Page 10 of Wanna Bet?

They fell into an easy silence, the kind that didn’t require filling. After a moment, Ellis straightened. “Issaky and I are going to Jay’s later for tacos. You want anything?”

Jace shook his head. “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Ellis studied him for a second longer, then nodded. “All right. Offer stands.”

As Ellis went back behind the counter, Jace adjusted a record that didn’t need adjusting and caught his reflection faintly in the shop window.

Maybe Ellis was right. He didn’t feel louder or brighter. He just felt… steadier. That morning at Good Times, he hadn’t felt like he was being examined. He hadn’t felt like he was performing. He had just been himself, and she had met him there.

The thought didn’t scare him and it surprisingly didn’t feel like stepping into a spotlight. It felt like standing beside someone who wasn’t trying to pull him forward or push him back–just standing with him.

Tomorrow he would test her “new” drink. He wasn’t sure what that meant. But for the first time in a while, he found himself looking forward to finding out.

Chapter Four

(9:05am)

Incoming Call: “Father” of the year

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The fight started at 9:12 a.m, right when the kettle began to scream. Myah watched the steam curl toward the ceiling like a warning sign and thought, briefly, If I don’t answer, it doesn’t count. Her phone buzzed against the counter again.

“Father” of the year popped up in bold letters. Of course.

He only ever called in the mornings when he was either worried or disappointed, and there had never been much difference between the two.

She let it ring twice more, her heart already doing that tight, small-animal flutter in her chest, then snatched it up before it could go to voicemail.

“Hi,” she said, already bracing.

“Samyah.”

No hello, no how are you. Just her name, heavy and sharp. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the counter.

“Yeah. Hey, Dad.”

“I tried calling last week.”

“I know. I’ve just been–work’s been busy.”

“It’s always busy,” he said, not angry yet, which somehow felt worse. His voice carried that tired, thin disapproval that made her shoulders tense. “You never have time anymore.”

She swallowed, the kettle clicking off behind her. It was rich of him to say, honestly. It seemed as though he hadn't had time for her since the day she was born.

“I texted you.” She offered.

“A text isn’t the same as calling your father.”

There it was, the guilt, familiar and immediate. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shifted her weight against the counter. Outside the kitchen window, Seattle was still wrapped in a gray morning haze, the sky looking like damp cotton pressed low over the buildings. It was mid summer and the weather was finally warming up. Myah’s favorite time of the year.

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically.

She didn't feel like she should have to apologize. Their last three dinners had been canceled by her father and he never once really apologized for it.