Chapter Twenty-One
Archie
The lunch rush had died down, leaving the Blue Star Diner in its usual mid-afternoon lull.
The scent of sizzling burgers and fries lingered in the air along with the aroma of fresh coffee.
Archie wiped down the counter, glancing over at Andrew, who stood stiffly by the register, staring at nothing in particular.
“You’re quieter than usual,” Archie said, tossing the damp rag over his shoulder.
Andrew exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “Got a call last night. From my dad.”
Archie stopped mid-wipe. “Yeah?”
Andrew hesitated, then sighed, shaking his head like he was still trying to make sense of it. “Turns out your dad called him last night.” He pressed his fingers against the counter, his knuckles going white. “Your dad is in prison…Fraud charges…New York.”
Andrew’s words settled like a lead weight in Archie’s stomach. A flicker of disbelief passed through him, followed by a gutting mix of betrayal and shame. His breath hitched—just for a second—but it was enough to feel the walls closing in. Prison. Fraud. His father.
His father.
The words stuck like glass in his throat.
Archie blinked hard, willing his expression to stay neutral.
He could already feel the mental gears grinding, recalibrating the version of himself he’d need to work the rest of the day; steady, composed, focused.
No tremor in his voice. No mention of it in passing.
Smile during work and never let anyone see the tears deep inside.
He’d have to bury this deep, fold it into a corner of his chest and keep it there, untouched.
“Damn,” he muttered, keeping his tone casual, though it felt like he was speaking from somewhere far underwater.
Andrew let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Won’t be out for a few years.”
Archie studied his cousin—the tight jaw, the way his fingers flexed and curled into fists like he was cycling through emotions too fast to land on one.
Archie envied him a little. At least Andrew was allowed to feel it, to show it.
But for Archie? There was no space for that, not in meetings, not in the breakroom, not anywhere people might ask the wrong question.
“Did he say why he didn’t call me first instead of letting me hear it from you?” His voice held steady, but inside, something small and childlike curled away from the surface, hurt by the silence that had come before.
Andrew’s eyes darkened. “No. Guess he thought breaking the news to you secondhand was easier.” His voice dipped low, edged with frustration. “You should have heard it from him. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”
Archie nodded, his throat tight with unshed tears, unable to speak of his pain.
What was he supposed to do with this information?
That’s why he’d found the house empty and silent when he came back from college; his father wasn’t only out of town but in prison.
No job in New York. He had lied about that.
The letter’s insensitivity stemmed from his knowledge of his legal situation.
He could have told him what the situation was and maybe he could have helped in some way.
Was he running away from the law when he left San Diego for New York?
A wave of grief washed over him, his heart cracking like broken glass at the thought of his father’s imprisonment.
What had his father done? With a sigh, he knew he’d have to stop by Uncle David’s place after work, hoping the old man could shed some light on the situation.
He could already feel the weight of Uncle David’s heavy gaze.
His uncle’s coldness had been a constant presence in Archie’s life; his actions spoke louder than any words of dislike.
When Andrew’s family visited them in San Diego, he never seemed to approve of Archie’s existence.
The bell above the diner door jingled, cutting through the heavy silence. Archie turned to see Jade strolling in like he owned the place. Right now, the last thing he needed was Jade’s judgmental stare and condescending tone, the air heavy with unspoken criticisms.
Jade slid into a booth near the window, tapping his fingers against the table like he was settling in for a performance. Archie approached with his order pad, forcing himself to keep his tone neutral.
“What’ll it be?”
Jade smirked. “Black coffee. Cheeseburger platter.”
Archie scribbled the order, keeping his expression blank, but Jade wasn’t done.
“Saw Brogan this morning,” Jade said, almost casually. “Had breakfast together.”
Archie’s grip tightened around the pen. “Did you?”
Jade leaned back, stretching his arms like he was telling the most casual story in the world. “Yeah. Just catching up. You know how it is.”
Archie knew how it was. Knew Brogan hadn’t mentioned he was having breakfast with Jade—because it hadn’t happened the way Jade was implying. His gut twisted at the thought of Jade lying straight to his face, like it was some kind of game.
Archie tore off the order slip with more force than necessary. “I’ll get your food.”
As he walked back to the kitchen, Andrew caught his eye, sensing something was off. “What was that about?” he asked.
Archie exhaled sharply. “Jade.”
Andrew frowned. “What, Brogan’s ex?”
Archie nodded, jaw clenched. “Said he had breakfast with him this morning.”
Andrew tilted his head. “And you believe him?”
Archie scoffed. “Hell no.”
Andrew nodded slowly, then slid a coffee cup toward Archie. “You might need this more than him.”
Archie didn’t argue.
He returned to Jade’s booth and put down his cheeseburger platter when it was ready. “Anything else?”
“You better keep an eye on Brogan…you will lose him to me soon. It’s destiny.”
At the end of his shift, he told Andrew he wanted to see his father. Archie got the address from Andrew, then left for the day.
He sent Brogan a message right before he took off for his uncle’s home.
Archie: I’m not coming straight home. Stopping by my uncle’s.
Brogan: Miss you. I’ll be correcting papers.
Archie pulled his motorcycle to a stop in front of his uncle’s house, cutting the engine and exhaling slowly. The house was modest, well kept, with the scent of fresh pie always lingering near the front porch. He hesitated for a beat before knocking.
Aunt Laura answered almost instantly, pulling the door open with that warm, knowing look she always had.
“Archie,” she said with a sigh, wrapping him in a hug before he could say a word. “Come in, sweetheart.”
He stepped inside, the scent of cinnamon and apples wafting from the kitchen. Pie. He should’ve known. She led him through the house like he needed guiding, though he could’ve walked it blindfolded with the sweet, welcoming scent of baked pie.
“Have you been eating enough?” she asked over her shoulder, already moving toward the coffeepot.
Archie laughed. “I work at a diner.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re eating properly,” she quipped, pouring coffee into three sturdy mugs as he settled at the table.
Uncle David was already seated, leaning back with that judgmental expression Archie knew only too well.
“How’s Foggy Basin treating you?” Uncle David asked, slicing through the thick silence Archie hadn’t acknowledged yet. “The diner good to you?”
Archie took the mug Laura slid in front of him, warming his hands against the ceramic. “Yeah, it’s alright. Good people. Work keeps me busy.”
David nodded, but Archie could tell he was waiting. Archie swallowed, glanced down at his coffee, then finally asked, “You spoke to my father?”
A moment passed before Uncle David answered. “I did.”
Archie lifted his head, meeting his uncle’s gaze head-on. “What happened?”
Uncle David sighed and set his mug down, running a hand over his beard. “Fraud. Business dealings in New York. It caught up to him, and now he’s serving time.”
“How long?”
“Three to five years, depending.”
Archie let that settle. Three to five years. For fraud. It wasn’t shocking, not really, but hearing it laid out like that made it real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.
“He didn’t call me,” Archie muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Laura reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s on him, sweetheart. Doesn’t mean you deserved to hear it secondhand.”
Archie nodded but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t sure there was much left to say.
He finished his pie, let his aunt fuss over him a little longer, then excused himself. He climbed back onto his motorcycle and let the ride calm him, the night air biting against his skin as he took the long way toward the bar.
When he pulled up, the neon sign flickered lazily against the dark sky. He parked, swung his leg over the bike, and stepped inside.
A whiskey. Just one.
He needed something to settle the weight in his chest before he carried it home.