Chapter 12 #4
“I know, Vie, but it makes me sad sometimes, too. I’m your baby, but you’re the oldest. You’re nobody’s baby, and you deserve that too.”
Being the oldest daughter wasn’t for the weak.
It sucked, but the reward was knowing Rayven had me to protect her.
Most importantly, Sloane would never look at her the way she did me.
At sixteen, the veil came off because even the great Sloane Bishop couldn’t outrun aging.
It became my turn to take on the family business because if it weren’t me, it would’ve been Rayven.
The epitome of what being the oldest daughter meant and represented.
“I miss you. Please tell me I’ll see you at homecoming,” she whined.
“I’m working on it.”
“Do I need to call my brother-in-law?”
“Whoa! No. Do not do that.”
“Then come! Don’t you miss me too?”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Rayven. I did, probably more than she needed to see me. The problem was getting away from Treason to do it.
“You are laying it on so thick right now, kid.”
“Is it working?”
“Things are hectic around here, but I’m working on it. I promise.”
“Fine,” she sighed, loud and exaggerated.
“Go study because I don’t need any more stress.”
“Love you, Vie.”
“I love you, more Ray.”
Hanging up, Ward didn’t mention the change in my demeanor or how my voice softened. The concern in his eyes said enough.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, tired of ignoring the elephant in the car.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“But you want to. Spit it out already.”
“You could just tell him.”
My gaze flicked to the back of his head like he could see me.
“Tell him what, Darren ?”
“You need to see Rayven.” He paused until I locked eyes with him through the rearview. “And whatever you don’t want him to know about Lorenzo.”
I knew Ward was right, but hearing him mention Rayven felt like a violation that I needed to correct.
“Why would I do that?”
“Y’all are a team, right, Pippen ?”
“We’re a team when it’s convenient for him.”
Ward grinned again, cocky and knowing. “Y’all are a team, but if he can’t serve, the nigga gets real twitchy.”
“Twitchy?” I echoed, folding my arms.
“Yeah, like a cornered animal. Snaps at anything too close.” Ward looked at me. “You.”
“He could easily let me go. That would solve both of our problems.”
“You really think it’s that simple?”
“I’m just saying. If I’m such a problem, let me go.”
“He can’t. That’s just trading one sorrow for another.” Ward took a breath, then glanced through the rearview mirror. “Because not letting him in feels like rejection.”
I sat back, confused and annoyed. “That’s because he thinks everything is about him and it’s not.”
“He doesn’t do well in spaces he can’t control. If he can’t fix it, protect it, or call the plays, he feels useless. You don’t depend on him, and that’s new. Tre’s not mad at you. He’s mad at the space between what he knows how to give and what you need.”
“So what, I’m supposed to coddle him?”
“Nah, he hates that shit more than not getting his way. That’s why you have to be careful what you ask for. The same shit he loves about you fucks with his head.”
“Does your brother know you’re telling his business?”
Ward gave me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Sometimes being a sibling means doing what’s best for them when they can’t do it for themselves. Tre will be aight. If he’s not, I’ll fuck him up.”
“Get in line. I’m first.”
“You don’t mean that shit.”
“Yeah, okay,” I muttered, as the city skyline reappeared.
“Every day you’re reliving fucked up memories while pretending you’re not. You spend so much energy trying to distract yourself for a moment’s peace,” Ward’s soothing voice stole my attention.
“You try to act normal, but you always feel out of place. On the rare occasion that you do feel happy, it doesn’t last. So you’re always hoping for tomorrow, but that hoe never shows up.
It’s a heavy burden to carry alone. You know you should tell him, but just thinking about it has your body on fire with nowhere to run. ”
“Are you going to tell him?”
Ward took his eyes off the road briefly, looking at me while I held my breath.
“I don’t lie to my brother.” My eyes rolled, feeling backed into a corner. “But I can loan you some time to tell him yourself.”
“And if I don’t?”
Ward tapped the wheel twice, softening just a little, “Don’t let your brain choose familiar pain over unfamiliar peace. You can talk to Tre about shit.”
“How did you do that?”
Ward’s smirk vanished, focusing back on the road, closing the window to his soul.
“Magic,” he replied with an arrogance that explained his relationship with Treason.
“Magic isn’t real.”
“Says who?” My neck craned at the kid gloves he wore handling me, “Pain knows pain. I’ve seen and done shit my brain shouldn’t know exists. There is no normal after that.”
“I met K-Low tonight. He said he’s a friend of Tre’s, but it didn’t sound like it.”
“What else did he say?”
“He was surprised he let me on that side of town and tell Tre to hit him.”
“That’s it?” I nodded, and he smirked. “Thanks, even though you should be telling your man .”
“I like you a lot more than I like him.”
A deep, throaty laugh filled the car, making me laugh too.
“Don’t say that out loud. I’ll fuck around and have to beat his ass for real.”
We rested in silence, floating to Treason’s house. I expected to find him on the couch like a father waiting for his child. Especially since Stink hadn’t called or texted once since I was gone. Instead, the penthouse was dim, the hallway illuminated by the light escaping from his office.
After a quick shower and regretting not ordering wings to go, I stumbled into the kitchen to make s’mores.
I needed a pick-me-up after my conversation with Rayven, and coming home to silence didn’t exactly help.
It felt much colder, reminiscent of my childhood whenever we stepped outside of Sloane’s boundary.
I asked him fifty times to stop putting things on the top shelf.
Yet I was staring at the cinnamon out of my reach.
Footsteps neared while I stood on my tiptoes, one hand braced on the cabinet, as if he could smell me in need.
Treason’s bare chest entered the kitchen, radiating heat and silence.
Just when I thought he’d let me struggle, his arm reached past mine, snatching the bottle effortlessly from the shelf.
Treason placed it on the counter and grabbed a bottle of water before leaving.
No eye contact or sarcasm. No questions about my night and other men in my face.
Treason didn’t even bother to ask what I was making.
The silence cut deeper than yelling would’ve.
I was immune to it, but silence felt like a knife to the heart.
But he still helped you. Does this mean he still cares? Or is he just being polite? Don’t read into it and start hoping again.
I swallowed hard, throat thick with things I wish I knew how to say. Things like thank you , or I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t matter . But the words stall somewhere behind pride and anger, leaving behind the scent of his cologne and the sting of my own walls.