Page 167 of Gathered Sparkle

Now mine look just like his.

The thought makes me want to puke.

“I screwed up.”

“You did,” Oscar agrees, no sugarcoating. “But screwing up doesn’t make you a screw-up. You get to decide what you do next.”

He is giving me a piece of his mind about how I’m acting, but it’s nothing like the barked lectures I used to get at home. He’s not yelling, not calling me a disappointment. He’s just here, telling me I have a choice like I’m still worth something even after screwing up.

I don’t deserve that. Not after walking into a fight like it was sport. Not after coming home drunk and bloody, making him deal with the mess I made of myself.

“You’re not your old man, Sylus.” He nudges my shoulder. “You don’t have to carry that shit around forever.”

I can’t keep doing this.

I can’t be that guy, the one who ruins everything he touches, who takes and takes until there’s nothing left. And I sure as hell don’t want to be anything like my old man.

My throat tightens, but I nod, focusing on the needle. It’s stupid, really, this whole embroidery thing. But as the thread weaves through the fabric, something shifts.

For the first time in months, I don’t feel like hitting someone.

And as I sit there, next to the man who treats me like I’m worth something, I make a decision.

No more drinking.

No more fighting.

I’m going to be better, not for me, but for the person who believes I can be.

I glance down to see a thin line of blood beading on my knuckles. I must’ve grazed it on one of the exposed edges of the drone’s paneling. It’s barely a scratch, but it was enough to spark the memory.

The van is filled with the whir of the gadgets I’ve been tweaking. Levi leans against the wall, half-distracted, scrolling through his phone.

“Fuck.”I lift my hand to my mouth, licking the blood off without thinking.

“You good?” Levi looks up from his phone. “Should I get a Band-Aid? Or, I don’t know, call an ambulance? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Don’t worry, just a scratch.” I flex my fingers. The cut stings, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest that’ll never quite go away. “I’ll live, Drama Queen.”

Levi clutches his chest like I’ve mortally wounded him. “I was beingthoughtful! But fine, bleed out for all I care. I’ll write a touching eulogy.”

“Oh, please,” I mutter, rolling my eyes as I go back to the drone I’m tinkering with. “You’d spend the whole eulogy talking about yourself.”

“Wrong,” he retorts, straightening. “I’dsingthe eulogy. Full musical number. Spotlight, backup dancers, everything. Thepeopleneed a show, Sylus. Even in your death, I’d honor your commitment to the craft.”

I snort, shaking my head as I reattach a panel. “And people callmeinsane.”

“Because youareinsane,” Levi counters, grinning.

“Talking about insane, where’s your poop machine?”

“Excuse you?” Levi gasps. “Pebbleis nota poop machine. But thank you for asking.” I snort. “My angel baby is up in our room having her beauty sleep.”

“Why don’t you join her?” I ask in a blasé tone.

“Want to get rid of me?”

Yes.“No.”

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