Page 102 of Harbor

He stiffened. “What—kiddo? I’ve always called you that.”

“Not anymore.”

God, let it go, John. That’s what she wanted to tell him more than anything. If he kept this up, she was going to hurt him the same way she did everyone else who got in her path lately, but especially if their last name was Marcello. It was like she couldn’t help herself. They were a constant reminder of the person who had been taken away from her.

John wasn’t giving up that easily, it seemed.

Kind-hearted like their mother.

Stubborn like their father.

“How’s California? You’ve been there for a couple of months now.” He didn’t seem to mind that she just continued staring at him with a cold gaze, all the while, saying nothing at all. Finally, her brother murmured, “You could at least talk to me, Lucy.”

Lucia wasn’t stupid. She knew he was only using Lucy because John was aware she hated that nickname even more than the kiddo one. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t falling for that damn bait. She wasn’t a fish about to gulp the whole hook down all at once.

“California is hot,” she said, unaffected.

There, if he wanted conversation, here it was. She couldn’t offer much more, though.

“Yeah, I bet,” he murmured.

“I start classes during the second semester. Next month after I go back.”

She hadn’t been ready to start right when she went to California. She’d visited the school a couple of times, got all the things she was going to need to be comfortable, settled into her new place, and tried to … feel better. None of it worked. Color her surprised.

“You’re all settled in, though?” John asked.

“Guess so.”

Lucia had to wonder, in those moments, if her brother felt as awkward about this conversation as she did. Could he tell how disinterested she was in even being in the same room as him? Because this was killing her, and not in a way that was going to be good for him. It drove her crazy how just looking at her brother could send her anger spinning—how staring at him in the face, one that was so familiar and used to be comforting to her, could now make her remember every single second of him coming into that apartment to rip her away from Renzo and Diego with a painful clarity.

Did he know what he had done, yet?

Did he appreciate her pain?

She doubted it.

“You were supposed to be my best friend, John,” Lucia whispered.

She looked his way again, but this time, she wanted him to see more than her anger. The telltale prickle behind her eyes said far more than she could. A single tear escaped, and it made a track line down her cheek. Quickly, she wiped the wetness away, and let out a hard breath.

How long had it been since she cried?

Oh, yeah.

Last night.

Like every damn night.

“You shouldn’t have run off like that,” John said simply.

Lucia didn’t even know what to say to that because clearly, no, her brother did not understand why she was angry with him still. Some part of him still felt like he was in the right, and she was just going to move on. That was never going to happen. All she could do in reply to that was keep silent, and clench her jaw to keep back the words that threatened to spew out of her mouth.

“I was hoping you might let me apologize, and we could spend some time together while you’re visiting,” John said, shifting from one foot to the other in the entryway. “But even at Christmas, you ignored me.”

That was a joke, right?

What was he going to apologize for?