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“I’m trying to make shit right.”

“Make what right?”

He looked irritated when I asked.

“You know what the fuck I’m talking about,” he raised his voice.

Ghost was never the type of nigga to take accountability.

“Nah, I wanna hear you say it. What exactly you think this money gonna fix?”

Ghost glanced down at the bag before looking back at me.

“It’s all I got, bro.”

“And what the fuck that got to do with me?”

I really couldn’t believe this nigga. He let out a frustrated breath.

“I’m trying to give you something, Tahari. I know I fucked up. I can’t take none of that shit back, but I’m standing here giving you everything I got left.”

I shook my head.

“And that’s your fucking problem.”

“What?” he asked as his eyebrows drew together.

I looked around at where we were standing, and flashbacks of us being children played in my head. Deep down, I wondered where that little boy had gone. The one that would smile brightly at a fucking four-dollar stuffed animal.

“Everything with you always comes back to money. Every fucking thing. You would put a dollar before anybody, including your own brother.”

“That’s bullshit,” he hissed.

“Is it?” I asked.

“Yeah, it is. You think I’d be standing here giving you my last if money was all I cared about?”

“I think you still don’t understand what the fuck you did.”

His jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared in anger.

“I said I fucked up, aight?”

“And you think saying that and handing me a bag of money makes it better?”

“No, nigga! That’s not what I’m saying!”

His voice echoed through the empty fairground. I stared at him, waiting for him to calm down. He dragged his hand down the side of his face before speaking again.

“Look, man. I don’t know what else you want me to do. The nigga lived, right?”

I tilted my head as I looked at him at his last sentence. He was so ruthless, and that was the part that got me. He had spent so much time chasing money, worrying about what somebody else had, and being pissed off about what he thought he deserved that he’d destroyed everything around him. Now he was standing in front of me with a backpack full of cash, expecting me to see it as something meaningful.

“I don’t know what else you want from me, man,” he said with a sigh.

“You know what I want?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.