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Mike finishes counting the bills in his hands and swears out loud to the empty car.
Eight fucking hours of pasting on a smile and being chastised for undercooked chicken (even though he was just waitstaff), and all he had was 22 dollars to show for it.
Rich people really are the worst tippers.
He takes a deep breath and shoves the money back in his pocket as he grabs the brown paper bag in the seat next to him. At least rent’s been paid this month. Even if they haven't figured out how they’re going to take care of the power bill. Or how they’re going to fix the taillight on the truck. Or the leak in the bathroom. But, hey, silver linings and all that, right?
The shrill, high-pitched sound of the smoke alarm interrupts his thoughts as it cuts through the night air the second he opens the truck door.
He almost loses the two bags as he bursts through the front door of the apartment, frantically looking around for the alleged fire. “Anna?” he yells over the ear-splitting noise.
The alarm is blaring, everything is overlaid in a thin film of smoke, and his very pregnant fiancée is jumping up and down, frantically waving a dish towel in the air, like she’s trying to take flight with it.
“Stupid! Fucking! Machine!” Every word is punctuated with a whip of the towel. “Turn off , already!”
In a second, Mike’s tossing the bags on the kitchen table, grabbing a chair, and all but throwing it over to the wall. He climbs on top and manages to wrestle the batteries out of the smoke detector without breaking his neck in the process. The ear-piercing howl cuts off, leaving behind only the sound of Anna huffing into the silence and the smell of burnt batter.
“Jesus, Anna,” he breathes, grabbing her forearms and looking her over for any sign of injury “are you alright? What the hell happened?”
Anna is still clutching the grubby towel in her hand like a weapon as she pulls herself from his grip. “I burned the hushpuppies,” she says bitterly, sinking down into the chair he’s pulled up to reach the alarm. Mike glances around to the stove, where a pan holding the unrecognizably charred remains of what was supposed to be their dinner sits, still smoldering.
“You were…trying to cook hushpuppies?” He raises an eyebrow, trying to hide an amused smile. Cooking has never exactly been Anna’s strong suit, to put it as gently as possible. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Something hot and sharp sparks behind her eyes as they snap up to him. “I wanted to. I’m tired of fucking hamburger helper.”
“Hey, okay, look,” he nods to the brown paper bag he threw on the table, feeling the need to steer the conversation away from where it’s inevitably headed. “Shep let me take some leftovers tonight, let me just heat them up and we can-”
“ No , Mike!” she yells suddenly as she slams her fist on the table, fresh tears falling down her face, her eyes wide and desperate in a way that makes him feel unsteady. “I’m sick of leftovers. I’m sick of pretending frozen pizza is enough for a full meal. I’m sick of falling asleep on the couch every day even when I have dinner in the the oven because I’m so fucking tired,” a hand falls to her stomach, “I’m sick of being sick every morning. I’m sick of having to choose between paying the rent and buying laundry detergent, and I’m sick of my parents refusing to call anymore!”
“You said you didn’t care what your parents–”
“Of course I care what my parents think!” Her head falls to her hands and she lets herself slump back into the chair.
He sits in silence for a moment, unmoving, unsure of what to say. The topic of Mr. and Mrs. Dupree is one they have been treading wordlessly around for the last few months. The wounds from the night she’d been booted from her kook mansion and into Mike’s one-bedroom still too raw and tender to touch.
But, here she is now. Poking right at it. Baring it for both of them to see, in a way that makes him feel exposed and unsteady.
He tries not to grimace from it, reaches out to squeeze her shoulder before making his way into the living room. “I’m going to open some windows.”
She lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Maybe my parents were right.”
Mike freezes mid step and draws in a sharp breath, feeling like the air has been kicked out of his lung. Partly because he can’t believe she’s said it at all. Part of him can’t believe it’s taken her this long to say.
Before he can even turn back to face her, before he can get another word out edgewise, Anna is on her feet behind him, arms wrapping around him as she buries her face in the back of his flannel.
“Mike. I’m so sorry,” her voice breaks in a way that feels like it pushes the knife in even further. Because he knows she is. And he wishes it was enough to erase the fact that she said it at all. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m just tired and the goddamn hormones have been making me so crazy and my parents…Babe, I didn’t mean it. I swear to god.”
He nods, letting his hands come up to cover hers. “I’m doing the best I can, Anna.”
“I know. I know and I’m so proud of you.” She comes around to his front, puts both hands on his face so he can look her in the eyes. “You’re not a mistake. This isn’t a mistake. You know my parents are wrong and so do I.”
He manages a smile. “Dead wrong.”
She swipes tears from her cheeks. “I’ll never say anything like that ever again, I swear. I won’t even think it. Because, we’re going to make it,” she says, with so much conviction, he almost believes her too.
When he pulls her into a real hug, his hand in her hair and the other pulling her into his chest as tightly as he can, he knows he’s forgiven her. He says a silent prayer that, with time, he can forget, too.
And they do make it. Two years later, his manager, Shep Harlowe, realizes Mike can make the best damn seafood gumbo south of Richmond and promotes him to the kitchen. Five years (and a three-year stint as a sous-chef) later, he and Anna take the leap and buy a shitty old boat repair shop right off the water. He’s the one who decides to call it The Wreck.
By the time Kiara starts middle school, they’re closing a deal on a house in Figure Eight. The Duprees even start coming around for visits.
Anna keeps her promise and they never talk about that night in the kitchen ever again. Mike even starts to tell himself that he’s glad it happened. That that night was when he decided he was going to turn shit around for all three of them no matter what it took, and that it was the reality check he needed to hear.
But, 16 years later, Mike still doesn’t have hushpuppies on the menu. So, maybe forgetting is easier said than done.
When the Pogues haven’t heard from Kiara two hours after she returns home, they start to worry. Sarah assures them all that it’s probably fine. That they’ve been gone for so long, and her parents have been so worried that they’re probably just sorting things out, which could take a while. John B lightens the mood by making a joke about that one vein on Ms. Anna’s forehead finally bursting after all these years.
JJ stays quiet as the others chuckle and talk at the kitchen table in low voices about where to go from here. He stays by the window like he’s expecting her to come running back home at any moment.
***
After four hours, no one is laughing anymore. The heavy silence is far worse to sit in.
***
When it’s just shy of eight full hours without a single word from her, Sarah is standing in front of JJ’s bike, gripping his handlebars.
“I said move .”
“No, you’re not listening , JJ, what is your plan here? You’re going to go confront Mike? Talk sense into Anna? If you storm in there guns blazing you’re just going to make things even worse, and maybe they really will send her away.”
“You mean if they haven’t already?”
Sarah hesitates, her grip loosening a fraction and the determination sliding off her face. “They wouldn’t do that without telling us.”
“No? Well, I’m not quite ready to bet the fucking farm on it, Sarah. So, get out of my way.”
She does.
***
He’s watched her sneak in and out of her window enough times to know which one is hers. It’s double-paned, in the back with a view of the water. Her curtains are yellow.
Lights are shining through the massive windows that line the bottom floor of the Carrera house, and JJ thinks he can see some movement from inside, but he can’t quite make out how many people are there, or who they are. Carefully and as quietly as possible, he props his bike up against the fence, trying to ignore the way his hands shake as he does. Keeping as low to the ground as possible and out of any light source, he follows the white fence along the side.
His heart is beating so loudly he wonders if they can hear it all the way inside.
She has to be here.
JJ rounds to the back of the house, his eyes glued to the second story window. The yellow curtains are drawn. He can’t tell if there's a light on or not.
What if she’s not here?
What if a light never comes on? What if he throws every rock he can find and stands down here all night and it doesn’t even matter because she’s never going to come to the window again?
He doesn’t fucking know what he’ll do if she’s not here–
“JJ?”
JJ almost jumps completely out of his skin at the unexpected voice that comes from the dimly illuminated porch to his right.
“M– Mr. Carrera?”
Mike Carrera stands on the porch, hunched over the railing, holding a beer in his hand and standing so still, it’s no wonder JJ missed him in his single-mindedness. They both regard each other in silence for a moment in equal confusion, unclear which is more caught off-guard.
“I just, uh,” JJ feels his palms starting to sweat, his mind already kicking into overdrive the way it always does when he’s about to tell a whopper. “I was just going to–”
“Yeah, I know why you’re here,” the man cuts him off, his eyes flicking up momentarily to where Kiara’s room would be above him. “I’ll tell her you said hello.”
Relief takes JJ’s breath away, stopping his heart and restarting it again at a stuttering speed. He suddenly feels a little unsteady on his feet. “She’s still here.”
Mike studies JJ’s face with an expression that’s impossible to read. He nods once. “For now, at least.
JJ’s throat tightens as he feels his fists clenching at his side, not fully trusting himself to speak yet. Mike is still watching him with those dark, steady eyes. “Did you think we’d take her without saying goodbye?”
The response leaves JJ’s mouth before he even has a chance to think. “Yes.”
Mike laughs once, loud and empty in a way that feels like it slices right through JJ. “Same way y’all did, I guess.”
There’s a bitterness, an anger behind the words and that cold, awful laugh that instantly kills any hope JJ felt after realizing Kiara is just a floor away, and not on a bus to the mountains. Cold panic begins to replace it, rising in his chest and pushing it all out of him before he can stop it from happening.
“Don’t take her away. Please, Mr. Carrera, let her stay.”
Mike suddenly looks very, very tired, his eyes closing as he drops his head and rubs his face with his hand. “I’m not going to have this argument–”
“I know we’ve fucked up, sir. I know that. I know it was reckless and stupid and that we shouldn’t have left and that we sure as hell shouldn’t have dragged her into it, but it’s not her fault.” He knows he should stop talking. But, he can’t. He’s got the feeling that any words he allows Mike to get in will be the last thing he wants to hear. “We're the ones who asked her to come, and Kie’s just so goddamn loyal, of course she was going to say yes but–”
“JJ…”
He’s rehearsed this moment a thousand times over since the day Kiara first told them about the distant threat of Blue Ridge. Exactly what he’d say and how he’d say it and how Mike would actually listen to him. In those versions, he definitely wasn’t swearing or begging or admitting that the Pogues were at any fault at all.
But, now, life without Kiara in it every single day is more than just a possibility. JJ is familiar with the sensation of drowning. It’s how he feels staring up at the man on the porch, feeling small, completely useless, failing to keep his head above the weight of everything he knows he needs to say.
“This is her home, this is where she needs to be. And, I swear to god, I’ll do anything. I’ll convince them to give up looking for the gold, I’ll help with her overtime shifts at The Wreck, I’ll go apologize to Ms. Anna if I need to. But– but you know how she is, she'll just hold it against you forever, sir. Sending her away isn’t going to solve anything, it’ll just make it worse because she belongs in the Banks, she belongs with–”
“You?”
Every argument JJ plans to make withers in his throat, his brain shuddering to a stop as he gapes back at Mike for a moment too long. He clears his throat and wills his face back to stony determination. But, he knows he’s too late.
“I was going to say us.”
Mike shakes his head slowly. “We’ve given you kids so much leeway. So many chances to prove that you’re even remotely capable of staying out of trouble and doing anything–” he waves his hand around as he tries to find the right word “–constructive with your time.”
“We aren’t stupid,” JJ says, clenching his jaw, “we know how you and Ms. Anna feel about us. You’ve never given us any chances at all.”
“Maybe not. But, if I didn’t, it’s because I’m no stranger to what goes on in the Cut, JJ,” he points at him with the tip of his beer bottle, “Never forget that.”
“You make it pretty hard to.”
As soon as he’s said it, he knows he’s pushed his luck. Mike’s face contorts with anger and he straightens to his full height on the deck above JJ. “You listen here—“
Whatever he’s about to say is cut short by the distinct sound of a door slamming from inside the house. Both men jump and for a brief, horrible second in time JJ wonders if Kiara’s heard him outside and is about to walk outside to him begging her father for anything.
Mike throws a glance over his shoulder towards the house behind him. Watches something JJ can’t see for a moment before turning back to him before motioning to the stairs. “You know what? Do me a favor and come up here with me for a second.”
JJ blinks at him from the lawn, his eyes sliding back to the fence his bike sits behind.
“I’m not going to bite your head off, just,” he jerks his head towards where he was just looking. “There’s something you need to see.”
Slowly, and against every instinct screaming in his body to run, JJ steps up the stairs and into the warm porch light with Mike Carrera. He registers the sound of yelling from inside the house about halfway up. By the time he’s standing next to the man, he can see the full-blown screaming match unfolding through the glass doors leading into the dining room.
The first thing he clocks is Anna. Even from this distance, he can see her eyes smoldering with fury. He’s stuck with the unexpected thought that they burn exactly the same way Kiara’s do.
Then he notices the other two figures standing in the dining room with her.
JJ can probably count the amount of times he’s seen Kiara’s grandparents on two hands. They’ve made brief appearances at birthday parties, been around for holidays, and been mentioned by Kiara in the context of visits to their house that are more mandatory than something she actually looks forward to.
He also knows them from his brief time as a server at the Club. Where they always appear rich and stuck up and look through him like their granddaughter hasn’t been best friends with him since elementary school.
Right now they just look as furious as Anna does. But their voices don’t quite carry over hers.
JJ stands next to Mike in silence, watching the war that’s unfolding just on the other side of the window.
“Been going on like this for about half an hour now,” Mike observes. Like he’s telling JJ the score of a football game
JJ shrugs. “I’d probably be hiding, too, then.”
Mike blinks at him, stunned at the bluntness of the statement and, for a split second, JJ’s stomach plummets like it always does when he thinks he’s probably said the exact wrong thing. But then Mike shrugs back, takes a long swig of his beer.
“Yeah. Guess that’s probably the right word for it.”
They watch as Anna’s father says something that causes his daughter to physically stumble backwards before yelling “Oh here we go again,” so clearly JJ can hear it through the glass.
“You know what they’re really fighting about in there, JJ?” Mike gives him a beat. Like he really expects him to have an answer. When he doesn’t, he gives it to him anyway. “It’s the same damn argument every single time, just with new words.” He sighs and turns his back to them once more, placing the beer bottle on the railing next to him. “Always starts with some dumbass remark on the carpet or the place settings. Which turns into what Anna and I spend our money on. Which turns into The Wreck or how long it took us to get membership to the Island Club or where Kiara goes to school or a bunch of other bullshit, to hide that it is and always has been about the dirty pogue that they think took their daughter away from them.”
JJ’s head snaps to look at him. “I’m not trying to–”
“No, just listen to me, son. The thing is,” Mike chews his lip like he’s fighting with himself to get the words out. “The thing is they’re right. Always have been right about me. And, you know, I wouldn’t change anything. I’ve been happily married for fifteen years. Kiara is my biggest blessing. But we’ve sacrificed so much to make sure that she doesn’t —“
He doesn’t have to finish what he was going to say.
So that she doesn’t make our mistakes.
“The point is, I was bad for Anna. She lost her family, her friends, the life she’d known. And, sure, we recovered in some ways. Hit a patch of good luck with The Wreck and all that.” Mike looks down at the glass bottle, rolling it between his hands absently. “But, tell me honestly, JJ, how lucky do you feel most of the time?”
It’s a knife to his chest. Stings the way only ugly truths can.
Mike lifts the beer to his lips and takes a swig, his eyes searching for something JJ’s not sure either of them can see through the darkness in front of them. “You’re not good enough for her, son. And trust me when I say that no matter how hard you try, you never will be. Living with that ain’t as easy as you’d think.”
The words have no anger in them. They’re not meant to wound or cut down, they’re said as a simple fact. The same way as if Mike were telling JJ tomorrow’s forecast or the color of his hair.
JJ wants to hit something. He wants to yell and tell Mike that he’s wrong about his daughter and about him and about the end JJ has always known the two of them were hurtling towards. The end that’s become harder and harder to ignore the longer the years stretch on.
But he doesn’t. Instead he just nods. “I know.”
Because he does know. He’s always known. There’s nothing else to say.
The man finally meets his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Somehow, JJ truly believes that he is.
After a moment, Mike stands, rears back and chucks the bottle out into the darkness behind the porch. Through all the thoughts ripping JJ apart, all he can numbly think is how he should pick that up later. Kiara wouldn’t like it.
Mike turns to head back inside. Places his hand on JJ’s shoulder in a gesture that dislodges the final piece of whatever JJ’s been holding onto.
“If you care about my daughter at all, you'll stay away from her.”
He waits until Mike is opening the door, the sounds of the argument inside becoming jarringly clear.
“If I did, would you let her stay?”
Even in his own head, every version of the conversation he had planned to have with Mike always lead back to this. No matter how hard he tried to work around it or avoid it, they all ended with what he’s always been afraid her father would demand from him in the end. Somehow, he hates it even worse when he hears himself saying it out loud.
The seconds feel like hours as Mike considers him and for that one, terrible pocket of time, JJ actually thinks he’s going to agree. “You won’t,” he says, finally, “And then what? Anna and I can keep sitting around, waiting for the next time y’all run off to look for treasure or gold or dead fathers until one day she really doesn’t come back?”
“I swear to god, I’d never let that happen.”
The man sighs, turns his ear towards the shouting still coming from inside. “Son, you’d be the damn reason that happened.”
When the door closes behind him, it only takes a few moments before he hears Mike’s voice join the mix, not shouting out of anger, like the others, but just in an attempt to be heard over all the noise.
JJ stands on the porch for longer than is probably wise. Listening. Thinking. Trying to untangle the knot of emotions that feel like they're suffocating him from the inside out.
He only thinks about trying for Kiara’s window one last time for a few seconds before deciding against it and turning his back on the house altogether. At best, he’d maybe get a few minutes with her alone. At worst, her parents would find out and he’d just be getting her into more trouble than she’s already in.
And he’s not feeling all that lucky tonight, anyway.
So, instead, he picks up his bike and heads back to the Chateau. Empty handed and without Kiara. He can’t help but feel like they’re the same thing.
It’s quarter past 10 when the bell above the door of The Wreck jingles and Mike fights the urge to groan out loud. He knew he should have locked the front door behind Jeremy; the kid can’t even remember to show up to work half the time, much less flip over a damn sign to read “closed”. He puts the last pan on the drying rack, dries his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder as he walks from the kitchen into the main dining area.
“Sorry, but we’re–” Mike stops dead in his tracks as he stares at the person standing across the bar from him
“So, I guess there’s no chance of getting some shrimp and grits, then?”
JJ slides onto one of the bar stools as if he’s done it a million times before. Mike supposes that, in another lifetime, he has. A memory flashes across his mind of a snot nosed 10-year-old awkwardly climbing onto the same stool, all gangly limbs and golden hair. But, as quickly as it comes, it’s forcefully pushed away, a spark of irritation igniting in its place.
“What are you doing here?
JJ gives a low whistle. “This how you treat all of your regulars?”
Mike folds his arms over his chest and leans back on the wall. “Wouldn’t exactly call you a regular anymore.”
“My bad. Been a little busy the past few years.”
“Right. Stealing away my child to play Indiana Jones and search for lost gold and all that.”
JJ studies him intently, like he’s weighing how much of that he should respond to. “No need to search anymore. Our final cut came in today, actually.”
Mike tilts his head to the side. “You kids found that treasure years ago.”
“Turns out bureaucracy isn’t exactly known for its hustle.”
“So that’s why you're here, then?” Mike asks, folding his arms across his chest as the irritation begins to tilt into an anger he wishes he wasn’t so familiar with these days. “To tell me how you won? Rub my face in the fact that our relationship with our daughter is as broken as it’s ever been?”
The way JJ doesn’t even flinch at this new tonal shift tells him he’s prepared for the turn this conversation might take. “It’s never been about winning or losing, Mr. Carrera.”
“Then what has any of it been about for you, kid?”
“Kiara.” The answer is immediate and steady.
Mike snorts and considers, briefly, telling him that he’s known that to be true since the first time his eight-year-old daughter burst into The Wreck with the Maybank kid in tow, asking for French fries. He decides against it.
“That’s the last thing I want to talk about with you. If you’re here to gloat, then you can get out.”
“Will you just– will you please just listen for one second?” JJ takes in a breath, jerking his fingers through his hair as he steadies himself, and Mike tries to ignore the juvenile sense of satisfaction he feels at getting under the kid’s skin, at least a little. Then, JJ looks him dead in the eye and says the two words Mike has been most afraid of hearing since the day he let Anna kick Kiara out of the house. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” He knows he doesn't sound the least bit surprised.
“Tomorrow. For our trip. Kie’s going to come by y’all’s place tonight and talk to you about it. And I want you to listen to what she has to say about it all, because she’s not leaving to punish you or Ms. Anna, but because this is all she’s ever wanted to do. And because she’s really, really fucking excited about it.”
“She sent you to soften the blow?”
“She doesn’t know I’m here.”
They’re both quiet for a long moment, Mike trying to comb through all of the thoughts and emotions that cloud his mind and make him feel like he can’t quite remember how to breathe.
She’s leaving. She’s getting out of the Banks, and going to see the world, and he’s proud and hurt and so afraid all at once.
He focuses back on JJ, still sitting across from him, forearms leaning against the bar. “We. You’re going with her.”
JJ nods. “Yeah. I am. Somehow.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that.
“You know, over the last few years, I’ve thought a lot about what you said to me that night you caught me sneaking around your house. All that shit about not being good enough for Kiara, and how staying away was the best thing I could do for her. And, the thing is, you were just telling me all these things I already thought I knew. I spent most of my life thinking I was just some bum salt-lifer headed for prison or worse, and the thought that I could ever deserve her was a fucking joke.”
“You say that like anything has changed.”
“Everything’s changed,” JJ says, fiercely, the cool exterior cracking a fraction as his eyes blaze with a fire Mike recognizes all too well. “It changed when I realized that Kiara is the only one who gets to decide what’s good enough for her. And for some reason, she decided that that’s me.” He leans back in his chair, the tension in his body releasing a fraction. “I still don’t understand it. But, who am I to question if she’s right or not? Damn if I haven’t learned by now that she’s usually right about most things.”
“You really believe that?” Mike asks. It’s a sincere question. One he doesn't even realize he’s asked until it hangs in the air in front of him.
JJ just shrugs. “Got to. Otherwise, I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering if I was just a mistake she made.”
“So, you’re sticking around, then.”
“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about, actually. ‘Bout how I plan to stick around for a long time. The rest of my life, to be more specific.” JJ reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small, white piece of cardstock. The words Celebrate with us! are written across the top in a bold, calligraphy script. He slides across the counter.
Mike blinks down at the paper. “What is this?”
“Damn, I knew Sarah should have made it more specific. I told her she should just put Save the Date on there, this kinda takes the pizzazz out of my big moment.”
He squints at the horrifically decorated paper, flipping it over in his hand and squinting at the back. “There is no date on it.”
“That’s ‘cause, technically, there isn’t one yet,” JJ shrugs, eyes going a little soft and unfocused. The small smile tugging on the edges of his lips tells Mike everything he needs to know. “I’m not going to ask her until some point on the trip. Hopefully she’s stupid enough to say yes.”
He can feel JJ’s eyes on him as he continues to stare down at the blank paper, like it’ll give him time to process everything he’s felt over the entirety of this conversation. JJ’s the one to break the silence in the end. “We’ve got something in common, you and me. Besides being dirty-pogue-daughter-snatchers in the eyes of Kooks everywhere.”
Mike looks up. “Which is what?”
“We both love your daughter.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it always has been. He nods to the card gripped in Mike’s hand. “And we both want her happy. Which is why I hope I’ll be seein’ you and Miss. Anna at the Chateau in a few months when we get back. Sarah’s the one hosting the party, just let her know if you’re coming or not.”
He gives a nod that feels final, before pushing away from the bar and turning to walk back out of the door he’s come from.
“JJ.”
JJ stops, faces him again with an uneasy frown. “Hm?”
Mike neatly folds the save-the-date and gently puts it in his shirt pocket, cursing whatever invisible force has clamped around his throat and made it difficult to talk. “Call us when y’all land.”
The smile that lights up the boy’s face is so real and genuine, he can’t help but smile back. But, Mike supposes, JJ doesn’t look like much of a boy anymore. Sure as hell doesn’t act like one, either.
“Promise.”
Mike stands at the bar long after the sound of the truck engine fades in the distance, trying to make sense of the conversation, and of JJ, and of the anger he’s felt over the last four years. He knows that it should be burning hot and blinding at the thought of Kiara leaving with a pogue and making the same dumb mistakes he and Anna made. But, it doesn’t.
His mind drifts to Anna and the life that they used to lead together. How it still bleeds into the one they have now, no matter how hard they try to seal up the cracks. He thinks about the harsh words her parents always end up hurling anytime they step foot over the threshold of their house. About the late nights that always happen after, with Anna crying and asking him how they can keep Kiara from making the same mistakes they have.
Otherwise I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering if I was just a mistake she made.
Well, the ones Anna feels she made, at least.
Before he knows it, he’s thinking about Kiara. This thought grows and expands and run away with him to a stream of memories and regrets that leave an ache between his ribs, especially when he thinks about Kiara. He remembers nights holding her in his lap as she made him thumb through the dusty encyclopedias Anna’s parents had given them as decorations. The way her eyes used to light up as she pointed to pictures of camels and icebergs and beaches most people would never see in their lives.
Finally, his thoughts turn to JJ, the boy - man - willing to go with her wherever she wants to. He thinks about how much older he looked in those few minutes he sat across the bar from him, and the look in his eyes when he talked about Kiara, and the fucking bravery it must have taken to walk right into the Carreras’ restaurant and demand Mike listen to him.
More bravery than Mike’s ever had, anyway.
In the quiet of his restaurant, he feels a strange, new sensation lighting in the embers of his extinguished anger, replacing all of the fear that’s been driving him to push his own daughter further and further away from him in the name of protecting her.
At first, he isn’t sure what it is, only that it's lighter, less consuming. It’s not until he’s all the way back home, in his own living room, pulling out a dusty old encyclopedia and smiling at pictures of deserts and oceans, that he realizes it’s relief.
Because, for the first time in years, Mike thinks Kiara’s going to be fine.