“I’m just saying, he’s been at Docks a long time. He should’ve been left in charge. He’s earned it. You know it too, so you can quit shooting daggers at me.”
“Hmph.” I close the waffle iron and set the timer. “Maurice will never give him the reins. Dice is a fool for staying this long, but whatever. That’s his problem.”
“Maurice is a hard man,” she agrees, her brow wrinkling. “Funny how two people can grow up in the same house and turn out so different.”
“Yeah. Uncle Mo is definitely the better brother.” My envy isn’t subtle, never has been. She got the cool dad and I got the rigid, small-minded one.
“Soo…” She draws out the word. “How did it go at Docks tonight?”
“Ssskt.” I kiss my teeth. “Boring, nothing for me to do, so I decided to sketch some new logo ideas ’cause you know that ship-and-polo look is tired as fuck. I’m doing my thing, then outta nowhere, Dice comes for me… getting all up in my face.”
“What?” She leans forward.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I mean, I can understand his frustration,” she says. “But getting in your face doesn’t sound like Dice. He’s usually so easygoing.”
“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”
She sets down her puzzle book and looks at me with a sympathetic expression. “He doesn’t know he hurt you, Lot.”
“Who said he hurt me?”
“It’s me, girl,” she says gently. “I know how your mind works. You think he didn’t care that you left, but maybe he was dealing with his own feelings.”
“He had no feelings about it. He basically said, ‘See ya.’”
“You wanted him to ask you to stay?”
“No. But I sure as hell expected something more than ‘bye and good luck.’ Anyway, I’m over it.”
The tug of her lips says she doesn’t believe me. “He asked about you the whole time you were gone. Talk to him. Tell him everything. He doesn’t have a clue.”
“Then he should get one.” My words snap out sharp. Not because I care. The memory just pisses me off.
“You’re obviously still not ready to hear this, so I’ll shut up before I get cut.”
I give her another side-eye. It’s never been simple with Dice. Not when we were kids, and not now. Back then, I was the one watching for his flashlight through my bedroom window, stashing his favorite snacks in my backpack, sharing my tent with him on those cold nights when we both needed an escape from our problems at home. Pretending not to notice the dried tear tracks on his cheeks.
But he never saw me as more than comfort in the dark.
Even when we got older and the four-year age gap wouldn’t matter anymore, I was still just Lot. Always the girl next door. Always the one he came to. But never the one.
Instead, I had to watch him charm all those women with his laid-back moves and that damn smirk. They fell for his swagger without ever knowing the scars it hid. I nursed my hurt and jealousy by at least believing I mattered to him. Until he shattered that illusion.
I’d been talking about moving to New York for as long as I can remember. About getting out of Bayside and away from my father. At twenty-five, I decided it was time. “I’m going,” I told him. “I need something more. Something bigger.”
“Yeah. You do,” he agreed.
“What about you?” I asked, looking into his eyes, hoping he’dcome with me. New York was art, music, culture. He could’ve blown up on the DJ scene. I thought he might take that leap with me.
“Naw. I’m good here. But best of luck in the Big Apple.” He said it like I was a stranger. Like years of history didn’t mean shit.
He never even came to say goodbye. So, I left without risking another casual shrug that cut me in half. And when he texted a week later
How’s NY?
I blocked him. Done chasing something that wasn’t chasing me back.
