Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
Dice
This man must be trippin’.
Morning light pours through the windshield, throwing long shadows across the road.
It’s too early to call Lot. We’d burned up the night into the wee hours on the phone.
First, she’d regaled me with Queenie the Thug tales, then gave me a private dancer show that left us both sweaty and satisfied.
Or as satisfied as we can get with eight hundred miles between us.
Afterward, we’d stayed in bed talking, our rooms dark, voices low, both of us circling around our fathers—Lot and Maurice finding some common ground, me and Hayden… still in no-man’s-land.
C had offered to go with me today. As much as I appreciate the people I care about wanting to ride with me, I need to do this on my own. Doesn’t mean I’m not bugg’n out. I turn up the music and let my mind get lost in it.
Halfway into the drive, an incoming call pauses my house mix to announce Lot. My heart gives that extra hard pump.
“Hey, Web.”
“Hey.” She sounds warm from sleep, like something I want to wrap my arms around. “You almost there?”
“About forty minutes out. You’re up early.”
“You were on my mind. How you holding?”
“I want it done. Taking up too much headspace.”
“I get that. The anticipation’s usually worse than the event.”
“Not sure this one’s gonna follow that rule.”
“Maybe not. But either way, you’ll have faced it. And I’ll be here, waiting for you however it lands.”
I feel the strength of her presence across the distance. “That’s what’s pulling me through.”
“You got this, king. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. Thanks for calling. I needed your voice.”
The hotel lobby is vast, all crystal chandeliers and polished marble. Too bright for my mood. I find the café and enter, the carpet muffling the soles of my sneakers. I’m dressed in jeans and a hoodie. Casual and deliberate. Not trying to impress nobody.
The business crowd’s scattered around the room.
Laptops open, phones pressed to ears. Makes him stand out.
Tall frame, back straight. Lean build. Charcoal blazer, pale-blue dress shirt, open at the collar.
Wire-frame glasses. Clean-shaven, neatly trimmed afro with a sprinkle of salt that makes him look distinguished.
No coffee. No phone. No busywork. Just… waiting. And watching.
His dark eyes scan me, offering up a faint, uncertain smile. My mouth stays flat, neutral. It’s either that or anger, and I’m not giving him that gift.
“Dyson.” He rises.
“Dice.”
A small nod. “Dice,” he says, like he’s testing-driving the sound of it.
I don’t offer my hand and neither does he.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
We sit across from each other. He doesn’t speak right away. Just keeps staring like he’s trying to match the boy he never knew with the man in front of him. Then, as if catching himself, he blinks behind his glasses and shakes it off.
“Would you like anything?” he asks, flagging down the server.
We both order black coffee. Pretty standard, but in the moment, looking at a face that resembles an older version of me, it feels like more than coincidence.
The server fills our cups and when she leaves, I take a sip and wait him out.
“You’re a DJ?” he asks, even though I know he already knows this.
“Yeah.”
“Damon listens to your mixes and talks about you all the time. It’s Dice this and Dice that during every call. I’m glad he has that with you. I wasn’t sure you’d welcome him.”
“He’s done nothing wrong. Why should I hold your actions against him?”
“Some people might. It says a lot about you that you didn’t.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “So, what, you’re proud of me? Impressed I grew up to be a decent man? I don’t need or want your applause.”
He nods, slow-like. “That must’ve sounded condescending. I didn’t mean it to be. I’m talking when what I really want is to know more about you, your life. I have a million questions. I’m just not sure I have the right to ask.”
“You don’t. I didn’t come for that. You said you’d give me answers, so let’s hear them.”
He exhales, eyes dropping to his untouched cup. “Wish I had something stronger than coffee.”
The joke dies between us. He clears his throat. Takes a sip, swallows, then sets his cup down, fingers lacing tight on the table.
“Did your mother ever tell you anything about me?”
“Only that you were a deadbeat who bounced. No name, No face. Just that.”
“I see.” He nods. “She wasn’t wrong about me being a deadbeat. But I didn’t ‘bounce’ in the way she insinuated. It’s not my intention to malign your mother—”
“I know exactly what she is. No need to sugarcoat it.”
“All right.” A short pause, then he begins.
“I was living in Michigan at the time. Passed through Bayside on business. Met a pretty woman in a bar. I’ll spare you the details, but the next morning my wallet was empty, and she was gone.
It was careless. I chalked it up as a lesson learned, canceled my credit cards, and moved on.
“Three months later she called. She had my business card, had seen my driver’s license.
She knew where to find me. I just hadn’t expected her to.
She said she was pregnant. I didn’t believe her.
Thought she just wanted more money. I refused at first, but she kept calling, threatened to show up at my work, at my house.
So I gave her a thousand dollars just to make it stop.
But it didn’t. She hit me up for more. And when you were born, she threatened to show up with you.
She sent me a picture. The baby was real, but I couldn’t tell if it was mine or even hers.
That’s how I justified it. But I kept giving her more money.
Guilt… fear.” He shrugs. “Paying was the easy part.”
It sounds like Jasinder’s M.O. His story is more credible than hers. They weren’t a couple, as she led me to believe. He didn’t leave her when he found out she was pregnant. Still, his version doesn’t let him off the hook. “At what point did you know this was more than just a shakedown?”
“When you were about a year old.” His voice wavers, but his eyes stay fixed on mine, like he’s refusing to look away now that the truth is loose.
“That time, when she sent a picture… it was undeniable. Maybe it always was, and I just didn’t want to see it.
I should have done the right thing, but I didn’t want anything to do with a woman like that.
I had a career on the rise. I was twenty-six and living the life I’d planned.
This wasn’t part of that. So, I denied it. Denied her. And I denied you.”
The words are blunt, no decoration. Stripped clean of anything that might soften the blow. They hit hard, like a cracked rib that steals your breath.
“When I had the chance at a job in Philadelphia, I took it. She couldn’t find me there.
I could put this behind me. And that’s what I did.
Selfishly. Cowardly. I never told anyone.
Not even my wife until she found the pictures of you in an old box.
I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, but I couldn’t face them either.
“She asked who this baby was. Why he looked like me. It was my chance to finally come clean. To purge that guilt. I didn’t know Damon was overhearing it.
He got so angry. Disillusioned. His image of me tainted.
Rightfully so. He insisted on finding you.
I didn’t want that. Not just because of my shame, I didn’t want that for you.
To have you blindsided by the past. To have Damon try to claim a brother who might not want to be one. ”
“Christ.” I shake my head. “You were still being a coward. Still protecting yourself from any accountability. You should have been the one to find me, not Damon. You had thirty-four years. Instead, you left me with a woman you knew was a thief, a con. What kind of mother did you think she’d be?
What kind of home did you think I’d grow up in?
Not the one you gave Damon. That’s for damn sure.
And now you want to purge, free yourself of it, like you can erase what you did with this weak-ass explanation. ”
He shrinks back, his mouth twisting. “That’s not what I think, Dice.
No amount of explaining can ever excuse turning my back on you.
I wanted to give you the whole truth, as ugly as it is.
And you’re right, I was still a coward after all this time.
Still hiding, afraid to face you. But I’m here now.
Looking you in the eye. Taking responsibility.
Telling you I’m sorry. It’s late, I know.
But I’m hoping in time you might come to forgive me.
Let me be some part of your life. Have my two sons. ”
This man must be trippin’. One piddly I’m sorry and he’s expecting a family reunion. Fuck him. I push my chair back hard enough to nearly topple it. My pulse pounding at my temple and behind my eyes. “You can square forgiveness with your conscience. You won’t find it here.”
He opens his mouth, but I’m already gone. The sliding doors part, cool air slicing across my face. By the time I reach the car, I know exactly what I’ve done—left him where he left me. Alone.
The difference is, he made that choice. I never had one.
Until now.
My fists lock around the steering wheel, knuckles straining.
His words loop in jagged fragments: not part of my plans, put this behind me…
denied you… Each one cuts like broken glass.
I can’t make it make sense. This polished man who raised Damon right is the same one who discarded me like a bad investment.
Pretending I didn’t exist. Would’ve kept pretending if his wife hadn’t found the photos.
And even then, he didn’t come looking for me.
Damon did. Now he expects me to just forgive and forget.
I lean forward and press my forehead to the wheel, chest heaving.
Anger rumbles through me like an earthquake.
But buried beneath it is grief. That raw, old ache of being unwanted, a wound split back open.
As much as I crave Lot’s comfort and strength, hearing her voice right now would undo me.
It would spill all this mess onto her before I’ve even sorted through it myself.
I force my breaths to slow as I pry my fingers off the wheel, pissed at the way they’re shaking, and type out a message so she won’t worry.
Got answers and a useless apology. I’m okay, just need time to process it all. I’ll call you later.
I send a similar message to C. I don’t know what I can say to Damon, so I don’t. Then I turn my phone off, drop it face down on the passenger seat, and drive back to Bayside.
The thought of work, of people, feels unbearable.
I ask Benny to cover for me, then lose myself in spinning music for the afternoon, trying to drown out the noise in my head.
Later, I run the waterfront until my lungs and muscles burn, shower off the sweat, and decide it’s time to call Lot. She deserves more than my silence.
When I open the bathroom door, steam rolling out behind me, I stop cold. My jaw drops—
She’s standing there.