Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Dice
They got the same smile—guess I have it too.
Damn. That’s him.
Our eyes don’t let go for long seconds, neither of us sure what the hell to do. Then he starts making his way to the table. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Navy UPenn jacket.
“Uh… hey,” he says, voice shaky enough to take the edge off my own nerves. “I’m… Damon.”
I nod and rise, extending my hand. “Dice.”
He shakes it. “Thanks for… meeting me. I know it’s, like, weird.”
“No other way it could be.” I gesture to Lot. “This is Lot.”
“Oh.” His eyes flick to her, as if he hadn’t processed her sitting there until now.
“Hi, Damon.” She gives him that half-suspicious, half-lukewarm look that says I see you but I’m not feeling you yet. “I’m Dice’s partner.”
Not girlfriend. Partner. She says it with intention so he knows what this is. That we’re a unit.
“Hi.” He squirms a little under her gaze, clocking her importance at the table.
“You want anything?” I ask.
“No thanks.” Then he waits for me to sit first. Raised polite.
Silence hangs for a beat too long. I break it. “So, where you from in Philly?”
He dumps his backpack on the floor and licks his lips. “Northwest side.”
“Nice area?”
“Yeah. Middle-class, I guess you’d say. I live on campus now but go home on weekends when I don’t have basketball practice.”
“What position?” I ask, making conversation to get a feel for him.
“Point guard. But I’m not good enough to go pro,” he adds matter of factly.
“It’s just a scholarship thing. I like math and designing stuff, so I’m following in my dad’s footsteps to become an engineer.
Thought about music production too. I’ve listened to your mixes online.
They’re really good. Wish I could spin like that. ”
“Appreciate it,” I say, but my mind snags on following in my dad’s footsteps. “You close to him? Your father.”
“Yeah.” Damon drops his gaze for a second. Then he hesitantly adds, “I brought pictures… if you want to see them.”
I don’t. But saying no feels petty. “Yeah, go ahead.”
He pulls out an envelope, old-school style, and lays three photos on the table.
Lot’s hand rests on my thigh like an anchor. She hasn’t spoken again, but she’s here. Solid and steady. Holding me down just by being close.
She leans over and studies the photos too.
It’s jarring. Seeing for the first time this stranger who’s supposed to be my father.
Dark-skinned in a chambray shirt, smiling beside Damon, who’s in a graduation cap and gown.
They got the same smile—guess I have it too.
Another pic, this one just of this Hayden Watts, younger, around my age.
We look more alike there. All in the mouth and jaw.
In the third one, they’re out front of a nice two-story house—Damon, Hayden, and a light-skinned woman who must be Damon’s mother.
A happy family. Like a goddamn Hallmark ad.
What the actual fuck? This man built a life. Has a wife and son. Showed up for them. But never for me.
I slide the pictures back across the table, hating the way they make me feel. It must show on my face because Damon quickly puts them away.
“He know you’re here?” I ask.
“I told him. He didn’t want me… stirring up the past. But now that I have, he wants to talk to you.”
“Naw.” I shake my head. “That’s not happening.”
“You… hate him.”
“Don’t know him to hate him. I just know he bounced. And now I’m supposed to square that man with the one you describe as a great father?”
“I’m sorry.” He hangs his head like he’s carrying shame that doesn’t belong to him.
“That’s not on you, Damon. It’s on him.”
“I know.” He lifts his eyes. “It was wrong. He… didn’t know how to face it. So he didn’t.”
My jaw muscle ticks, molars grinding. Lot presses her fingers gently into my thigh. Enough to stop me from going off the rails. “That’s some coward-ass shit.”
Damon nods. “He never wanted me to know about it because he was ashamed. It eats at him. The guilt. I get that doesn’t mean anything to you. I’m not here to defend him. I’m here for me. I needed to see you for myself.”
“You’ve seen me now. So, what are you expecting?”
He shrugs. “I just wanna… know you. Stay in touch. Maybe visit sometimes. But you don’t owe me that. Or anything.”
Christ. I lean back and stare out the window. Cars pass. People walk by. Life flows like nothing’s changed, while mine’s just been knocked sideways. The boyish hope in his voice cuts deep. I don’t know what I can give him. But none of this is his fault.
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” I say finally. “We both showed up today. That’s something. You seem like a good kid. We can talk again.”
His chest lifts, like I just gave him oxygen. “I can call and text you?”
“Yeah, but not from a burner phone.”
He nods, sheepish. “Got rid of it.”
“Good.” I rise and offer my hand again. But the kid goes in for a hug.
I hesitate, then bring my arms around him.
“Thanks for coming,” he says as I pull back. “Drive safe. Bye, Lot.”
“Bye, Damon. It was nice meeting you.”
“You too.” He slings his bag over his shoulder, then pauses at the door, giving me a wave and that familiar gap-toothed grin.
I lift my chin in return. Then he’s gone.
We leave too and cross to the car. I slide into the driver’s seat, but don’t start the engine or reach for the wheel.
“Want me to drive?” Lot asks.
“No. Just give me a minute.”
“Take as many as you need. No rush.”
I lean back, head against the rest. Sunlight spills through the sunroof, too damn bright.
I close my eyes and feel Lot’s hand slip into mine.
She knows how to do quiet in a way that speaks volumes.
No probing. No filler. Just presence. Like all those years ago, when I showed up in her tent or she found me there.
“Didn’t expect to feel anything,” I say when I’m ready. “Curiosity, yeah. But I thought I’d be indifferent, even though he didn’t deserve that.”
Her thumb strokes across my knuckles. “You were holding grief and shock and confusion, but you still made space for him. That says everything about the kind of man you are.”
I open my eyes and look at her. Eyes like warm flecks of amber, green, and brown. Tiny freckles on her nose. A mouth I’ve kissed a hundred different ways. A face that pounds my heart, even as it steadies me.
“He’s polite,” I say. “Levelheaded. Sincere. I liked him.”
“Me too. I was skeptical at first. He was so nervous, but that just made him real. His smile… the way he talks with his hands reminded me of you. No doubt he’s your brother.”
“That word still doesn’t sit right in my head.
” I blow out a breath. “It was wild seeing pieces of myself in him. That’s gonna take time to get used to.
But I can tell he was raised right by two parents who cared.
I’m glad for him. But damn…” I shake my head.
“Why couldn’t the old man have given me that too? ”
“I don’t have the answer,” she says softly, her voice catching. “You deserved it.”
Rage prickles just under my skin. “He never called. Never showed. Never even tried. But for Damon, he’s out here playing father of the year.”
Lot doesn’t tell me to calm down. Doesn’t serve up any polished platitudes. Just listens.
“I don’t hold that against Damon. I really don’t. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t bitter as hell. Can’t believe the motherfucker wants to talk to me now. Finally grew a pair after thirty-four years. And for what? To clear his conscience?”
She shifts in her seat, angling toward me, our knees brushing. “It’s not what he wants that matters. It’s what you want.”
“I for damn sure don’t need a father now. Too late for that.”
“Do you want answers? Do you want to tell him how you feel? Would any of that bring you closure?”
“I don’t know.” I exhale hard.
“It’s a lot.”
“It’s a lot for you too. Don’t think I don’t see that.”
“This is life, Jones. And I’m in it with you.” She laces our fingers tighter. “Your partner. Full stop.”
Partner. Said again like a vow.
“I’m lucky to have you, Web.”
“I know,” she says, all cheeky. “Don’t forget it.”
I laugh—first one all day—and tug her close. I breathe in her warmth, her comfort. “Impossible to forget that.”
She slides her fingers under my jaw and kisses me with the kind of love that breathes straight into my chest.
When we part, my situation’s still the same. But the weight of it is lighter knowing she’s there to help me carry it.
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