“None of this is for you, you’re going to lose it all.”
I roll onto my side, press my face into Miguel’s chest, and whisper, “We’re not a test.”
His arm tightens around me in his sleep, like his body heard even if his brain didn’t.
The volume drops a notch.
I’m still overwhelmed.
I’m still scared.
But I’m here.
He’s here.
The doors are opening, even if my hands shake.
THIRTY-EIGHT
MIGUEL
Dad’s name pops up on my phone halfway through my lunch break.
Dad
Lunch this week? Just you and me, if you’re open to it.
My stomach does a slow roll.
Not we as in “you and Caleb.” Not “the boys.”
Just me.
Why does this feel like the setup before getting murdered in a horror movie?
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering, brain instantly splitting into two scenarios.
Scenario number one: He wants to yell at you without upsetting his golden child.
Scenario number two: He’s trying. This is an olive branch, not a noose.
I take a breath. Box breathing, the way I’m constantly drilling Caleb to.Gotta walk the walk if I talk the talk, right?
In for four.
Hold for four.
Out for six.
I text back before I can overthink it.
Miguel
Yeah. I can do lunch. When and where?
The dots appear almost immediately.
Dad
