Afterward, we’d stayed in bed talking, our rooms dark, voices low, both of us circling around our fathers—Lot and Maurice finding some common ground, me and Hayden… still in no-man’s-land.
C had offered to go with me today. As much as I appreciate the people I care about wanting to ride with me, I need to do this on my own. Doesn’t mean I’m not bugg’n out. I turn up the music and let my mind get lost in it.
Halfway into the drive, an incoming call pauses my house mix to announce Lot. My heart gives that extra hard pump.
“Hey, Web.”
“Hey.” She sounds warm from sleep, like something I want to wrap my arms around. “You almost there?”
“About forty minutes out. You’re up early.”
“You were on my mind. How you holding?”
“I want it done. Taking up too much headspace.”
“I get that. The anticipation’s usually worse than the event.”
“Not sure this one’s gonna follow that rule.”
“Maybe not. But either way, you’ll have faced it. And I’ll be here, waiting for you however it lands.”
I feel the strength of her presence across the distance. “That’s what’s pulling me through.”
“You got this, king. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. Thanks for calling. I needed your voice.”
The hotel lobby is vast, all crystal chandeliers and polished marble. Too bright for my mood. I find the café and enter, the carpet muffling the soles of my sneakers. I’m dressed in jeans and a hoodie. Casual and deliberate. Not trying to impress nobody.
The business crowd’s scattered around the room. Laptops open, phones pressed to ears. Makeshimstand out. Tall frame, back straight. Lean build. Charcoal blazer, pale-blue dress shirt, open at the collar. Wire-frame glasses. Clean-shaven, neatly trimmed afro with a sprinkle of salt that makes him look distinguished. No coffee. No phone. No busywork. Just… waiting. And watching.
His dark eyes scan me, offering up a faint, uncertain smile. My mouth stays flat, neutral. It’s either that or anger, and I’m not giving him that gift.
“Dyson.” He rises.
“Dice.”
A small nod. “Dice,” he says, like he’s testing-driving the sound of it.
I don’t offer my hand and neither does he.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
We sit across from each other. He doesn’t speak right away. Just keeps staring like he’s trying to match the boy he never knew with the man in front of him. Then, as if catching himself, he blinks behind his glasses and shakes it off.
“Would you like anything?” he asks, flagging down the server.
We both order black coffee. Pretty standard, but in the moment, looking at a face that resembles an older version of me, it feels like more than coincidence.
The server fills our cups and when she leaves, I take a sip and wait him out.
“You’re a DJ?” he asks, even though I know he already knows this.
“Yeah.”
“Damon listens to your mixes and talks about you all the time. It’sDice thisandDice thatduring every call. I’m glad he has that with you. I wasn’t sure you’d welcome him.”
“He’s done nothing wrong. Why should I hold your actions against him?”
