Benny lifts a brow from behind the bar. I shrug. First time I’ve seen Maurice since my return, but I’d bet my grail this summons is about Lot. I stash my case in the booth and follow him down the hall.
He sits behind his desk, arms folded, eyes direct. “Have a seat.”
That’s new. Usually, he barks an order or slaps down a criticism, then waves you off like you’re stealing his air. Sometimes I get the sense he’s not as cold as he comes off, but it’s still unnerving. His opinion of me matters more than I’d ever admit out loud, especially now that I’m with his daughter.
I sit, meeting his stare head-on, not showing any cracks in my armor.
“I heard New York was eventful,” he says without preamble. “A newly discovered brother… and father.”
Christ. His poison-tree bullshit sets off my defenses. “You judged me by my mother’s sins. Now you want to judge me by a man I don’t even know.”
There’s a small flicker in his eyes, a slight pull of his head. Barely noticeable. But I’ve seen enough of his stone face to recognize a hit landing.
“I’m not judging you by him,” he says. “His actions are his own. I’ve got no respect for a man who walks away from his responsibilities.”
“Neither do I. I haven’t been in contact with him, nor do I plan to bring him into my life—or Lot’s.”
“He’s already there. Maybe not in person, but in name, in face, in blood. When he was just an abstract part of your past, you could deny his existence. You can’t now. Not when he’s also the father of the boy you’re getting close to.”
“Those are two separate things,” I shoot back. “Damon’s a good kid. I’m not going to reject him because of who his father is.”
“I respect that. Accepting him under the circumstances shows character.”
A compliment? My guard spikes. “Where are you going with this, Maurice?”
“I don’t approve of how fast things are moving between you and Charlotte. But she’s serious about you, and you say you love her.”
“I do.”
His arms unfold, hands coming to rest on his desk, the steel in his spine easing a notch. “Then be the man she needs and deal with your father. Unpacked baggage has a way of spilling out, even when you think it’s locked up tight. I don’t want that touching Charlotte.”
Heat climbs my chest. He’s not wrong. I hate that part. Being told to man up by the one person whose respect I want. I could stand on a fool’s ego, but I’ll be damned if I give him another reason to doubt me.
I nod once, still holding his stare. “I’ll handle it.”
“See that you do.”
His tone irks. I can’t wait to get out of there. I’m halfway to the door when his voice halts me. A bit softer this time, but still heavy in importance.
“Years of silence and unanswered questions… that’s not the kind of weight you want to carry forever. Don’t just do this for Charlotte. Do it for yourself too.”
I’m speechless. It’s not friendly. It’s not approval. Or a personality transplant. But it’s something.
Hayden’s number hit my phone last night with Damon’s excitement bursting through his messages.
You really going to talk to him!! That’s huge!!!! He’s waiting on your call!!
Enthusiasm is part of Damon’s personality. Things I’m learning about him. Like he’s funny, loves clowning around, jams on all genres of music, obsessed with building Lego sets. Hardworking but average grades. Big crew of friends, mostly ballers. No girlfriend yet but crushing hard on this girl Jada. Shyer than I was, he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask her out.
Mybrother. Damn. That word still doesn’t quite roll off my tongue, but it’s loosening up.
Now, coffee cold on the counter, I’m staring at the contact he sent—Hayden Watts (Dad)—like it’s a grenade pin. One pull and everything I’ve buried deep explodes wide open.
Just do it, my brain shouts. I shift on the kitchen stool, thumb hovering, then tap.Shit.Two rings. I’m tempted to hang up, but he answers. Must have my number because he says my name.
“Dyson?” Deep voice. No familiarity. But hearing it punches my throat.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
