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“I want for none of this shit to have happened.”

Something changed in his expression. I continued before he could speak.

“You had somebody who would’ve done anything for you, Ghost. Anything. And you threw that shit away because you couldn’t stand seeing me happy.”

“That ain’t what happened.”

“Then what the fuck happened?”

He looked away, and I waited. For once, I wanted him to tell me something that made sense. Something that explained how we’d gotten from being brothers to standing in an abandoned fairground with both of us knowing there was a good chance only one of us would leave. But he didn’t say shit. I glanced at the backpack.

“Was any of it worth it?” I asked.

He followed my eyes. For a long moment, he stared down at the money. Then he shook his head.

“Nah.”

I swallowed. That one word did more to me than I wanted it to. Because for a second, I heard the brother I used to know. The one who looked out for me when I was younger. The one who had been around long before I understood why Pops always seemed to have room for him. The one that I eventually learned shared the same blood as me.

I hated that I could still remember those things. I hated that some part of me still wanted him to be that person. Ghost halfway zipped the backpack and set it on the ground between us.

“Take it, Trigga.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Bro—”

“I said I don’t want it!” I cut him off.

He straightened while looking at me with frustration written all over his face.

“So, what the fuck do you want from me?”

I stared at him because he knew. Shit, we both knew. I reached beneath my hoodie and pulled my gun. Ghost’s eyes dropped to it before returning to my face. For the first time since he’d walked up, he stopped talking. I kept the gun pointed at him.

“You already know why I’ve been looking for you.”

He nodded slowly and then brought his attention back to me.

“You really gonna kill me?” he asked.

I wanted to say yes. I had said it enough times when he wasn’t standing in front of me. I had thought about it while driving to North Carolina, while watching Maliah sleep, and every time I saw what his bullets had done to Mr. Browne. But standing there with my gun pointed at my brother, I couldn’t get the words out. Ms. Gia’s face came to mind. The way she looked at me when she begged me not to hurt her son. Promise me. I had promised her, knowing damn well that, at the time, I was lying when I said it.

Now I was standing in the same place where Pops had once taken us to enjoy ourselves, looking at the older brother I hadn’t even known was my brother back then. My finger rested against the trigger. All I had to do was pull it. Ghost was watching me closely. I knew what he was. I knew what he had done, and I knew what could happen if I let him walk away. But my hand wouldn’t move.

“Come on, Trigga,” he said quietly.

I swallowed.

“Shut up.”

“You ain’t gotta do this.”

I wanted to tell him that he was wrong and that I did have to do it. I wanted to say that he had made sure there wasn’t another way.

Instead, I stood there staring at him, fighting against memories I hadn’t expected to matter once I finally had him in front of me. Ghost’s eyes dropped toward my gun. Then something in his expression changed. I saw his right hand move toward his waistband.

“Ghost, don’t…”