-protection. Just like the last time. I’m not ever going to do that to him again.
The distance won’t be easy. But there’s no ultimatum. I assured him of that in words. Now I need to show him that he can count on me to stick.
I stroke Queenie’s back. She’s asleep when I reach for my phone and call Mom.
She answers on the first ring. “Hi, sweet girl.”
Her voice feels like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold day. “Hey, Ma.”
“You okay?” she asks, Mom Intuition on instant alert.
“Yeah. I just… needed to hear you.”
“It’s always good to hear you. How’s the visit with Dice?”
I tell her about what we’ve been up to, how he crushed it at the club. “I love having him here. I want him to stay. But I said it in the worst possible way.” I repeat the conversation.
“That’s part of learning together,” she says gently. “You’re both going to make mistakes. But it sounds like you’re willing to hear each other out. That’s grown-up love, sweetie.”
I tuck my feet beneath me, still petting Queenie. “Dice found out this morning he might have a brother.”
Silence falls on the other end. I can picture her sitting straighter, confusion creasing her brow. “What do you meanmight?”
“I mean this kid called, claiming to be his little brother. No DNA proof. No paperwork. Just his word. He resembles him, though. And the story… it adds up. Dice believes him. But you know me, I stay skeptical. I need more information.”
“I would too. When did Jasinder supposedly have this child? She was serving an eight-year sentence.”
“He’s not Jasinder’s. He says they have the same father.”
“Father,” she says on a gasp. “Poor Dice must be reeling.”
“He is. Damon—that’s the kid’s name—lives in Philly, a student at UPenn. He asked to meet. At first, Dice was conflicted. It’s such a big decision. I tried to be that sounding board, gave him room to talk, to vent. And he decided to do it. We’re going tomorrow morning.”
“Whew.” She lets out a long exhale.
“Yeah.” I feel the steady rise and fall of Queenie’s little body beneath my hand. “Dice went for a jog, trying to outrun the weight of it. Damon’s already emotionally invested, but Dice isn’t in the same place. He’s curious, though. He’s never really had family—not by blood. And I think part of him wants to know what that could feel like. I just hope it’s not a total letdown.”
“Remember when I told you it’s okay to be soft?” Mom says. “That I wanted you to let love in?”
“Feels like forever ago, but I remember.”
“I’m proud of you, Lot. You’ve tried to find some middle ground with your father. You’ve embraced Queenie. You’re loving Dice and letting him love you back. You’re both bending. Softening for each other. Whatever tomorrow brings, you have that to see you through.”
Her words crest over me like a gentle wave.
I used to think being soft meant being defenseless—meant handing over control or losing myself in someone else. But I’mstarting to understand that softness isn’t weakness. It’s courage. It’s being strong enough to be vulnerable.
